Scott Harris saw it was almost ti, then continued, "But I saw clearly from outside the glass window, Young Madam and Young Master Lyle had no intimate actions. Lord, don’t you trust Young Madam?"
Baron Lawrence was suddenly blocked by his words, his handso face instantly looked grim, and he said nothing.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Enna Clark; it was just that he felt uncomfortable inside, his heart was congested, as if he had a terminal illness, each heartbeat beca a kind of tornt to him.
He finally understood what Scott Harris ant before about believing yet still feeling uneasy.
Because he cared.
So he felt uneasy.
A wave of restlessness rose again in his chest; he had never been so agitated. He turned around and punched the wall hard, as if venting all his emotions into that punch. After the punch on the wall, he cald down completely. His proud and noble face showed no expression, and those dark eyes seed to have shut down all emotions, becoming calm and unruffled.
Scott Harris was wondering if he used the wrong thod to make the Lord understand Young Madam’s feelings.
Then he saw the man who had quickly cald down walk step by step to the sofa, tightly pressed his thin lips, sat on the sofa, and in a hoarse voice ordered, "Bring that bottle of whiskey over."
"Lord, your stomach..."
"Bring it over!"
He needed to calm down now, needed to numb his agitation.
Otherwise, he couldn’t guarantee he could sit here and wait for Enna Clark to open the door.
He was very troubled inside now, so troubled that he was going crazy.
He told himself clearly that Enna Clark and Lyle Westbrook had nothing, smiling at Lyle Westbrook was just out of politeness. Yet, on the other hand, he couldn’t help but care, cared so much that his heart twisted into a knot, cared so much that he was suffocating.
"Damn it!"
He had said "damn it" too many tis tonight already.
But he just couldn’t calm down.
Just thinking about Enna Clark being disappointed in him, having t Lyle Westbrook, and even accepting the "diamond ring" Lyle Westbrook gave her... and thinking about Miranda Lewis talking nonsense, made his temples throb wildly, and his heart pounded with it.
Thump, thump, thump, each beat louder than the last, beat so fast that his blood seed to flow backward.
Compared to this extre discomfort, the mild stomach pain was nothing!
"Yes."
Scott Harris didn’t dare to disobey him, hesitantly brought over the treasured whiskey from the mansion.
"Lord."
"Open it. And bring so ice."
"...Yes."
Scott Harris went to the luxurious four-door fridge, found so ice cubes, put them in a specialized container, and brought them over—
The man with an obscure expression picked up the tongs, threw two ice cubes into a glass, then picked up the bottle from the ice bucket and filled it to the brim.
Under Scott Harris’s gaze, he drank it all in one go.
Seeing him drink so recklessly, Scott Harris regretted speaking too much earlier, and while stopping him, said, "Lord, your stomach isn’t well, you can’t drink like this. Let make you so dinner."
Baron Lawrence gave him a sweeping glance, "Let go!"
Scott Harris slowly let go, looked at him worriedly, and stood aside.
One glass after another, half of the bottle was gone before long.
The intense churning and familiar spasmodic pain in his stomach finally suppressed the anxiety and unease in his heart.
He picked up the bottle to pour another, but Scott Harris couldn’t watch anymore, walked over and grabbed the bottle, saying, "Lord, I’ll go wake Young Madam."
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