Pampered By My Three Brothers: The Return Of The Neglected Heiress - Chapter 1600

Chapter 1600: Where… did this picture come from?
When Penny arrived at the laboratory, she didn’t idle—she got to work immediately.

But alas…

She froze as soon as she reached her spot. Her eyes fell on the countless open books and notes scattered before her, then on the whiteboards covered in scribbles. She didn’t need to guess whose handwriting it was, nor who had the habit of leaving such a mess. Well, compared to her, this mess was nothing. She even considered it clean writing.

“I told him not to poke his nose in my business,” she grumbled under her breath.

Still, she leaned closer and studied the equations on the whiteboard. For others, these were nothing but random writing, but for her, it was a coherent thought process in writing.

Her jaw tightened like a vise. She didn’t like what those equations were telling her. Most of them were theories she had toyed with during late nights but hadn’t recorded here. Moving to the open notebooks, she noticed the other theories—Dean’s notes.

“When did he do all of this?” she whispered, flipping through the pages.

The more she read, the grimmer her expression became. After several minutes, only one conclusion formed in her mind.

“He’s saying… there is no antidote?” she murmured, frowning. “How is that possible?”

Her lips curved downward as she glanced at the books on the counter. Unwilling to accept Dean’s theory, she began checking the rest. Yet every solution she considered had already been tested by Dean. Still, she persisted.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Dean—it was just that she couldn’t accept anything until she saw it for herself.

With that thought in mind, Penny got to work. She began scribbling a few of her own ideas in a fresh notepad, determined to test them. However, just before she could finish writing, the door suddenly flew open from the outside.

“Wait a second!”

Penny jolted, eyes darting toward the entrance. Dean entered hurriedly, stopping across from her.

“Dean, what the hell?” she hissed, immediately catching the dark circles around his eyes and his pale complexion. “You look like crap! Have you even slept?”

Dean ignored her and reached for one of the nearby notebooks. Penny arched a brow.

“What now? You just concluded there’s no antidote.”

Still, he didn’t respond.

Dean flipped through the pages until he stopped on one. He scanned it silently, but intently.

Penny, surprisingly, stayed quiet. “Did you find something?”

“…We shouldn’t be working on this at all,” Dean finally said, lifting his gaze. “Not when it’s been years since either of us developed a drug.”

With that, he dragged over a stool and sat across from her, flipping the note back to her.

“Look at this theory,” he said, pointing at it. “It doesn’t share the same properties as the Miracle Drug. We’re missing another, almost indistinguishable component. But with this additive—if we combine it correctly—it turns the poison effective. That same property might be the key.”

His voice carried a flicker of excitement.

Dean hadn’t considered the idea until earlier, when he’d distracted everyone from the Zoren-Atlas scandal by turning attention to himself and Atlas instead. Just like this drug—its known properties misled others, focusing them on the wrong solution.

“Oh, my god…” Penny’s eyes widened as she turned to him. “You’re a freaking genius!”

“Let’s get to work and see if we’re right.”

And so, for the first time in a long while, Dean and Penny worked together on an antidote. They didn’t bicker. They didn’t trade sarcastic remarks or barbed comments.

They just worked—silent, synchronized—as if nothing else mattered except the results.

The moment reminded them of a long-lost time. A quieter past where Penny had been a short, chubby girl, and Dean a tall, sharp-eyed teen. Back when they’d play with chemicals like it was a game.

—

[BENNET MANSION]

Charles descended the staircase and spotted Butler Jen and a few helpers packing Slater’s belongings. Slater would be moving out over the weekend, and the household staff was already assisting to make the transition smoother.

One would wonder if this was just pure help, or if this action was out of excitement.

“You’re heading out again, sir?” Butler Jen asked when he saw Charles approach.

Charles gave a casual nod. “I’ll be back later, just picked up some things I forgot this morning. Haines is going to kill me.”

“I doubt he would.” Butler Jen smiled and dipped his head respectfully.

Charles paused near him, his eyes on the boxes being carried out. Several had already been stacked by the entrance, ready for the movers.

“You shouldn’t be carrying all of that,” Charles remarked, casting Jen a disapproving look. “Slater’s the one moving—he should be doing it himself.”

Butler Jen chuckled. “It’s the least we could do for the Third Young Master. We’re happy to help.”

“Tch. That’s why he’s so spoiled,” Charles muttered, clicking his tongue. His eyes swept the area, noting some items that had fallen from one of the boxes. “I’m going.”

“Yes, Master.”

Charles waved him off and casually strolled toward the door. But just as he reached the entrance, he stopped.

“Hmm?”

His brow lifted, eyes drifting back toward the boxes. On the floor, near one of them, lay a small photo—its edges worn, its image barely faded. Something about it made him pause.

Deep lines appeared on his forehead. A strange instinct told him to walk away. But something tugged at his attention.

The photo didn’t belong to his wife—Charles knew every portrait of her by heart, old and new. This was someone else.

Driven by curiosity, he took a few steps back. His back gave a small protest as he bent to pick it up—but before his fingers could touch it, he stopped.

“Sir?” Butler Jen’s voice came from behind. He furrowed his brow, concerned by Charles’ frozen stance. “Master, are you alright?”

He tilted his head, trying to glimpse Charles’ expression.

When he saw it, Jen’s concern deepened.

Charles’ face was blank. Pale. As if he’d just seen a ghost.

Slowly, Butler Jen followed his gaze and saw the photograph Charles had nearly picked up but couldn’t.

“…Butler Jen,” Charles said at last, his voice low and cold. “Where… did this picture come from?”