Hide Your Identities Or Inherit Millions

Elizabeth nodded, saying with conviction, “You punished those wrongdoers for me, so we’re friends.’

Her gaze settled on Alexander.

The man was dressed in a black shirt, the top two buttons undone, looking both restrained and regal—his good looks seemed almost otherworldly. It was hard to imagine someone like him going out of his way to help others.

“So, just because I helped you, we’re friends? Seems like a pretty low bar to be your friend,” he remarked.

Alexander laughed, teasing her, “It was Emily who couldn’t stand seeing them bully you and asked me to step in. I did it for my own sister; don’t overthink it.”

Of course, what truly transpired was known only to the parties involved. Elizabeth paused momentarily, her fleeting joy fading, returning to her indifferent demeanor.

She responded nonchalantly, “So, that’s it.”

So, Emily was her friend. No need to be on good terms with Alexander, then.

Elizabeth nodded to herself, thinking, yes, that’s how it should be.

Alexander watched her shift from enthusiastic warmth to detached coolness, a twitch forming at the corner of his mouth.

The stark contrast in her attitude gave him the peculiar feeling that he’d shot himself in the foot.

“Regardless, you did help me. Even if I might not have needed it, I owe you one.

What would you like in return?”

Elizabeth looked at him, her gaze demanding.

If Peter were present, he would probably drop his jaw. This was a promise from Professor Lawrence! Something many would kill for.

He should jump at the opportunity.

But Alexander simply said, “You should focus on your studies for now and aim to earn well in the future.’

“Don’t worry; I have money,” Elizabeth frowned.

“With the little money you have, you can’t even afford my socks,” Alexander said, assuming it was just an allowance from the Wilson family.

Elizabeth was speechless.

Alexander looked at her with a casual glance, saying nonchalantly, “Even if it were someone else, I’d have intervened. After all, I am a man of justice.”

Elizabeth was skeptical of Alexander’s words. She stubbornly stated, “Let me know what you want when you decide. My offer stands.”

Alexander found himself speechless at the little girl’s obstinacy.

“What I want, I usually get. If I can’t have it, you probably can’t offer it either.”

Elizabeth furrowed her brows, pondering for a moment before suggesting,

“How about I cook a meal for you?”

A meal personally prepared by Professor Lawrence was something many yearned for.

“Cooking a disaster meal, are you?” Alexander declined without hesitation.

Elizabeth hesitated, pondering whether to point out that he was the actual disaster chef.

“Alright, let me know if you ever come up with something,” she conceded.

Alexander looked down at Elizabeth’s raven-black, fluffy hair, and into the bright eyes that were currently fixed on him.

Feeling an itch in his hand, he raised it, naturally ruffling her hair.

It was soft, like a cat’s fur.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise. After a brief pause, she requested, “Ruffle it again.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow, but at her urging, he tousled her hair again. Such a little girl, he thought.

“My Grandpa used to ruffle my hair with the same force as you,” she reminisced.

She lifted her face, a faint smile in her dark eyes, making a surprising statement, “You remind me of my Grandpa.”

Alexander froze for a moment. After a pause, he said coolly, “Sweetheart, be good.”

Elizabeth stayed silent for a beat, then asked him with genuine confusion, “Oh, so you don’t want to be my friend; you want to be my Grandpa?”