The Mocked Miss’s Hidden Crowns novel Chapter 2055

Newell let out a low chuckle. Leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window, he took the glass, clinked it against Anthony's, and said softly, "You've got a great sense of humor."

"Do I?"

Anthony tilted his chin up, taking a small sip. The rich aroma of the red wine filled his senses as he replied casually, "Mr. Churchill sure knows how to compliment people."

The two exchanged a look, neither willing to yield, but they clinked their glasses together once more in silent agreement.

After a long stretch of silence.

Swirling the wine in his glass, Anthony was the first to speak. "Never thought about moving to Cabinda?"

"Hmm?"

Newell slowed his drinking, his deep blue eyes narrowing slightly. A subtle curve appeared on his lips. "If I came to Cabinda, wouldn't you be afraid?"

"Afraid?"

Anthony sat down on the sofa, crossing his long legs with the natural, commanding elegance of a king. "I have a son, a daughter, and a wife who loves me. What do I have to be afraid of?"

"Besides—"

He paused for a couple of seconds, shooting a bone-chilling glare at Newell. His tone carried a heavy warning. "If you actually dared to try anything, it would only take two bullets to solve the problem."

Newell stared at him deeply, the smile never leaving his eyes.

"I'm not moving back." Newell grabbed the bottle and topped off Anthony's glass, his voice low. "Someone has to clean up the mess at the Isle of Veil."

Not just that.

While Charlotte was pregnant, these two heartless people used the babies as an excuse to dump all the affairs of the X Organization and the N Organization onto him.

Why was he acting tough now?

He had to be the most miserable third wheel in history.

"Oh."

Anthony seemed to be waiting for exactly that answer. He gave a light shrug, his smile turning unapologetically arrogant. "If you don't want to come, that's your own business."

"Hmph."

Newell scoffed coldly, choosing not to reply.

"Get some rest."

Checking the time, Anthony stood up. Just as he reached the door, he paused and looked back. "Oh, by the way, Lottie wanted to know what you want for dinner."

Sweet and sour pork with no sugar?

Lemon juice?

Did Mr. Churchill really love sour things that much?

That evening, at the dining table.

Newell sat on one side, facing Anthony, who looked entirely too eager for the show.

"Dinner is served."

Helen set down the final dish of sweet and sour pork, making a point to say, "Mr. Churchill, please give this a try. I didn't use any sugar, so I'm honestly not sure how it tastes."

"If it's too sour, I can always take it back and fix it."

"And here's your drink, sir."

"Thank you, Helen."

Newell's gaze swept over the pork and the juice in front of him. A nearly imperceptible smirk tugged at his lips. "And thank you, Anthony, for going out of your way."