Rising from the Ashes (Andrew) novel Chapter 1727

Rounding the screen, Andrew stepped into a room that oozed classic elegance and femininity.

Everything inside, from the painting to the curated instruments and decor, spoke of refined taste and artistry.

A soft purple veil hung from the canopy over the bed, trailing to the plush carpet below, completely obscuring what lay behind it.

Victoria's voice came from inside again. "Mr. Lloyd, please find yourself a place to sit!"

Andrew replied, "Mrs. Peck, this is your private chamber, and I think it's best I remain standing. I only came by to pay my respects. If you're feeling unwell, I can always return another day."

A melodious laugh rang out, and Victoria's voice turned teasing from behind the veil. "Aren't you being all respectful? I'm guessing that bitch Tiana taught you to do this, right? Let me guess… She not only taught you to be well-behaved and keep a low profile in front of me!

"She also told you that I'm a shameless flirt, a woman who only knows violence and nothing else, right?"

Andrew could not help but feel his scalp tingle. Victoria was definitely not someone to underestimate. After all, Tiana indeed said those things to him.

What made it worse was how soft and sweet her voice was, like she was a gentle, lovesick woman rather than someone terrifying enough to make the entire city tread carefully.

Anyone who did not know better might be fooled into thinking she was just an elegant, tender noblewoman.

Nonetheless, Andrew had been warned by Tiana. He knew that behind that curtain was not some fragile beauty. Instead, there lay a terrifying figure who was nearly a martial saint.

Victoria added, "I caught a cold these past few days and have been feeling quite unwell. I've heard that you have amazing medical skills and great talent, and are now Blumedale's renowned Grand Physician. Since you're here, why don't you take a look at my conditions?"

Clearly, she didn't care how suspicious it looked or what Andrew might think.

After hesitating briefly, Andrew stepped forward and sat by the curtain's edge. From behind it, a pale, slender arm slipped out—delicate fingers, painted in a soft pink polish, nails filed to perfection.

It was almost impossibly beautiful.

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