When The Family Reads The Fake Heiress Mind novel Chapter 212

It was the painting.

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Finished

That massive, ominous eye staring from the wall–a single, ink–black pupil radiating a bone–deep chill. The kind of cold that crept down the spine, clung to the skin like invisible fret.

Jean’s scalp prickled. Her brows furrowed in discomfort.

“You’re awake?”

Queenie’s voice broke the silence as she sat down across from her, separated only by a plain, rustic wooden table.

She smiled–but the smile was shallow, her eyes frosted with concealed menace.

Jean opened her mouth, but no words came out at first.

Because she’d caught the scent.

It clung faintly to her clothes–a subdued, aged aroma, like mellow sandalwood soaked in time. It brought with it an oddly grounding calm.

This wasn’t just any smell.

Jean’s eyes sharpened in an instant, her voice cold and certain. “Let me guess. You used some kind of sedative incense in my room–something that made me feel like I was having sleep paralysis? My mind was awake, but I couldn’t fully come to?”

Queenie didn’t flinch. She nodded matter–of–factly. “Not bad. You’re right. It’s a special calming incense developed by the Secret Service. Even the smallest amount induces a foggy, dreamlike state–almost impossible to wake from on your own.”

She shrugged with faux innocence. “Couldn’t bring you here quietly without it, after all.”

Here…

Jean’s gaze swept across the room once more.

Aside from the ancient table and the walls covered in ink landscape paintings, it was completely empty.

Another interrogation room–but this one was utterly foreign. Unlike anything else in the Secret Service compound.

“Where is this?” she asked, voice laced with ice.

Queenie leaned forward, her eyes catching the overhead light like the surface of deep ocean at night. “Well, you wouldn’t tell the truth… so I had no choice but to bring you to a higher–level interrogation room.”

She hadn’t expected this girl to guess her thoughts so perfectly.

There was a long pause.

Then Queenie finally exhaled, speaking slowly, her tone veiled and heavy. “It’s not just that… Jean, don’t you realize how strange you are?”

Jean raised an eyebrow, curious.

“You’re just a teenager. And yet-” Queenie’s voice was low but deliberate. “The way you handled interrogation. The way you stood your ground, even against someone like me. The calm, the poise, the

composure…

She leaned back in her chair slightly, her gaze sharp and amused. “It’s unnatural. Unsettling.”

“You’re not normal. And if you’re part of a mysterious organization, that would explain everything.”

Jean scoffed and tilted her head. “Oh, so now I’m not allowed to be mature?”

She smiled coldly. “What’s next? Arresting me for emotional self–control?”