But for Evelyn Clayton, this only made her feel annoyed.
Nowadays, she simply doesn’t have the time or energy to think about who she loves or doesn’t love.
On the other side, James Grant returned to the car.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, with several frightening veins bulging on the back of his hand.
He struggled to suppress his emotions, trying not to lose his composure.
After a short while, his phone suddenly rang.
James Grant blinked, his eyes slightly bloodshot.
When he picked up the phone and looked at it, James Grant’s gaze turned slightly cold.
A moment later, he answered the call.
His cold tone clearly displeased the person on the other end.
An old voice, naturally authoritative, emerged. It was Harrison Grant.
Harrison Grant’s words were full of chill: "Where are you?"
James Grant said expressionlessly, "Where am I, don’t you know? Didn’t you send several people to follow me?"
"What kind of attitude is this!" Harrison Grant immediately exploded, scoffing repeatedly, "Good for you! Now you’re starting to question and threaten your old man!"
James Grant held back his annoyance and spoke deliberately, "Is this questioning? This is stating a fact. Moreover, if you send people to follow me again, I assure you they won’t see the sun tomorrow."
After a pause, James said coldly, "Dad, THIS is a threat."
Harrison Grant was breathing heavily in anger, but James Grant had no interest in saying another word to him.
He had long since understood that Harrison Grant’s health wasn’t as bad as he let on.
After all, someone who constantly maintains his health and sees his life and body as more important than anything, how could he get infuriated like that?
Just as James Grant was about to hang up, a woman’s voice suddenly sounded from the other end.
Shirley Owens took over the phone, her words full of flattery and said, "James, your father’s sixtieth birthday is coming up, no matter what, you should come back once, right?"
Upon hearing this, James Grant’s heart inevitably softened for a moment.
Sixtieth birthday, turning sixty, if he doesn’t go— ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ N0v3l.Fiɾe.net
"Besides, let me tell you, James, no matter how stubborn you are, it’s been so many years, isn’t it enough? That Evelyn Clayton might have died God knows where, why do you need to go all the way to Aethelburg for that woman? And for this, you’re delaying your father’s big birthday?"
Shirley Owens began her "earnest education" of James Grant in the tone of an elder.
James Grant’s gaze turned a bit cold.
Before he could speak, Harrison Grant once again roared in anger, "He’d rather lose his family for a dead person! Why are you saying so much to him?"
Shirley Owens continued on the other end with exaggeratedly saying "don’t hold it against the kid," but James Grant’s patience had reached its limit.
He directly hung up the phone.
Three seconds later, the phone rang again.
This time, James Grant pressed hang-up without hesitation and then blocked the number.
Putting his phone on silent, James Grant drove back to the hotel.
The overwhelming fatigue made him fall asleep almost instantly.
He had no idea how long he slept like that.
The phone’s ringtone followed him relentlessly, waking James Grant.
Opening his eyes, he felt nothing but irritation.
But this time, it wasn’t Harrison Grant calling, it was Keith Donovan.
James Grant answered, his tone gloomy and irritable, "What?"
"Wow, what’s wrong with you?" Keith Donovan smacked his lips twice, "Why do you sound so cranky?"
James Grant painfully pinched the bridge of his nose, "Speak properly."
"Bro, I’m in Aethelburg, aren’t you coming to pick up your bro?"