The Double ( or More ?) Life of The Fake Heiress

The incense was crucial. It was the very thing that was holding off James‘ injuries from worsening, and Mirabella had snuffed it out without a second thought.

Curtis‘ eyes blazed with fury, his already intimidating visage now terrifying in his anger. He strode over, snatched the half–burned incense stick from Mirabella’s grasp, and fished out a lighter, on the verge of reigniting it.

Mirabella was unshaken by his fearsome appearance, smirking ever so slightly. “If you want him dead sooner, by all means, light it up again.” Her voice was soft, almost airy, but carried an undercurrent of sharpness that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Curtis‘ hand paused. He knew he shouldn’t let the uninformed words of Mirabella sway him, but his finger lingered on the lighter, unable to press down.

Nikolai overheard the exchange, instinctively glanced at Mirabella, and inquired, “Why can’t we light the incense?”

Mirabella took a seat beside James, simply stating, “Your hand.”

James turned, noting that although Mirabella’s expression was as usual, the intensity he saw in her eyes was something he had never witnessed before, a maturity that didn’t match her

years.

He extended his hand. Her fingertips rested lightly on his wrist, and as she took his pulse, a veil of solemnity descended over her delicate features. Moments later, she withdrew her hand.Belongs to © n0velDrama.Org.

Her gaze fell on James‘ previously injured leg, then she leaned over, lifting his pant leg for a quick inspection before letting it fall back into place.

“Paper. Pen,” Mirabella commanded succinctly.

Wyatt, hearing her request, reflexively searched for the items. He returned shortly, handing them to Mirabella with a reverence greater than before. He no longer pondered the origins of her knowledge in scent–crafting or her physician friend. From the pulse–taking action, it was clear she had some medical expertise.

Mirabella quickly drafted a list of ingredients on the paper. Once finished, she handed it to Wyatt, “I need these herbs.”

Pausing, she added, “However, some of them might be hard to find.

Holding the prescription, Wyatt was resolute, “No matter how hard, I’ll find them.” At that moment, he had put all his hopes on Mirabella.

After a thought, she noted, “Well, there’s no rush. Just have them ready within three days.”

Wyatt, hearing her nonchalance, stole a worried glance at James. His condition seemed anything but non–urgent. Though perplexed, Wyatt dared not question further. “I’ll start preparing now,” he said.

As he moved to leave, Curtis grabbed his arm, halting him. Wyatt looked at him, confused by his

intentions.

Curtis glanced at Mirabella, then at the list of herbs in Wyatt’s hand. His gaze settled on Wyatt’s face, his voice deep and serious. “James condition is no joke.”

Ms. Mirabella appeared capable of medicine, quickly took a pulse, and drafted a prescription. but when even Nikolai was reluctant to administer treatment easily, how could her casual demeanor inspire trust in her healing abilities?

Could Wyatt really believe that a girl barely out of her teens possessed remarkable medical skills? Skills that could surpass those of Nikolai, heir to a century–old legacy of alternative medicine, hailed as a national healer?

Wyatt met Curtis‘ gaze, fully understanding his concerns, yet he breathed deeply and firmly stated, “I trust Ms. Mirabella.”

Curtis frowned. “You…”