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Although it didn’t taste great, he was hungry.

So hungry.

The IV was just about finished, and the nurse came to remove the needle for the little boy.

“Good boy, you’re so obedient.” The young nurse liked Chale Cheney very much, and couldn’t resist pinching him playfully.

He was such a darling…

He didn’t cry when the needle was inserted, and he wasn’t afraid when it was removed.

And he was incredibly good-looking.

No wonder, given his father’s handsome genes.

After his IV was removed, Chale Cheney held his stuffed animal and quietly played with it.

The young boy was dressed in blue pajamas, his long eyelashes hanging low. He was so well-behaved and obedient.

When Sylvan Cheney walked in, his little mouth was pursed.

“Who upset you?” Sylvan Cheney ruffled his son’s hair.

“No one.” The little boy said in his childish voice, “I want to go home.”

“If there’s no problem, we’ll go home this afternoon.”

“Hmm.”

Sylvan Cheney was very patient as he stayed with Chale in the hospital room.

Butler Santana didn’t disturb them, occasionally delivering items to them.

In Butler Santana’s eyes, Mr. Cheney was truly good to his son.

Except for being a bit strict, there wasn’t a second man who could surpass him in kindness.

In the afternoon, Charles Mcintosh drove Sylvan Cheney and Chale Cheney home.

Chale Cheney had fallen asleep in Sylvan Cheney’s arms.

There was a hint of aloofness in Sylvan Cheney’s eyes as he said, “Mcipntosh, I need you to look someone up for me.”

“Certainly, Mr. Cheney.”

Sylvan Cheney provided the license plate number of that ‘Mr. Seasons’ to Mcintosh.

He was curious; who exactly was this Mr. Seasons?

“Mr. Cheney. Didn’t Miss Yale come to see the young master?” Mcintosh asked.

“She can do as she pleases.”

Sylvan Cheney realized, that woman’s heart was harder than he had thought.

She not only wanted to avoid him but didn’t want to get involved with Chale either.

Despite her fondness for the little boy, she dared not see him.

Throughout the journey, Chale Cheney slept peacefully.

Sylvan Cheney made a phone call to Spencer Childe.

“Grandpa, how are you these days?”

“Grandpa, I don’t want your enormous wealth. Don’t always see me as an enemy.”

“Of course, I support everything as long as you don’t give it to Teagan Cheney.”

Sylvan Cheney’s voice was low, but there was a dark and steady curve at the corner of his mouth.

Mcintosh knew Sylvan Cheney was infuriating Spencer Childe again.

The old stubborn man was hostile to everyone in the world, afraid that anyone would lay their hands on his property.

Of course, the conglomerates, shares, and funds in Childe’s hands were indeed rivaling the wealth of a nation.

After ending the call, Sylvan Cheney chuckled.

“Mr. Cheney, did you just upset Old Mr. Childe again?”

“That was nothing. He’ll get even more upset in the future.”

“Mr. Cheney, is Elder Childe still intending to leave his property to Miss Yolanda?”

“Yes.” Sylvan Cheney replied indifferently, “The old man is calculating. He won’t pass it on until he’s dead.”

Mcintosh laughed, “Actually, the old man has been gradually getting better.”

Sylvan Cheney didn’t respond. He just watched out the window, his eyes deep and thoughtful.

The car took a turn, entering the Cheney Residence.

Chale Cheney woke up after a nap.

“We’re home.” The little boy leaned against the car window, looking outside.

His big eyes were full of life.

“Daddy, I want to sleep with you tonight.”

“No.”

“How mean.” Chale Cheney was unhappy, “You’re not my real dad.”

“Then who’s your real dad?”

“Anyway, you’re not.” Chale pouted, “If baby’s unhappy, I’ll find myself a new daddy.”

“Alright, tonight you can sleep with me.” Sylvan Cheney compromised.