Samuel Johnson's face turned ugly as he walked over to close the door before turning to look at Donald Johnson.
In his eyes lay a deep-seated profundity, like an ancient well without ripples, filled with chilling air.
Donald's complexion became even uglier. Samuel hadn't said a word—did that mean he was admitting it?
Fury rose within Donald at the thought!
He stepped forward, snatched the teacup from Samuel's hand, and violently dashed it to the ground before angrily demanding, "Samuel Johnson, explain yourself clearly. What on Earth do you want?"
The sound of shattering glass was exceptionally loud. It seemed to awaken Samuel from a dream, causing him to tremble slightly before he lifted his head to look at his father.
Warm tea splattered on the floor as he reached out to rub his temple.
His headache was getting worse.
This was the second person to ask him that question today.
He sighed softly, "I can't marry Amanda right now."
