Eleanor Spencer's body trembled, feeling a chilly numbness down her spine. Seeing the man's cold and stern eyes, she nodded slightly.
Mason Nightshade strode away.
Eleanor staggered a few steps, bumped against the bed behind her, her knees buckled, nearly falling, hands bracing against the bed's edge.
Taking several deep breaths, she said apologetically to the person on the bed, "Aunt, I'm sorry, it's my fault you're involved."
The person on the bed opened her eyes, surprisingly without the weakness of a sick person, sympathetically patted Eleanor's hand, and said, "Silly child, talking about being involved or not, he's my son, what's he going to do to me?"
Sophie Nye absolutely didn't believe Mason would really dare to harm her.
Even though they hadn't seen each other for years and she had barely fulfilled her duties as a mother, he was still born from her womb, her son; no matter how capable her son was, would he dare harm his mother?
