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“…” Charles Mcintosh still couldn’t make a decision.

He had no choice but to remain silent.

When nobody responded to Chale Cheney, he became really angry! Very angry! “None of you is paying attention to the baby, the baby won’t pay attention to you either, really. Starting now, whoever talks to the baby first is the bad guy.” The corner of Sylvan Cheney’s mouth twitched, Childish.

This intelligence… fluctuates so much.

Chale Cheney grumbled to himself, not saying anything again.

The car moved forward, and silence fell inside.

But!!!

Chale Cheney just couldn’t sit still!

With nobody talking, it felt so unbearable!

Why could Elder Cheney and Uncle Mcintosh remain so quiet?

Don’t they like talking? Why would someone not like talking?

He can’t hold it in anymore!

Chale Cheney can’t hold it in anymore!

All of a sudden—his eyes lit up!

He hopped over towards Charles Mcintosh, whispering in a secretive manner.

“Uncle Mcintosh, I will tell you a secret that no one knows, only you.”

“…” Charles Mcintosh looked at the sky.

“Uncle Mcintosh, don’t you want to hear it?”

Chale Cheney was hurt, not very happy, his small face looked wronged.

“I do.” Charles Mcintosh had no choice but to go along.

He glanced in the mirror, Sylvan Cheney at the back had his eyes closed, expressionless, he didn’t seem to be sleeping though.

Chale Cheney became instantly happy: “Yesterday, I saw Jasy being very intimate with an uncle, Uncle Mcintosh, do you think Jasy doesn’t want me anymore?”

Hmm?

Is this a secret or a question?

Charles Mcintosh felt troubled.

“No.” he answered.

“I’m really scared Jasy won’t want me, I like her a lot, so much.”

“Who is that uncle?” Charles Mcintosh asked.

This was actually a question on behalf of Sylvan Cheney.

“I didn’t see clearly, only saw the back view, he touched Jasy’s hand, Jasy smiled at him.”

“…” Charles Mcintosh did not say anything more.

“Uncle Mcintosh!”

“Uncle Mcintosh!”

Chale Cheney was frustrated, why was he being ignored again.

“You all don’t like talking to me.”

Chale Cheney sat in his chair disappointedly, his hands wringing pitifully, his face hurt.

Throughout the journey, Sylvan Cheney did not utter a single word.

And Charles Mcintosh, dared not say anything.

At last tired of speaking, Chale Cheney climbed onto the seat, and slept on Sylvan Cheney’s lap.

He looked especially well-behaved when asleep, his lashes curled and long, casting fan-shaped shadows under his eyelids.

Chale Cheney was clinging to Sylvan Cheney’s leg, unwilling to let go.

Just like a docile little kitten.

Sylvan Cheney opened his eyes, his hand gently patting Chale’s back.

When Chale Cheney fell completely asleep, his hand touched the boy’s fluffy hair.

The fingertips lingered for a few seconds on Chale Cheney’s eyebrows and eyes.

Charles Mcintosh glanced at Sylvan Cheney through the mirror.

The man’s face had lost its coldness and arrogance, replaced with a few shades of affection undetectable to ordinary people.

Sylvan Cheney took his suit jacket and draped it over the little fellow.

The good boy tucked under the jacket, only showing a cute small face that was white and fair.

Sleeping soundly, he was holding onto Sylvan Cheney’s leg, not moving an inch.

It was like a small snail.

At seven-thirty, there was still a hint of mist in the air.

The Rolls-Royce stopped at the entrance of the Cheney Residence.

Charles Mcintosh opened the car door, Butler Santana was already waiting.

Sylvan Cheney, with the sleeping child in his arms, strode steadily towards the house.

He knew the young boy had cried half the night yesterday, his voice had turned hoarse from screaming “Jasy”.

He carried Chale Cheney to the bedroom on the third floor, gently closing the door behind him.

After he came downstairs, Butler Santana dared to speak.

“Mr. Cheney, breakfast is ready..”