Silas Lawrence stood behind Charles Collins, his fists clenched. His exhausted face was filled with incomprehension and simmering anger.
Charles Collins gave him a cool, indifferent glance before calmly continuing his phone call with Evan Yates.
Evan Yates's mocking voice came clearly from the phone's receiver.
"This Ethan Lockwood must be schizophrenic. He's a shining picture of a gentle, refined man in public, but behind closed doors, he's a complete rageaholic! You guys have been with him for so many years. Even if you don't get credit for achievements, you should get credit for effort. How could he treat you like this?"
"Hmph..." Charles Collins's lips curled into a cold, mocking sneer. "To him, we're just a few dogs he keeps. Credit for achievement, credit for effort—none of that matters. The only thing that matters is his happiness, his comfort. As long as he's comfortable, his every whim, be it rage or reward, is a 'blessing' bestowed upon us!"
