In the study, Alan Morgan sat alone on the sofa. He frowned suddenly as voices from the living room reached him. Hold on. Is there something wrong with my ears? Why did I just hear the words 'Young Madam'?
Something must be off. Frowning deeply, he opened the door and went out, only to witness a sight that scared the living daylights out of him.
He saw Maxwell Peary lounging comfortably on the sofa with a smile, holding a cup in one hand and patting a young girl's head with the other.
"Bo...Boss?"
Alan Morgan was so startled his tongue was tied. Was that really his Boss? Young Master Peary? Maxwell Peary?
Maxwell Peary, in the middle of a delightful conversation with Nia Mitchell, shot Alan an annoyed glance.
"What is it?"
Maxwell Peary looked up, his gaze fixed on Alan Morgan with displeasure.
That gaze, sharp as a knife, swept over him. Alan's back stiffened, and cold sweat trickled down.
"Well, I just came out to take a look," Alan faltered.
