"That's just her wishful thinking." Nicholas Croft's eyes were still closed in rest, his words devoid of mercy.
Beatrice Hargrave blinked her eyes, a trace of smugness quickly flitted across them, and vanished in an instant.
Soon after, she resumed an image of innocence.
"Uncle Nicholas, have you greeted my father yet? Also, why are we going to your house?"
Nicholas Croft did not speak again, his eyes closed as if he had fallen asleep.
"Uncle Nicholas?"
"Uncle Nicholas?" Seeing Nicholas Croft not responding, Beatrice reached into her jeans pocket for her phone, pretending to make a call.
"I'll call my father and ask him to send a driver to pick me up."
"Beatrice!" Nicholas Croft suddenly opened his eyes, his brows furrowed in a mix of reprimand and helplessness. In his urgency, he actually called Beatrice by her nickname.
He grabbed Beatrice's wrist with his large hand, and before she could react, he had taken her phone to check if the number had been dialed.
