The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1131 (Ch.1130) A Quiet Change
Beatrice has indeed started lying.

When Roland met her, he began to subtly ask her questions, and the overdeveloped girl kept rolling her eyes—the silly girl had no wisdom to lie, and every lie she told was clumsy, cute, and made people laugh.

This also proves that Randolph's concerns were correct.

—Who changed Betty?
A rose will never grow up and suddenly turn into a sunflower.

Roland tried to ask her friend about the 'coffin'—that it had 'predicted' the rat plague in advance, which at least proved that it was on Betty's side, wasn't it?
“I don’t know her, Roland…”

The blonde girl squinted and looked timidly at Roland.

But I still accidentally used 'she'.

So far, if a ritual performer deliberately conceals their identity, even the detectors cannot accurately identify them. Unless the executor's 'skills' are used, Roland, Randolph, and everyone in the Taylor mansion are helpless against this girl.

But there are indeed lingering traces around her.

Traces of "secret".

"Are you short of money, Roland?"

While he was meditating, the girl, who had specially changed into new clothes, stood quietly beside him, unusually calm—she even sent Brontë away, leaving Roland alone in her small studio.

She didn't chatter away; instead, she spoke gently like a lady.

This made Roland feel somewhat uncomfortable.

"The child has grown up."

“No, Betty, I don’t need the money. I own a perfume shop, a perfume shop I run in partnership with your brother.”

“…My brother said that people will always be short of money.” Betty pursed her lips, 'hinting' at Roland, “I still have quite a few shares.”

The meaning of "股子" is: Randolph, as his sister, holds a significant number of shares in Golden Smoke.

"That's your brother's life, you silly girl. Do you know what you're saying?"

Beatrice raised her head: "Money is useful to you."

"You're useless to your brother, huh! You traitor! You're a traitor within the family!"

Roland blinked, straddled the painting chair backwards, gripped the seat with both hands, and whispered, "...You can steal some of his treasured cigars for me."

The girl's eyes lit up: "I know where it is!"

"..."

More than money, Randolph valued his cigars, which he had nurtured for many years—in special rooms with specific temperature and humidity, and cared for by special personnel. They were meticulously selected, almost to the point of being "sacrificial offerings"...

The cigars sent to Roland were expensive, but they weren't among these 'fine' items.

Roland brought it up several times, but the mercenary businessman always brushed it off with random excuses.

“Very well. But Betty, your brother is on guard—he's known all along that I'm eyeing cigars and his precious stuff. How could you possibly get past Patton, blindfold Theresa, get away from Brontë, and sneak into his cigar room?”

Without hesitation, the girl replied, "I have a knack for hiding! Miss Coffin, teach me—"

The words paused.

She glared at Roland, a look of betrayal welling up in her beautiful blue-purple eyes.

Roland laughed so hard he almost fell over: "Your friend is really unlucky."

"...Roland."

"Ok?"

"She is a good person."

"how do you know?"

“Good people helped my brother, just like you.”

"But she might have other motives... like the Taylor family's wealth, your brother, or even your flesh and blood, your soul?"

"Roland."

"I am listening."

“You have one too.” The girl looked quietly at the golden-eyed man.

This girl, who had once been bullied by servants and was covered in bruises, was no longer the dull and awkward girl she once was. At this moment, she was calm and precise.

It was as if another soul was attached to this young yet mature body.

Roland was silent.

He does.

嗏

"What is that, Betty?"

Beatrice took a small step forward.

She crossed the 'ladylike limit' and drew near Roland's breath, trying to find the answer to the riddle in the golden lake reflecting her own face.

“…I don’t know, Roland.”

Her voice trembled slightly, and then, a wildfire of red ink dripped rapidly into a glass of clear, colorless water.

The girl blushed and reverted to her usual clumsy self. She still couldn't learn to treat Roland the way Brontë treated her brother.

It's too difficult.

"You...are really beautiful."

"Is she prettier than your friend?"

Beatrice, furious, backed away: "I will never reveal her! She's just a mirror! Roland!"

The angry girl was about to slam the door and leave.

Why are my brother, Roland, Brontë and Theresa all speaking ill of Miss Coffin?

"She's definitely not that kind of person!"

Beatrice turned and left, reaching the door.

“Roland.” She glanced back hesitantly.

"Ok?"

"As the saying goes, a gentleman will never be angry with a lady."

"so?"

"You, you'll stay... for lunch, right?"

"She's kind of cute."
-
I think so.

…………

……

"Mirror."

The man, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, softly repeated Roland's words—the cook hired by the Taylors was indeed from the East, but he was the son of a boatman who had traveled far from home at a young age and grown up in London.

Putting aside cooking techniques, Roland always felt that he was lacking something compared to Yolanda…

Lunch was quite different from what he had eaten in the East.

There's an indescribable difference.

“This is the best I could find, Roland. I don’t think it’s to Betty’s liking.” Randolph glanced sideways. He was often away from home, and all three kitchens were only for his sister—the little one didn’t like Eastern food.

"She just said 'It's delicious'."

“If you put a live, wriggling fish on her plate, she’d probably say, ‘It’s delicious!’—Roland, why is that?” Randolph was angry as he recalled what had just happened.

His sister has indeed grown up.

Roland Collins's damn face...

"Why?" Roland's expression was grave. "It's hard to guess, Randolph. Have you ever considered that Mr. Bellos might have a small amount of Eastern blood, which, coincidentally, awakened in Betty—"

"Roland, you're about to get a beating."

Randolph turned to Tereza and told her to find some time to 'clean up' the 'useless' mirrors in the house.

"...Sir, Miss will make a fuss."

"Can't I hear you outside?" Randolph shrugged. "You're getting old..."

"Benefactor!" Theresa clutched her chest. "Please, have mercy on the old man's ears!"

“Clean it up, Theresa.” Randolph remained unmoved.

The old maid changed the subject: "I don't want Miss to come into contact with that mystical 'friend' either—sir, you should think of a better, safer way for Miss. If there really is someone who knows magic, do you think you can stop them just by smashing a mirror?"

That's true.

This kind of obstruction is not a solution.

Is there a way to solve this once and for all...?

Theresa glanced at Roland discreetly, cleared her throat, and spoke in a loud voice: "I think, sir, it would be better to find a good, peaceful family. It wouldn't be a hardship for Miss. Maybe in half a year, she could go to school... Someone who can protect Miss is much better than your silly square jaw."

Let's leave the school aside for now.

Randolph wasn't stupid; he could tell that Theresa's words had a hidden meaning—this old man's eyes were practically glued to Roland.

Betty?

and…

Collins?
"Teresa".

"gentlemen?"

“You may not realize this yet. Compared to the ‘friends’ in the mirror…” Randolph glanced at the pretty face that was all smiles and a mess, “some people are far more dangerous.”

"But sir, Miss always wants to..."

"I can support her until she's eighty."

Theresa snatched the handkerchief from Randolph's hand in anger, turned and walked away, saying, "You're so healthy!"

(End of this chapter)