How could Timothy Grant possibly be content!
Viola Harris watched coldly as Timothy Grant's expression shifted, sipping ginger tea, not the least bit anxious.
"That day in the hospital room, there was a girl standing by Mrs. Wilson. You probably don't know who she is, right? Her name is Isabella Wilson, the granddaughter of Mrs. Wilson's old friend. Mrs. Wilson has taken a liking to her as a granddaughter-in-law."
Listening to Timothy Grant speak, Viola Harris suddenly felt a wave of impatience.
"Miss Grant, the things you cherish, not everyone will consider treasures. If there's nothing important to say, please leave."
Timothy Grant's gaze flickered, "You care even a little?"
"Care about what?" Viola Harris countered.
Timothy Grant was at a loss; had she been speaking in vain all this time?
Suppressing the flash of anger, she sneered, "I heard your grandmother is ill and in the hospital?"
Viola Harris's expression darkened, "What does that have to do with you?"
