Pampered by My Secret Husband-Chapter 581 - 584: You heard right, my name is Cecilia Branford.
"Thomas Shannon hasn’t even spoken. Is it your place to speak?" Sophie Sullivan said sharply to Minimus Hart.
She’s just trying to stir things up, to make a bigger deal out of this. Minimus Hart has no good intentions, none at all!
Minimus Hart didn’t get angry, merely saying, "As a subordinate, I don’t wish to see anyone harm the Young Master."
"Minimus Hart, sometimes people should know their place. Understand?" Sophie Sullivan retorted.
Subordinate? Calling her that is an insult to those very words.
"Shut up!"
Thomas Shannon growled, his voice cold.
Sophie Sullivan froze, staring at him in disbelief. She wanted to laugh but couldn’t.
He’s telling *me* to shut up? He yelled at me—for Minimus Hart? Very good... Just perfect.
Sophie Sullivan nodded slowly. So, I should shut up, is that it? Fine. As you wish.
She turned and walked back into the kitchen, re-emerging with another bowl of soup. Without a single glance in his direction, she walked out, her gaze fixed straight ahead.
Watching Sophie Sullivan’s proud, solitary back, Minimus Hart hesitated. "Young Master, should we bring the maniac back?"
"No need."
Thomas Shannon withdrew his gaze, his expression as dark as still water.
「Back in the medical office」
Sophie Sullivan found Harry cowering pitifully in the doorway.
The moment Harry saw her open the door, he pounced.
Sophie Sullivan really wasn’t in the mood to play with him, especially not after the argument with his master. Right now, she had no interest or energy for anything.
"Go away. Don’t bother me."
Poor Harry. His dried small fish were gone, and now his playmate was gone too.
He lay dejectedly on the ground, his cat-life utterly hopeless.
「Inside the room」
George Stanford had nearly finished his dinner.
When he saw Sophie Sullivan enter with the soup, he snorted. "Fiona, if I waited for your soup, I’d have starved to death by now."
Sophie Sullivan placed the tray on the bedside table and sank into a chair, her voice listless. "Drink it. It’s still warm."
Something’s off. Fiona is acting very strangely, George Stanford thought, taking the bowl with one hand. He took a sip; the taste was good.
He eyed Sophie Sullivan. "Fiona, what’s wrong?"
"Nothing. What could possibly be wrong with me? I’m fine," Sophie Sullivan replied, feigning nonchalance.
What could be wrong with me? What a joke. If Thomas Shannon wants to protect Minimus Hart, let him. I have no reason to be angry. After all, Minimus Hart is just a dog he keeps. Even when you hit a dog, you have to consider its master. This time, I was careless. I didn’t see Minimus Hart’s master, and that’s why I suffered.
Comforting herself with these thoughts, Sophie Sullivan began to feel a little better.
The apology I’d planned doesn’t seem necessary anymore. He still has the strength to yell at me, so his injury can’t be that severe. He probably doesn’t need my apology either.
George Stanford’s sharp eyes weren’t fooled by her bravado.
He took a couple more sips of soup, then set the bowl down, clasping his hands over his stomach. "Alright, tell me. Who upset our little Fiona?"
"Old Mr. Standford, my name is not Fiona!" Sophie Sullivan snapped, her patience wearing thin. This Old Mr. Standford is so infuriatingly stubborn about that name!
"Alright, alright. Since you’re angry, fine. If your name isn’t Fiona, then what is it?"
"Cecilia Branford."
"Wha-?" George Stanford choked back a laugh, his face contorting in pain.
"You heard me. My name is Cecilia Branford."
George Stanford burst out laughing. After a moment, his laughter turned into a wail. "Agh, I can’t... my ribs... they’re killing me!"
"Serves you right." Sophie Sullivan stood up, found the painkillers the nurse had left on the bedside table, and offered them to him. "Want to take these?"
George Stanford waved a hand dismissively, signaling for her to put them aside. "Fiona, you can’t fool an old man like me just by giving yourself some fancy foreign-sounding name."
