Chapter 225: Seeds of Resentment

Had Felix not been present, Nathaniel's words would have been far more venomous, his sentiments even more caustic.

When Adrian and Miranda emerged from Neil's room, their faces were flushed with embarrassment. Adrian, ever shameless, muttered, "Who does Nathaniel think he is, lecturing me? I'm his elder!" His voice dripped with indignation and disbelief, unaccustomed to such reprimand.

Miranda, gripping Felix's arm tightly, was equally frustrated. Turning to Adrian, she said, "Your cousin utterly belittled us in front of Felix and your father." Her gaze flicked towards the composed Nathaniel. A cold smirk touched her lips. "He doesn't realize who the real joke is," she added, her tone icy.

"What do you mean?" Adrian asked, confused.

Miranda snorted. "He's brought that deaf girl home, hasn't he?"

Adrian thought of Cecilia, a fleeting regret crossing his mind. She was beautiful, but her hearing impairment was a constant challenge. "So what?" he mumbled.

"Don't worry, honey," Miranda said, biting her lip. "I'll make him regret this. Everyone's mistaken. That deaf girl doesn't care for Nathaniel at all!"

Miranda alone knew the truth, a secret discovered by chance. She'd waited to reveal it, anticipating the ensuing amusement. Now, her resolve was set: she would show Nathaniel the true meaning of futility.

Returning to the room, Nathaniel found Cecilia engrossed in her book. The lamplight cast a gentle glow on her serene profile. He discarded his coat carelessly, then methodically unbuttoned his shirt. "What did Mother want?" he asked, his tone casual, his eyes sharp.

Cecilia looked up to find Nathaniel down to his trousers. His physique was on full display, causing her to quickly avert her gaze.

"She asked me to have your child," Cecilia said, her voice steady. "She offered two billion for one child."

"And did you agree?" Nathaniel moved closer, his voice a whisper near her ear.

"No," Cecilia replied, lifting her head, her lips brushing his cheek.

Nathaniel's heart sank at the accidental touch. A frown creased his face; a vague disappointment settled in his chest. He gathered Cecilia into his arms.

Cecilia stopped him, placing a hand on his chest. "Could you promise me something?" she asked, softly but firmly.

Nathaniel, breathing heavily, said, "We'll talk later."

"No, now," Cecilia insisted.

Nathaniel sighed. "Go on."

"I want to see Eli tomorrow—it's Thanksgiving."

"No way," Nathaniel refused. "You just met him."

"No mother complains about seeing her child too often," Cecilia countered sadly. "I miss him. If not tomorrow, please schedule another time. I want to spend time with him."

Cecilia, knowing how to persuade him, avoided his touch, maintaining a determined distance. Nathaniel, like most men in such situations, faltered.

"The day after tomorrow," he conceded.

"Okay," Cecilia nodded, satisfied.

Nathaniel's Adam's apple bobbed. "And how do you plan to thank me?"

Cecilia, confused, asked, "How?"

"Tonight, make sure I have a good time," Nathaniel replied playfully, mastering the technique learned from Elliot.

Her face flushed red. "But I don't know how to."

Nathaniel looked at her adoringly, his tone softening. "Don't worry," he said, smiling reassuringly, "I'll teach you."