I Read Their Tragic Fates, and My Family Reads My Mind?

Chapter 166: Chapter 166: Not Your Average Humblebrag

It turned out that age and experience truly did count for something.

Arabella Donovan tried several times to return the card, but Madam Foster always changed the subject.

Not to mention, Madam Foster then happened to discover that Samuel Fulton’s social media account was being flooded with curses from a swarm of haters, all because he had replaced someone as the male lead in a show. She immediately had Arabella Donovan, the only young person present, teach her how to use her phone. Then, for her grandson’s sake, she furiously dove into an online battle with the haters, leaving a completely dumbfounded Arabella behind.

It wasn’t until she was in the car on the way back that Arabella Donovan belatedly realized the card was still in her possession!

Dennis Donovan found this amusing and patted Arabella Donovan’s head reassuringly. "There’s a saying that you shouldn’t refuse a gift from an elder. Since she gave it to you, just accept it. Everything I said before was just to tease you. To their family, this is just a drop in the bucket."

"I know you were teasing, but I still feel like I don’t deserve it."

"Why wouldn’t you deserve it? What you told them today was worth this much. Especially about that boy, Samuel. If he really turns out to be the Foster family’s long-lost grandson, you’ll be a true benefactor to their entire family. No amount of thanks would be too much."

"Nothing’s certain yet. I’m not even sure about it myself..."

Dennis Donovan just smiled without saying a word. ’His girl is wonderful in every way, just a little too modest.’

’Knowing her as he did, and considering everything that had happened recently, it was almost certainly true. His little girl was blessed by incredible fortune. What she saw as mere coincidence—who was to say it wasn’t the work of fate?’

Worries were worries, but since Dennis Donovan had said so, Arabella Donovan stopped agonizing over it. She gathered her things and went happily to see Preston.

Although the two elders hadn’t had a wedding ceremony yet, they had registered their marriage the day after returning, so they were already a legally married couple.

So, naturally, Preston was now living in Dennis Donovan’s old residence—the renowned No. 9 Vistagrove Avenue.

The residence was initially said to have belonged to a Prince from a certain dynasty. Later, when the Prince’s line died out, the house was reclaimed by the state and gifted to a Prime Minister of another dynasty.

As times changed and dynasties rose and fell, the residents of the house changed from one generation to the next, but without exception, they were all high-ranking officials and dignitaries.

Therefore, despite its age, the house had always been well-maintained and repaired.

Arabella Donovan and Aurora Donovan had just stepped inside when they were dazzled by the covered corridors and meandering garden streams. By the time they had twisted and turned their way to the rear courtyard where Preston lived, they had completely forgotten the way back.

Thank goodness Dennis Donovan was leading the way; otherwise, they probably would have been trapped in the courtyards all night.

Preston had already received the news and, guessing that Arabella Donovan and the others were about to arrive, had gone out to wait in the courtyard.

From a distance, Arabella Donovan saw Preston standing outside the courtyard, dressed in a black qipao with a fur-collared coat over it. Both the chest and hem of the qipao were embroidered with large, crimson roses. Though the colors and patterns were somewhat flamboyant, on the old lady, they looked incredibly dignified and elegant.

"Grandma, I’m here! How have you been these past few days? Has Grand-uncle been taking good care of you? It’s so cold out, why are you waiting outside in the courtyard? Your hands are freezing."

Arabella Donovan flitted around Preston like a butterfly, looking her over from head to toe.

She saw that in just a few days, the old lady’s complexion had improved greatly. She no longer looked as haggard as before, a clear sign that the old gentleman was taking good care of her.

"Yes, yes, I’m doing very well." Preston watched indulgently as Arabella Donovan took off her own gloves and put them on her hands. She asked with a smile, "And you all? Was the trip smooth? You didn’t run into any trouble, did you? Your grand-uncle said he was taking you out for a nice dinner. Did you like the food? Did you eat your fill?"

"I’m stuffed, I’m stuffed! Grandma, look, my belly is bulging. The restaurant Grand-uncle took us to is supposedly run by a descendant of an Imperial Chef. I have to say, the food was absolutely delicious."

Arabella Donovan linked arms with Preston, grinning sheepishly. "Unfortunately, Grand-uncle said you’re still on medication and can’t have anything too rich or greasy. So, we only brought back some vegetable and lean pork porridge for you as a late-night snack. It’s in a thermal container, so it should still be warm. You should eat it while it’s hot. Once you’re feeling a bit better, I’ll take you there to try all the good food."

Preston was taken aback when she heard this. "You brought back a late-night snack for me?"

"Of course! Our Serena is so considerate. On the way back, she was thinking about how you missed out on all the delicious food, so she wanted to bring back some pastries for you. When I mentioned you’re still on medication and that it was getting late—pastries would be hard to digest—she had them make porridge to bring back instead. It might just be vegetable and lean pork porridge, but it was personally prepared by the head chef. It smells a hundred times better than what we make at home."

"Personally prepared by the head chef? But isn’t that restaurant famous for its no-takeout policy? How...?" Preston was touched, but also a little baffled.

She had been present when the two Foster elders came to see Dennis Donovan.

Considering their reason for visiting, Preston had asked her husband for detailed information about their family afterward, so she had heard about the restaurant’s unwritten rule.

’For such a universally acclaimed, long-standing restaurant to break its rule for a bowl of vegetable porridge for Arabella Donovan—and even have the head chef personally prepare it for takeout—it must mean that their business tonight went... very smoothly?’

As if sensing his wife’s confusion, Dennis Donovan wore a triumphant expression. "They do have that rule, but isn’t there an exception to everything? Our Serena brought great honor to her grand-uncle tonight. She even came back with the Foster family’s one and only VIP black card. From now on, whenever we get a craving, we can just have Serena take us to their restaurant. No more waiting in line!"

The moment Dennis Donovan finished speaking, Preston shot him an exasperated look. "You old rascal, you’re getting more childish with age. Now you want to take advantage of the younger generation? Have you no shame?"

But Dennis Donovan was not ashamed; in fact, he was proud. "What’s wrong with taking a little advantage of her? We’re all family. You have no idea how long the lines are at the Fosters’ restaurant. There’s always a huge crowd waiting there, no matter the time. I really don’t know where these people find so much time. Is it really worth it just for a meal?"

"But now things are great. With our Serena, it’ll be so much more convenient to eat there in the future." Dennis Donovan’s tone suddenly shifted. "However, what your grandma said isn’t without reason. How about this? I’ll give you a card, too."

As he spoke, Dennis Donovan pulled a card out of nowhere. Like the one from Madam Foster, it was black, and it even had the letters "VIP" printed on it.

The difference was, this was clearly a bank card.

Arabella Donovan: "???"

’Is today some kind of special holiday? Why is everyone scrambling to give me cards?’

Dennis Donovan: "..." ’Why must you speak such blunt truths?’

Aurora Donovan: "..." ’Now that’s a next-level humblebrag if I’ve ever heard one.’