CHAPTER 202: CHAPTER 202: DO YOU THINK I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH?

Rosalind could clearly hear the sweet nothings her "devoted son" said to Vera, in a tone so spoiled and aggrieved, it was something she, his mother, had never heard before.

"I was just busy." Vera hurried towards the door, responding softly to the grumbling man on the other end.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rosalind stood there like a statue, utterly still.

"That’s just an excuse, I don’t think you miss me at all, you only show enthusiasm when you need me to warm your bed." Noah Grant complained, teeth clenched, dissatisfied with her dismissive tone.

Even with the speaker off, his voice cut sharply through the silence.

Vera, "..."

Rosalind’s hand trembled, almost tearing a page out of the children’s picture book.

The air was stagnant.

Vera gripped her phone tightly, quickening her pace, swiftly pulling the door open.

Once she reached a secluded corner, she spoke irritably, "Noah Grant!"

"Are you drunk—"

As she spoke, she remembered it was morning in Bernheim, and he should have just woken up, "Saying such nonsense so early in the day."

"Ms. Sheridan, aren’t you aware of how intense a man’s morning needs can be?" His hoarse, magnetic voice over the receiver was both seductive and unserious.

Vera choked on her words.

On the other end, in the presidential suite, Noah Grant leaned against the headboard, holding the phone in one hand, while the other hand took her place.

"Behave yourself, I’m doing volunteer work, and your mom’s here too. She just heard your outrageous words." Vera said sternly.

Upon hearing this, Noah Grant tensed his grip, a pained groan escaping his throat.

The next second, his expression darkened.

"Did I trouble you?" His tone grew heavier, protective like a father for his child.

Vera replied firmly, "No."

"She heard everything you just said." She lowered her voice, scolding him.

Noah Grant’s eyes gleamed with amusement, a cigarette hanging from his lips, "Are you embarrassed?"

Vera, "..."

With a "whoosh," the flick of a lighter illuminated the man’s mature, handsome face.

"You’re smoking again. Didn’t I tell you to cut back?" Vera frowned, reproaching him.

Noah Grant exhaled a puff of smoke, a smile tugging at his lips, "I did cut back, just one a day, slowly quitting."

Vera was skeptical, chastising him further, "You’re in your thirties, you should take care of your body."

The implication being, he wasn’t young anymore.

Noah Grant’s Adam’s apple bobbed, "What’s wrong with my body... Are you saying I’m not capable?"

After a pause, he added, "Are you saying I didn’t make you cry enough that night?"

Vera’s fingers tightened around her phone, pushing away the amorous images that flashed through her mind, "Noah Grant, I’m not arguing with you, I’ve got serious work to do!"

"You’re just getting old."

A morning man, with his head full of naughty thoughts.

Hearing this, Noah Grant had an urge to fly back immediately and make her cry again.

Vera ended the call and made her way leisurely to the music classroom.

Inside, Chloe Everett was guiding her four-year-old son, Orion Crowe, and a few other children in a band ensemble.

Orion Crowe was dressed in a tailored British-style little suit, with a tender face full of concentration.

The rhythm of his drumming was crisp, hitting every beat precisely.

Vera couldn’t help but praise, "Orion’s sense of rhythm is excellent, especially his timing, both steady and accurate. Has he practiced a lot?"

Chloe Everett shook her head lightly, smiling, "Mr. Crowe doesn’t let him touch these things, saying they’re a waste of time. I’ve been secretly bringing him to play."

As she spoke, her gaze swept over her son’s gleaming little face, lowering her voice, "In families like ours, everyone’s life path is planned from birth, with no room for missteps."

Vera nodded in understanding.

Noah Grant’s childhood was much the same.

Which explains why giving up the political path, starting his own business, and being with her was considered rebellious.

"That’s why Second Young Master Grant, being willing to start his own venture and forsake easily attainable power, is quite courageous, while we, who hesitate, can only follow a structured routine in our comfort zones." Chloe Everett confided honestly to Vera.

She and Jasper Crowe were in a political marriage, with no foundation of love, treating each other with courtesy post-wedding.

In their six years of marriage, Chloe Everett couldn’t tell if there was any so-called love between them, but they both knew love was unimportant, with family interests and the responsibilities they bore being paramount.

At that moment, from the adjacent classroom came a clear and gentle voice, someone was reading a story to the children.

