Even with the black silk covering his eyes, Vincent's gaze landed unerringly on the small fruit perched atop Yuel's head.
A faint note of confusion threaded through his low voice.
The question had come too abruptly—he hadn't immediately understood it.
"Little Fruit… what did you mean just now, saying Daddy Vincent isn't capable?"
The moment those words fell, the entire living room went deathly silent.
Nix was the first to react. He let out an awkward cough, scrambling to smooth things over.
"Ahem… well… Vincent, he's just a child, talking nonsense, don't—"
"I wasn't asking you. Be quiet." Vincent cut him off coldly, then continued, voice steady but unmistakably sharper, "Little Fruit. Tell me—what did you mean?"
Nix nearly despaired.
He shot Yuel a frantic look for help.
Yuel, however, remained perfectly composed on the surface—calm, refined, as though none of this concerned him in the slightest.
In reality… even he was at a loss.
