Yancy Hastings’s face was grim. His hands were clenched tightly as he stood still, staring at the Hampton father and son. "So, how should we handle it?" He was acting like a ruffian. He turned, sat on the long bench, crossed his legs, and appeared remarkably relaxed. The Hampton father and son wished they could be as relaxed, but the soldiers flanking them made it hard for them to even breathe deeply. What if we anger this man? Wouldn’t we be killed right here on the spot? Damn it! This man gallivants around Capital Town with guns and an army. Isn’t he just slapping our faces, telling us he’s someone we can’t afford to provoke? It’s over. Why are we, the victims, now being interrogated like murderers, hearts pounding in terror? "But...we are the victims after all. Look, she’s still in the operating room and hasn’t come out yet." Although Mr. Hampton knew they couldn’t afford to provoke Maxwell Peary, they hadn’t been the ones to initiate the conflict this time. It was Nia Mitchell’s fault; their side was in the wrong. Yancy Hastings raised an eyebrow. His resolute features seemed to carry a faint scent of blood, making others afraid to meet his gaze directly. "So... so you should at least cover the surgical fees and compensation for damages. We don’t know the full extent of her injuries yet, or if there will be any long-term complications..." Yancy Hastings shot to his feet, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Do you think you’re in a position to negotiate these terms now?" He didn’t care whose fault it was; he only knew these people had provoked the wrong person. Nia Mitchell obediently wrapped her arms around Maxwell Peary’s neck, letting him carry her. Like a child, she depended on him, continuously drawing warmth from his presence. Nia Mitchell called him in a soft, sweet voice, and Maxwell Peary looked down at her in his arms. "What’s wrong? Are you uncomfortable somewhere?" Nia Mitchell shook her head, tears welled in her eyes, looking as if they would spill over with the slightest movement. "I didn’t want to. I didn’t do it on purpose. She was grabbing my leg and wouldn’t let me go. And he was choking me, that’s why I kicked her. I didn’t know it would turn out ..." She didn’t dare to recall the scene—so much blood. She knew she had caused a terrible disaster. What if Mrs. Hampton doesn’t get better? What if... what if Mrs. Hampton doesn’t make it? Just thinking of the word ’death’ made her tremble. Seeing the little woman in his arms was genuinely terrified, Maxwell Peary bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "It’s alright, nothing will happen. You’re so small; how much destructive power could you possibly have, right? Don’t think about it anymore. We’re going home." Maxwell Peary had sped here in his car, but with Nia Mitchell clinging to him so tightly, he obviously couldn’t drive now. So he hailed a taxi, and the two returned to Royal Bay Villa. It was a bumpy ride, and by the time they arrived home, Nia Mitchell had already fallen asleep. Maxwell Peary gazed at her sleeping face—beautiful and elegant. Her usual elfin quirkiness and mischievousness were tucked away; now, she was like a sleeping princess, waiting for his kiss. Maxwell Peary didn’t wake her. He lifted her into his arms. The butler came out to greet them, looking somewhat surprised. Heavens, my Young Master actually returned in a taxi! Heavens, my Young Master is carrying the Young Mistress back in his arms! It’s all over. I’m getting old; my eyes are even deceiving me. I must be hallucinating. "Prepare some porridge and keep it warm in the pot." It’s not dinnertime yet, but she’ll probably be hungry when she wakes up. Maxwell Peary looked down at Nia Mitchell in his arms, his brow deeply furrowed. He would not let a single one of those who had harmed her escape. Thıs content belongs to novel•fire.net And that man on the phone earlier, the one who demanded Nia Mitchell sleep with someone... just let him wait to face my wrath!