After finishing the porridge, Adrian Quincy was called away by a phone call.

Claire Sinclair remained home. She’d been sick for days and hadn’t written anything, so she needed to take advantage of her sick leave to quickly write a few Chapters.

Writing required one hundred percent focus; she had to tune out all distractions to fully immerse herself in the novel and connect with her readers.

Before she knew it, the sky had darkened. Claire Sinclair had written several thousand words. She posted three thousand and saved two thousand for tomorrow.

Only after posting the new Chapter did she have time to read the comments. Most of her readers were clamoring for more updates. Only a few left negative reviews, cursing her for the slow pace. One reader even asked if someone in her family had died, which would explain the lack of updates...

Cyberbullying was rampant in this day and age. You could find it everywhere, and a novel’s comment section was no exception.

Claire Sinclair couldn’t be bothered to engage with these trolls, but she still left a brief explanation in the review section for the fans who genuinely loved her work: "Sorry, I’ve been sick the past few days and haven’t had time to write."

’No need to say more. Reasonable people would forgive an honest mistake, and it didn’t matter how much you explained to those who were just looking for a fight; they wouldn’t care anyway.’

In any case, she couldn’t care less.

Claire Sinclair shut down her computer and prepared to go out and buy groceries for dinner.

As she came downstairs to the living room and passed by the window, she happened to see Mrs. Quincy being stopped by bodyguards outside the gate.

Mrs. Quincy was yelling something, her expression furious and twisted. The bodyguards blocked her path, their faces impassive, completely undaunted by her authoritative air.

Watching the scene, Claire Sinclair found it odd. ’What is Mrs. Quincy doing here?’

’The amusing thing is, the bodyguards aren’t even letting her in. This must be Adrian Quincy’s doing.’

’But why wouldn’t Adrian Quincy let his own mother in?’

The more Claire Sinclair thought about it, the stranger it seemed. She finally pulled out her phone and sent Adrian Quincy a message: "Mr. Quincy, your mother is at the gate. The security guards are blocking her from entering. What’s going on?"

Adrian Quincy: You need to rest. Ignore her.

Claire: Is that really okay? She’s your mother.

Adrian Quincy: I don’t want anyone disturbing you.

Claire: Why don’t you give her a call, then? Tell her you’re not here. Otherwise, this doesn’t look right. She is your family, after all.

Adrian Quincy: Alright.

A moment later, Mrs. Quincy’s phone suddenly rang.

Seeing the caller ID, Mrs. Quincy immediately answered. "Adrian, you have less and less respect for your own mother! How dare you not let me in!"

Adrian Quincy’s voice was low. "I warned you, Mother. Don’t disturb Claire."

"Yara told me Claire Sinclair had a miscarriage. As your mother, it’s only natural for me to bring some restorative gifts and check on her. How is that ’disturbing’ her? We’re going to be family in the future. Honestly, child, is this any way for you to behave?"

"You used the word ’future,’ Mother. That shows you still don’t accept Claire as family. If I let you in, would you not just torment her endlessly again? Perhaps even resort to hurting her physically?"

"I—" Mrs. Quincy began to object, only to be cut off mercilessly by her own son.

"Mother, don’t waste your breath. What Yara did was a betrayal of basic human decency. Claire and I will not forgive her, and we certainly won’t be dropping the lawsuit. Please go home."

"Yara told me she knows she was wrong! We’re all family, can’t you just—"

CLICK.

The call was disconnected.

Mrs. Quincy was so furious she wanted to smash her phone, but she had no choice but to admit defeat.

She knew her son’s personality all too well. If he said she couldn’t come in, then there was no way she was getting in. She would just have to think of another way.