Battle of sleeping in the study: failed!
The next morning, the sun lazily crawled out from behind the clouds, and Nia Mitchell finally dragged herself out of bed.
Her whole body was sore and achy. After going downstairs, she flopped straight onto the sofa.
When is this kind of life ever going to end.
What on earth am I supposed to do?
Sighing nonstop, Nia Mitchell's gloomy expression completely puzzled Frederick Goldsmith.
"Young Madam, what's wrong with you?"
Could she be feeling unwell?
The Young Master had gone out for a run and would probably be back soon.
"Nothing."
It was just that she felt weak all over and uncomfortable everywhere.
Right at that moment, Maxwell Peary walked in from outside.
"Young Master."
Frederick walked over, wanting to say something, but not quite knowing how to start.
"What is it?"
Maxwell asked, then noticed Frederick looking over in Nia Mitchell's direction.
"Nia Mitchell, what's wrong?"