"Children, music time is over. Let’s all go and listen to Grandma Morgan tell a story, shall we?" Two volunteers entered, smiling and inviting the children.

Rosalind Morgan came today and also prepared a picture book class.

Chloe Everett took Orion Crowe and the other children over together.

Vera Sheridan did not follow; she stayed behind to tidy up the music classroom.

She knew Rosalind Morgan was once an Arabic professor at Veridia University, and before marriage, she had already entered the diplomatic system, showing great promise as a diplomat, but after marrying Julian Grant, she gave up her career aspirations.

At this moment, the voice coming through the wall was full of emotion and warmth, completely different from her usual aloof and arrogant tone.

Half an hour later, the picture book class next door was over.

The children all went to Old Madam Yates’s clay class.

The old lady was an architecture professor, teaching the children how to build castles with clay.

Vera Sheridan grabbed the prepared cleaning supplies and headed to the vacated picture book classroom. As she approached outside the window, she suddenly heard an exclamation, "Watch out!"

Immediately after, there was the loud sound of porcelain shattering!

Vera’s heart skipped a beat, and she rushed in at once.

When she saw the scene in the classroom, her pupils contracted sharply.

A tall decorative vase in the corner had fallen over, and Rosalind Morgan was sprawled on the ground after being hit.

In her arms, she held a little boy tightly.

It was Little Yu, an orphan with both autism and hyperactivity disorders.

Vera rushed forward, struggling to lift the heavy shards off Rosalind Morgan, "Mrs... Are you all right? Did it hurt anywhere?"

Rosalind Morgan felt dizzy from the hit, and the old wound at the back of her head throbbed painfully.

She endured the pain, lowered her head to check the child in her arms, and was relieved only after confirming he was unhurt.

Looking up, she saw Vera squatting nearby, with a slender ankle that had a gash, fresh blood trickling out.

"Your foot..." Rosalind’s voice trembled, and she instinctively wanted to warn her.

Just then, volunteers, drawn by the noise, rushed in. They calmed the increasingly restless Little Yu and helped support Rosalind Morgan.

It seemed Vera didn’t hear or feel her injury; she gritted her teeth and, together with the volunteers, carefully helped Rosalind stand up.

Rosalind’s light-colored suit was stained red at the back, obviously cut by the vase shards.

Vera was startled, "Call an ambulance quickly!"

Rosalind’s lips turned pale and purple, her whole body trembling uncontrollably. Aware that her old ailment was about to flare up, she suddenly shook off Vera’s hand, face dark and stoic, and strode towards the door.

Vera staggered a step, her hand hanging stiffly in mid-air, her brow furrowing tighter and tighter.

Rosalind’s figure had vanished outside the door, and several volunteers quickly followed.

"Vera, your foot!" a girl suddenly screamed.

Vera looked down to see her ankle with a gash, blood seeping out.

Only then did she feel the sharp pain, her body gave a tremble.

"Help me call an ambulance quickly!" she said anxiously.

She still had the competition, and she couldn’t afford any injury.

In less than ten minutes, two ambulances arrived one after the other.

Rosalind was assisted onto one, appearing stable.

Vera got into the other ambulance.

The nurse immediately attended to her wound, and the iodine brought a chill and stinging pain to her skin. She drew in a cold breath, leaning wearily against the wall of the vehicle.

Closing her eyes, two contrasting images of Rosalind Morgan intermingled in her mind.

One who protectively shielded Little Yu beneath her without regard for her own safety; another, pushing her away coldly and disdainfully.

Vera fished out her phone from her bag, her fingers hovered above Noah Grant’s number for a moment before she ultimately turned off the screen.

He was far away in Bernheim, busy with work, unnecessary to add to his worries.

Soon, the ambulance arrived at the hospital.

With volunteers accompanying her, Vera went through emergency, X-ray checks to ensure no ligament or bone injury.

Rosalind had a fifteen-centimeter cut on her back along with some abrasions and contusions. After debridement, she underwent sutures.

The two were placed in separate emergency rooms for observation.

Vera was about to enter her ward.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the end of the emergency hallway.

The crowd parted to the sides, and Nathan Grant appeared first, with his tall figure.

Half a step behind him, a steadfast, stern-looking middle-aged man walked briskly.

It was Julian Grant.