Chale Cheney's small hand was still gripping Sylvan Cheney's sleeve secretly and unwillingly to let go.
That training ground... definitely not a pleasant place.
He didn't want to go.
"I know you have a sense of propriety. I won't worry too much, and I can't be bothered to worry." Spencer Childe said in a displeased tone.
This grandson of his, always only knew how to contradict him.
He glanced at Chale Cheney again. This little one tears up before he could even reprimand him once.
Such a weakling.
He didn't know who Sylvan had a child with, perhaps his mother was also a weakling.
Although Yolanda Fern was ambitious, Spencer Childe appreciated her in some respects.
She was smart, ambitious, willing to work hard, had organized many art exhibitions at her young age, and was proficient in all aspects of Chinese arts and crafts.
The atmosphere suddenly chilled.
Sylvan Cheney frowned deeply, his face gloomy.
