Chester Yale's dark eyes were as black as ink, spreading an intimidating ferocity that made it impossible to look directly at him.
His thin lips parted slightly, with a deliberate pause after each word.
"I'm even beginning to doubt whether Misha Evans, that coward, dared to commit suicide or if that was also your doing, Uncle..."
There were many things he could conceive but didn't want to believe.
His Uncle, the very man who had groomed him to his current status, was actually the one plotting against him from the shadows.
"Bang—"
Sheldon Yale reached out and sent the vase on the bedside flying to the ground, propped himself up with difficulty on the bed, and glared furiously at Chester Yale.
"For a woman, you have truly gone mad! To think that you would even put the blame of Misha's romantic death on me!"
