Both Nigel and Justin fell silent, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Neither had any desire to open the door for Grant.
Yet, this uninvited guest took matters into his own hands. Matt, who was stationed outside, reluctantly let him in.
“Grandpa, I heard about your sudden health scare. How are you feeling now?” Grant asked.
As if only now noticing Justin’s presence, his eyes glinted briefly as he offered a gentle smile. “Ah, Justin is here too.”
Justin’s expression remained cool as he gave a slight nod. “Grant.”
“If I had known you were here, I’d have waited until tomorrow to visit. I wouldn’t want to disrupt Grandpa’s rest.” Grant maneuvered his wheelchair to the bedside.
“Nonsense.” Nigel forced a faint smile, speaking quickly. “It’s late, and you’re not well yourself. You shouldn’t have gone out of your way to visit me.”
Leaning forward slightly, a flicker of something unspoken flashed across Grant’s dark eyes. “Since I was a child, Grandpa, you’ve always been the one who spoiled me most. If I can’t fulfill my duty to you when you’re unwell, what kind of man would that make me?”
A subtle tremor rippled through Nigel, hidden beneath the blankets.
Justin caught the shift in Nigel's demeanor. Though it aroused his suspicions, he kept his composure.
Keeping one’s thoughts buried and remaining outwardly calm was a fundamental trait for those in power.
Thus, Justin often carried an undercurrent of repression, loneliness, and even melancholy.
Lately, in the solitude of night, these feelings seemed to resurface with renewed vigor. He felt an unshakable emptiness, an insistent chill seeping into his soul.
Grant’s voice softened. “Grandpa, I have something I’d like to discuss with you in private. Is that alright?”
Nigel’s gaze shifted hesitantly toward Justin. “Is it that important? Justin isn’t an outsider. You may speak freely.”
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