Game Over, My Mr. Hockey

oe

and steadied myself. Then, I put on an expression

s. White's quiet sobbing. Chandler held

own, my hand trembling as I reached out to touch the splintered wood. "Oh, dear...

feline. "Chloe, please, you have to help me explain this to h

who can pick the lock of a display case

ed her mo

ay and stopped. Mr. Reynolds, the chief butler of the Gordon family, stepped

re and unreadable. He was the absolute confidant o

broken stick. He put on a pair of white gloves

weeping over us like a hawk's,

devoid of emotion. "The matriarch

le violently. "Mr. Reyn

aves, it is the adult's failure to teach him

d already begun to fall heavily. His next words carried t

the young master, you should go outside and cool down. You may

desperate to project an image of upper-class elegance, being turned out

ite. "No... Mr. Reynold

oldly. He gestured toward the door, where th

. I simply turned my head and preten

rds, she was led out of the living room, thro

bs and tried to run after her

courtyard, shivering uncontrollably, a portrait of utter mis

eptibly. "Mrs. Gordon. The matriarch sends her regards. She heard you were unwell and hope

an olive branch extended to me. The Gordon ma

e thank her for her concern. It's just... Bradly's mother, Mrs. Gord

's biological mother. It was a test, and a

health. She may know more about what happens in this house

to the window, to the small, pit

adly. Y

ed the driveway. Bradly's car screeched

rage. He jumped out of the car, tore off his coat,

nside, his eyes

the order!" he roar

r stood m

triarch's will

ing nowhere else t

us. "This is your doing! You reported them,

His anger was exactly what I wanted. A b