Transmigration: The Tyrant General Can Hear My Thoughts

Chapter 227: Chapter Two Hundred And Twenty Six

Murry walked slowly across the floor. He stopped a few feet away from her chair and bowed his gray head very respectfully.

"For you, My Lady," Murry said softly. He held the white envelope out toward her with both hands. "A messenger just delivered this to the front gates."

Camilla reached out her small, pale hand. She took the envelope gently.

"Thank you, Uncle Murry," Camilla said, offering him a warm, friendly smile.

Murry bowed again. "You are very welcome, My Lady. Have a peaceful rest."

He turned around quickly and walked out of the room, closing the door securely behind him.

Camilla was alone again.

She looked at the front of the envelope. There was no official royal wax seal, and there was no family crest. It was just a plain, simple white envelope. But written in the center of the paper, in very neat, elegant handwriting, was her name: Lady Camilla Benson.

She knew that handwriting immediately. It was from her business partner, Allen Benson.

Camilla quickly broke the paper seal. She pulled out the folded letter and opened it. She began to read the written words quietly.

Dear Sister-in-law,

I am writing to inform you of some wonderful news. Our first shipment of southern silk and fine fabrics has officially arrived at the shop today. The cargo is safe, and the quality is absolutely exquisite. If you are free, please come to the textile shop tomorrow morning. I would love for you to see the fabrics and help me finalize our first sales strategy. Your investment is already showing great promise.

Sincerely, Allen.

Camilla finished reading the final line of the letter.

Another overwhelming wave of happiness flooded her entire chest once again. It was almost too much joy for her heart to handle.

She slowly stood up from her chair. She walked over to the bed.

She fell backward onto the soft mattress.

She laid flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes were shining with a beautiful light. She raised both of her hands and clutched the white paper letter tightly against her chest, holding it right over her heart like a precious, invaluable treasure.

"I am afraid my heart will burst from happiness," Camilla murmured softly to herself in the quiet, dim room. A very sweet, genuine smile curled the corners of her pink lips.

She squeezed the paper closer to her chest.

"On one hand, I have a gold mine now," she whispered to the empty room, her voice full of happy wonder. "And on the other hand, I am about to start enjoying my investment in the textile business. Everything is going perfectly. I am going to be the richest woman in this entire kingdom."

She closed her eyes, feeling warm and secure, clutching the letter tightly to her chest.

Meanwhile, downstairs in the study, Damon had quickly found his military ledger.

He held the thick book under his arm. He walked back out into the quiet hallway and began to climb the grand staircase, heading back up to the second floor. He wanted to go back to the bedroom.

As he reached the top landing of the stairs, he stopped.

He saw Mr. Murry walking down the long hallway, coming away from their bedroom door. The older housekeeper was holding his small oil lamp.

Damon quickly raised his hand.

He signaled Murry to remain silent. He did not want the housekeeper to speak or announce his presence. He wanted to enter the room quietly.

Murry saw the General’s signal. He immediately stopped walking. He bowed his gray head very deeply, showing his respect, and quietly turned down the side hallway toward the servants’ stairs to go to his own room.

Damon walked slowly and silently down the long, carpeted corridor.

He reached the door of the master bedroom. He placed his hand on the brass handle. He turned it very slowly, preparing to push the door open.

But as the door opened just a tiny, dark crack, Damon stopped moving.

He peeked through the small opening.

He expected to see Camilla still jumping on the bed, or perhaps reading her book, or counting her profits.

But what he actually saw violently shattered his heart.

Camilla was lying flat on her back in the center of the large bed. Her eyes were closed. Her red curly hair was spread beautifully over the white pillows.

And she had a very soft, gentle, and genuine smile on her face. It was the look of a woman who was deeply, truly in love.

But she was not holding her book. She was not holding a gold coin.

She was clutching a white piece of paper tightly against her chest. She held the letter right over her heart, squeezing it close to her body as if it were the most precious, most valuable thing in the entire world.

Damon stood frozen in the dark hallway.

His breath caught violently in his throat. His entire body went stiff. The military ledger under his arm felt like a block of ice, pressing against his ribs.

All the color drained completely from his face.

Damon did not hear her soft, quiet whispers. The door blocked her quiet voice, and the distance was too great. He could only see her physical actions. He saw her clutching a secret letter to her chest with a beautiful, loving smile.

A sudden, terrifying painful word instantly crashed into his brain.

"Winston."

Damon’s heart gave an agonizing jolt. It felt like a sharp steel sword had just been driven directly through the center of his chest, twisting in his flesh.

He firmly believed that the letter she was holding was a secret love letter from her lover, Winston. He believed that Winston had found a way to write to her. He believed she was smiling so beautifully because she was communicating with the man she truly loved.

She was lying in his bed, inside his house, but her heart was completely with another man.

A wave of agonizing jealousy and deep, crushing hurt flooded his entire body.

Damon’s right hand, which was resting on the brass handle of the door, began to shake violently. He reached out and grabbed the doorframe tightly with his fingers. He squeezed the wood so hard that his knuckles turned white, and the old wood actually made a soft, groaning sound under his massive strength.

He felt physically sick to his stomach. The pain in his chest was so intense that he had to close his eyes tightly to stop the tears of frustration from forming.

Damon slowly, painfully pulled his hand away from the doorframe. He lowered his head.

He could not stand to watch her smile for another man for another single second. It was too much torture.

Damon did not push the door open. He did not enter the bedroom.

He slowly turned his broad body around. He walked quietly back down the dark hallway, his steps heavy, slow, and empty of all energy. He carried his ledger and his broken, bleeding heart back down into the dark, lonely silence of his study downstairs.