Simon Keats had never seen this side of Timothy York.
He froze for a moment, his mind blank, and muttered, "Uncle, I didn't mean to..."
But Timothy York just stared at him coldly, his voice laced with an icy chill. "Didn't mean to?"
He repeated the words, his grip tightening until Simon Keats could no longer breathe.
"Did you think I don't know what kind of person you are? Did you think I'd actually believe you were kidnapped? Did you think you could hide any of your little schemes from me?"
With every word Timothy York spoke, Simon Keats began to struggle uncontrollably.
Though he was young, he was already 1.78 meters tall. For his age, that height gave him considerable strength in a fight.
But right now, pinned by Timothy York's single hand, he was completely powerless to resist.
Perhaps it wasn't just the strength of that hand.
It was also Timothy York's dark, cold aura. It was utterly terrifying.
