"However, Sylvan Cheney truly underestimated Chale Cheney.
This little one, is particularly stubborn.
He lay quietly on the table, hugging his toy tiger, refusing to listen to Sylvan.
Sylvan was a hot-tempered man, and when the child acted up, he simply ordered Butler Santana—
"No one is to bring him food!"
Butler Santana was in a difficult spot, hesitating, but still ventured, "Mr. Cheney, the child is in the growing stage, this... might not be appropriate, should I go and coax him?"
"Cannot understand my words?"
"Oh… yes, yes." Butler Santana had to nod reluctantly.
She knew about Mr. Cheney's temperament, his word was law.
She just did not expect that he would be this way with his own son.
"Where is Tomer?" Sylvan spoke, a cold light brewing in his eyes.
"Going over account books."
"Ask her to come over."
"Yes."
Butler Santana always felt that the living room was shrouded in a gloomy atmosphere, exceptionally oppressive, and a coldness was emanating from Sylvan.
