Chale Cheney felt wronged and could only obediently scoop up the porridge with his spoon to eat.
"Is it delicious?" Sylvan Cheney couldn't help but ask.
Chale Cheney shook his head: "It doesn't seem to be too tasty, does it?"
"Oh, you'll just have to make do." Sylvan Cheney smirked.
As for Jasmine Yale's cooking skills, he wasn't exactly a fan, and Chale Cheney had unfortunately inherited his picky eating habits.
He's always been choosy from a young age.
Picky even when eating plain porridge.
"Mmm." The little guy scooped a mouthful with his spoon, obediently eating.
Sylvan Cheney accompanied Chale Cheney for a while before calling Butler Santana into the private rest room at the hospital.
"What happened?"
Sylvan Cheney glanced at Butler Santana, his gaze icy and strict.
Butler Santana lowered his head: "Mr. Cheney, the young master was fine last night, but started having a stomachache this morning. The doctor checked and said it was food poisoning."
"What did he eat?"
