Evelyn Clayton watched his back, feeling an urge to run up and punch him.
She slammed the door heavily, sarcastically replying, "Good that you know."
James Grant sat down on the sofa, his eyes falling on the half-eaten porridge on the coffee table.
Without needing to think, he knew who brought it.
His brows furrowed, visibly annoyed, as he tossed the bowl and porridge into the trash without hesitation.
Evelyn saw it and retorted unceremoniously, "Your heart is tinier than a needle!"
She sat opposite him, wearing only a comfortable home outfit.
Her pink bunny-ear pajamas made her skin look fair and translucent. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by NoveI-Fire.ɴet
"What did Harrison Grant say?"
"Evelyn Clayton, is there nothing else you care about?"
James Grant sounded slightly impatient.
Every time she met him, she would start by questioning Harrison Grant,
now, even when he’s throwing a tantrum, she hasn’t said a word.
He felt like he had turned into a tool.
Evelyn froze for a moment, her eyelids drooping, red lips pressed tightly, thoughts complex.
Even though James had put it this way, she took a breath and insisted, "James, I need to know."
Because it’s related to the truth about her father’s death.
James’s deep eyes stared at her, the intense gaze seemed to burn holes into her face, his voice low and cold.
"Harrison Grant didn’t say anything, he just asked if I had harmed Summer Monroe."
It was almost what she expected.
Harrison Grant was cunning, not so easily investigated.
A tremendous sense of powerlessness washed over her.
Evelyn lifted her chin, breathing deeply, feeling like she couldn’t catch her breath, fatigue overwhelming her.
"Leave, I’m tired, I need to rest."
She was very tired, closed her eyes briefly, stood up, and walked to the bedroom.
Watching her slender, frail back, James found it extraordinarily painful.
His eyes were dark, brows furrowed with gloom.
And Evelyn had already entered the room, closing the door, locking it.
The living room was silent, unbearably oppressive.
After an unknown amount of time, the man sitting on the sofa finally stood up.
He did not leave, but walked directly to the bedroom door, his long and slender hand reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.
His face turned dark, his thin lips pressed into a tight line.
A few seconds later, he abruptly lifted his leg, using a huge force to crash through the door.
He strode in, entering the unlit bedroom.
The lighting in the bedroom was equally dim, devoid of any life.
James raised his hand and flipped the switch, seeing the person on the bed curled into a ball, blanket wrapped tightly around.
He stood at the door, calling out softly.
The person on the bed didn’t respond, an unexplainable rage surged up.
James strode forward and yanked the blanket away.
A wave of cold invaded, Evelyn couldn’t help but shiver, her body curling up.
When she lifted her eyes, they were red and swollen.
She bit her lower lip, stifling her sobs, looking at James’s face, her eyes filled with some resentment.
James’s hand, which had pulled the blanket, froze, and his whole body stiffened on the spot, momentarily taken aback.
His throat seemed caught, unable to utter a word.
Her voice was hoarse, so low it was filled with grievances.
James pressed his thin lips, his eyes filled with complex emotions.
He didn’t move away, but crouched beside the bed to her level, his dark eyes looking at her, his tone slightly gentler, "Why are you crying?"
The emotions she had been trying so hard to suppress collapsed upon hearing his soft-spoken words.