"These days I'm rather busy and haven't visited you, forgot to ask about Charles' condition, still wetting his pants recently?" Adam Anderson smirked, leaning on the wheelchair armrest, showing no sign of compassion in his cat-like eyes.
The theater fell silent as Adam's mockery naturally reached the ears of the audience. Those who were just praising Charles Anderson's handsome and refined demeanor now wore expressions of contempt.
After all, a man who is paralyzed, no matter how handsome, is just an incontinent cripple, leaving little room for imagination.
Charles Anderson's lips slowly curved upward, his face showing no trace of embarrassment, his dark eyes showing concern: "Brother, be careful not to overwork yourself, health is paramount."
"Not tiring at all, right, I've found a great treasure abroad, ultra-thin adult diapers, specially prepared for cripples like you. Rest assured, your brother has already bought you a truckload, will be sent to your Anderson Castle soon, so you need not be troubled by urgent calls."
"Thank you for your generosity, brother."
"Why the polite talk, who's who between us brothers?"
Adam Anderson's polished shoes gleamed, dressed in a flashy dark red shirt, with two buttons undone on the chest, exuding an upper-class rogue aura.
His words spoke of concern but carried sarcasm in every sentence, treating people like fools; even Rosie Scott sitting beside couldn't tolerate it.
The young lady lowered her crossed legs, tidied her skirt's creases before standing up. She flicked her black hair, a glimmer in her eyes, then lifted her eyelids with a pitiful expression on her face.
"Is this the legendary Mr. Anderson, Adam Anderson?" The young lady's voice suddenly rose, stepping forward to Adam Anderson, drawing many gazes: "I've been longing to meet you."
Charles Anderson's dark eyes flashed sharply, remembering the last time Isabella Scott excitedly approached their elder brother in the same way.
Rosie Scott touched an imaginary tear below her eyes, her voice quivered: "Brother, you must persuade Charles, as they say, the squeaky wheel gets the grease, the crying child gets the candy, yet he won't speak a word of his pain."
"Who... who are you?" Adam Anderson looked at the sudden intrusion of this young lady, saying a few incoherent words, implying he was a braying donkey, but listening closely seemed to show sympathy for this cripple.
The young lady changed her posture, her thin arms gently resting on Charles Anderson's shoulders, sobbing softly with reddened eyes, looking pitiful.
"Who else would I be? I'm Charles' bedmate." Rosie Scott deliberately paused between the words 'bedmate'.
"I just feel so sorry for him, every day drinking herbal medicine that a normal person would vomit bile from smelling, yet he swallows it silently; but if he doesn't drink it, his body will fall apart. Every time I see the cold sweat on his forehead, my heart aches."
Charles Anderson listened to her words, his dark eyes softened, an imperceptible smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
She continued speaking while interacting with the audience, turning her tear-stained face towards them, dropping a few fairy tears before turning back to sob: "You don't know, Charles suffers from unbearable leg pain every night, can't sleep, even with sleeping pills he remains awake."
Charles Anderson inclined his head, his dark eyes calm, the man reached out and patted the young lady's hand: "Don't cry, I only brought a handkerchief."
The young lady ignored the man's restraint, indulging in her drama, continuing to wail.
After Rosie Scott's vivid description, the people's emotions in the theater shifted from contempt to sympathy, even a few women with low tear thresholds leaned against their husbands, quietly sobbing.
Adam Anderson ground his teeth, hands on hips, eyes narrowed as he assessed this stunning woman before him, calling her a melodramatic fairy, saying even a cripple drinking herbal medicine could be turned into a spectacle.
The audience murmured:
"I think, Mr. Anderson is also a pitiful man, if he hadn't fallen off the horse back then, with Mr. Anderson's expectations, he would've controlled the whole Anderson Clan long ago."
"Such is beauty doomed by fate, I heard that Mr. Anderson nearly lost his life falling off the horse."
"Indeed, he's a pitiful man, with his elder brother jealous of him, handicapped from the fall, truly suffering incessantly."
Adam Anderson heard these women gossiping, claiming he was jealous of a cripple, anger contorting his nose, slamming the table: "I would be jealous of a cripple? Anyone who keeps babbling, I'll cut your tongues out."
The theater fell silent again.
Rosie Scott hurriedly comforted: "Brother, calm down, don't let idle gossip harm the brotherly harmony. Our Charles always respects you as an elder brother, never sees you as a narrow-minded person."
The young lady, naturally charming, with alluring eyes and a porcelain complexion, if she weren't the instigator of this mess, Adam wouldn't find her hard to believe.
Yet her words hit him hard, unbearable.
"You are the narrow-minded one."
"Brother, how could you say such about me, I'm just another worthless woman." Rosie Scott shed large tears, squatting by Charles Anderson's wheelchair, her head resting on his thigh, stifling sobs.
Charles Anderson looked down at her tears freely falling, reached out to gently stroke the young lady's head, soothingly said: "Rosie, don't argue with brother, the concert will begin soon, sit properly."
"I knew it, you're always swallowing your pain." The young lady finished and returned to her seat, covering her face.
At this moment, the audience's gaze remained on her, the public's eyes sharp, seeing only a woman risking all for love, a cripple bearing burdens silently, and a spiteful man.
"Charles, is this woman truly yours?" Adam Anderson's eyes widened, his hand trembled pointing at the still crying girl.
Rosie Scott hid her face, glancing through her fingers, internally noting Adam Anderson's pettiness, no wonder he couldn't compete with Charles Anderson in a previous life, quick-tempered, deservedly ending up in jail.
She originally had no intention of intervening, but attending alongside Charles Anderson was akin to a partner in crime; she couldn't swallow her anger unspoken while he could.
However, Rosie Scott didn't expect Charles Anderson to enduringly keep peace, thinking he'd continue acting.
To her surprise, he forcefully pulled down his elder brother's accusing finger, his gentle tone carrying ineffable threat.
"Brother, father is a cautious man, I suppose he's placed informants around you. Overdoing it might affect your image in his mind."
His voice was so low, only the three by the table could hear.
"Hmph." Adam Anderson listened to his words, like a snake being pinched at its vital point, deflating his arrogance, looking around, then slowly sitting down: "Don't bring any random woman home, some are just for fun."
He deliberately said this for Rosie Scott to hear.
The young lady wasn't angry but laughed internally, thinking: If you can persuade Charles to let me go, I'd be grateful.
Charles Anderson smirked: "Good people are hard to find."