Pampered by my three brothers: the return of the neglected heiress novel Chapter 1390

Chapter 1390: A chilling pattern

Meanwhile, in the Prime Group Penthouse.

Penny stood motionless in front of the minibar, staring at the bottle of wine before her. After a moment, she reached for it along with a corkscrew. The aroma immediately assaulted her nostrils the second she heard the cork pop.

"Gosh. I can’t believe I’m resorting to this," she mumbled to herself, shrugging as she carried the bottle to the master bedroom. Ever since Hugo had built the investigation board, she’d had the lock replaced with a fingerprint scanner.

Now, she was the only one who could enter.

Penny closed the door behind her, each step echoing louder than it should. Stopping by the side of the room, she pulled the string on the tall lamp and adjusted it to illuminate the board before her.

Again, her eyes landed on the board, covered with information about both the first and current timelines. With two lifetimes’ worth of memories, it was almost impossible to keep track of everything unless the details were truly pivotal.

Yet, no matter how many key events she mapped out, they still didn’t seem to connect to the one truth she was searching for.

"Jonathan," she whispered, placing the bottle down and picking up a pin. She grabbed a printed photograph of the orphanage and pinned it beside Jonathan’s photo. Taking a step back, Penny crossed her arms under her chest.

"Nathaniel..." she murmured again, her eyes scanning the board carefully. Narrowing her gaze, she stood in complete silence.

"What if..." she trailed off, her mind forming a thought — only to be interrupted by the sudden buzz of her phone.

The room had been so quiet that the vibration felt like a clap of thunder. Penny flinched, wincing as she huffed sharply.

"I was this close to having another theory," she grumbled, fishing out her phone to check the screen. Her expression soured upon seeing Slater’s name. She instinctively glanced at the door, only to remind herself that she had already changed the lock and shut it.

He wouldn’t be showing up in this room unannounced again.

"Let’s talk later, Third Brother," she mumbled, turning away. "Your sister is currently playing detective."

Without answering the call or bothering to send a message, Penny placed her phone down and picked up the bottle of wine.

No matter how long she stared at the board, no new insights were coming to her. Perhaps she had too much to juggle in this lifetime, making it difficult to keep up with the last one. Maybe — just maybe — the drunk Penny would remember something the sober Penny couldn’t.

Even though her memories remained intact, whether she was sober or drunk, there was still a strange disconnect. The drunk Penny couldn’t recall anything before they had come to terms with their situation, and likewise, the sober Penny had no recollection of what the drunk Penny had done before she learned to control it.

In simple explanation, she still couldn’t clearly remember how she and Zoren had gotten married, or how she had made it possible. She had simply accepted what had happened based on the evidence — and on drunk Penny’s claims.

In other words, there were still many things sober Penny didn’t know about her own past actions.

"Besides..." she murmured, gripping the bottle tighter. "Maybe—just maybe—this is the very reason I have this other me."

What if Penny had unconsciously created this alternate, drunk version of herself to preserve memories from the previous timeline? It wasn’t impossible, considering drunk Penny clung to the persona of Penelope Bennet—the very version of herself that sober Penny refused to become.

The police report detailed their deaths: some had drowned during family outings, others had been hit by cars after running into the street, and others had met similarly tragic ends. The earliest death had occurred only a year after adoption.

One or two cases could be dismissed as unfortunate incidents. But when all the records were compiled together, the pattern was chilling.

Not a single one had survived past seventeen.

None had reached adulthood. The majority hadn’t even lived to see their teenage years.

Clicking out of the file to collect herself, Penny finally read Wild’s message.

[From: Willard Oakes

Penelope, whatever you’re trying to get yourself into, I’m telling you, kid. Whatever this is? You’re about to step on a pile of turd. I don’t feel good about this.]

A lump formed in Penny’s throat as she read his words.

"I feel the same, Uncle Wild," she whispered to herself, pressing her lips together before clicking back into the file.

This time, she read through each record carefully. _{frёewebnoѵēl.com}

"I don’t feel good about this at all."