Maxwell Peary, with a dark expression, reached out to scoop up a certain self-satisfied person standing nearby, securely fixing her in his arms.
"Sit properly. Don’t move."
Chiding the woman for her fidgeting, he adjusted her to sit sideways, planting her firmly on his lap.
"Have you forgotten who you are?"
He hugged her, inhaling her fresh scent.
Nia Mitchell flushed, her hand that had been grabbing his collar now controlled by Maxwell Peary.
She felt wronged. How could she dare to forget?
"Really? Then what do you think you should call me?"
He guided her patiently, his intentions clear enough.
Nia Mitchell stiffened awkwardly. Turning her head slightly, she found his handsome face very close, seeming magnified.
Blushing, she sat on his lap, one of her arms pressed against his chest, and it seemed she could feel his heartbeat.
His hot breath lightly caressed one of her small ears, and she flinched, dodging to the side.
"But I got used to calling you uncle."
She acted cute and well-behaved, hoping he would let her off.
Maxwell Peary didn’t force her; after all, he had a lifetime to wait for her to naturally start calling him that.
"Alright, what do you think I should call you?" Maxwell Peary asked in a low voice.
Nia Mitchell sat up straight, feeling extremely embarrassed. Her mind felt like it was full of paste, and she had no capacity for thinking whatsoever.
"Don’t you always call me Nia?" Thɪs chapter is updated by 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝•𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾•𝘯𝘦𝘵
Although sometimes, in exasperation, he would call her by her full name, he always called her Nia when outsiders were present.
Maxwell Peary chuckled softly. "If you can list all the names I’ve called you from before till now, I will allow you to continue calling me uncle. What do you think of this deal?"
Upon hearing this, Nia Mitchell turned her head to look into Maxwell Peary’s eyes, to confirm the truth of his words.
"You’re not tricking me?"
Her eyes widened. She could hardly believe it. Was he letting her off just like that? She wasn’t used to this. COUGH, COUGH. She started to suspect she was a masochist.
"Then you’re not allowed to go back on your word, okay? I’ll call you uncle from now on."
Nia Mitchell didn’t give Maxwell Peary a chance to reply and finalized the deal.
She wanted to throw her head back and laugh. That capitalist, Uncle Peary, was actually making a losing deal! HAHAHAHA, she’d scored!
"I won’t go back on my word. I’m afraid you will."
Nia Mitchell looked incredulous. Why would *she* be the one to regret it?
"I won’t! I swear to heaven that I won’t regret it!"
She shot up a small paw.
"Uncle, I want to make a pinky promise! Whoever breaks it is a dog!"
Maxwell Peary’s face darkened. This Rabina Mitchell is becoming more and more childish.
But he still stretched out his right pinky finger.
This was probably the first time Nia Mitchell had been so eager to take his hand... umm... take his pinky.
"Pinky promise, hang yourself if you go back on it, a hundred years no change! Stamped! Done!"
Like a cat that had stolen some fish, Rabina Mitchell grinned from ear to ear after making the pinky promise.
By the time Maxwell Peary regained his senses, Nia Mitchell had already withdrawn her small hand. But the sensation of her touch still lingered on his fingertip, and he was particularly loath for it to fade.
Such a soft, warm little hand... How could he, in a moment of inattention, have let her slip away?
"Alright, Uncle, now unless you admit that you’re a dog, you can’t go back on your word! From now on, I’ll always call you Uncle, Uncle, Uncle!"
Nia Mitchell kept calling out "Uncle" in front of him, her expression smug, as though she had already won.