Chapter 196

If that were the case, she was even more terrifying than I had imagined.

Teresa gave a weak smile, her lips still a bit too pale. “It’s all thanks to Bry’s

devotion. Even though I’ve been bedridden for years, I’ve been well cared for.

And it’s precisely because of this, you see, that I felt completely at ease

entrusting Margaret to him.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t help but twitch the corner of my mouth, pretending not to

catch the hidden meaning in her words. “That’s nice.”

She had played the other woman herself and then set up her daughter to play

the same role. Sadly, her daughter got a taste for it and didn’t even spare her

marriage. With that, I planned to head back to my room.

“Ms. Webster.” But Teresa stopped me. “We came because Margaret

received some rather peculiar photos, and you’re involved, too. It wouldn’t be

right to show them to Bry without you, so please join us.”

I frowned, sensing it wasn’t going to be good news.

With one hand casually in his pocket, Bryant spoke calmly, “Let’s go

downstairs. Jane must be starving.”

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Once downstairs, Margaret couldn’t wait to speak, but Bryant gave her a

chilling glance. “I already mentioned Jane’s skipped breakfast. What’s the

matter so urgent it can’t delay a bit?”

With that, he patted my shoulder, signaling me to go and have breakfast.

Margaret pouted, frustrated. “You’re still defending her! Wait till you see the

photos, and you’ll know I was only looking out for you!”

“Enough, Margaret.” Experience always has the upper hand. Teresa didn’t

rush. “Let Ms. Webster have her breakfast first. Bry, you haven’t eaten, either.

Go on now.”

Indeed, my stomach was growling, so I made my way to the dining room.

Gary instructed the staff to serve breakfast. Despite the Ferguson family’s

wealth, Timothy always frowned upon wastefulness, a tradition maintained at

the Ferguson Mansion. Thus, breakfast was for two, including vegetable

salad, pancakes, bread, milk, and oatmeal, accompanied by seasonal fruits.

“Do you like it?” Seeing me enjoy the meal, Bryant, sitting nearby, paused

and asked with a smile.

“Glad you like it.” He smiled faintly, his voice soft, “I can have them cook for

you every day.”

“Yeah.” He also paused, his emotions unreadable, before responding with a

word.

Then, we ate our breakfast in utter silence.

Bryant had finished his meal long before me, waiting patiently, albeit

reluctantly, “You shouldn’t always think the worst of them.”