Chapter 216

It wasn't a big deal at first, but the fact that she injured her knee made Winford very angry. He felt that she hadn't learned her lesson and didn't take care of her body. If it hadn't been for that damn Bryson running around, how could she have possibly fallen?

Bryson twitched his lips and said, “If I don’t run a little faster, am I supposed to just stand still and let you hit me?”

Ophelia choked, “It’s all your fault for being so talkative. If you hadn’t said those things, would I have wanted to hit you?”

He scolded him again, saying, “And you’re already so grown up, yet you still make a fuss with me. How childish!”

Bryson, who lingered in the flower garden and cared a lot about his age, immediately said, “I am only 25!!”

“25? Tsk tsk, so old,” Ophelia said deliberately. “I’m only 19!”

Bryson choked for a moment, but then couldn’t help but laugh gleefully, “25 is considered old? Then Winford is already 27!”

“My husband is 27, so what? Even when he is old and gray, he will still be the most handsome old man in my eyes, unlike you, who will just be a grumpy old man!”

Graham, who was supervising at the door, said, “Madam, Mr. Merritt, allow me to remind you that twenty minutes have already passed.”

Ophelia and Bryson instantly regained their composure.

Wow, has it been twenty minutes? Winford only gave a deadline of an hour and a half! Everyone immediately became tense.

Ophelia suddenly felt a bit happy because, although it was still an hour, Winford only asked her for eight hundred words, unlike Bryson, who unfortunately required fifteen hundred!

Bryson clearly thought of this, feeling a lump in his throat, and his whole being was filled with a desolate and bleak atmosphere. What was going on? Why did Winford still treat people differently? Was it really okay to be so blatantly biased?

Time passed second by second, and Ophelia really couldn’t hold it in any longer. Suddenly, she rolled her eyes and, without hesitation, crumpled up the top sheet of paper that had a few dry sentences written on it, tossing it into the trash can. Then, she wrote a few large characters on a new page: “Honey, I loved you very, very much. Mwah~” In the end, she seriously drew a cute little heart at the bottom. Then, she put down the pen and picked up the paper, ready to submit it.

Bryson, who had seen it from beginning to end, said: He twitched the corner of his mouth and couldn’t help but say, “You weren’t planning to use this to fool Winford, were you? I’m telling you, that’s not going to work.”

In light of the revolutionary friendship that they were both punished for, he kindly reminded, “Given Winford’s temperament, he won’t accept your ‘self-criticism’; he will only make you rewrite it in double, totaling sixteen hundred!”

“I didn’t believe it; my husband was not that kind of person!” Ophelia didn’t trust his threats and, holding her “self-reflection,” ran off eagerly.

“Hubby,” Ophelia ran up to Winford and said, “I finished writing it, here!” She handed the “self-criticism letter” to Winford with both hands, her eyes sparkling, waiting for his reaction.

Winford put down the phone in his hand and casually glanced at the page, but he did not see the expected full text; there were only a few perfunctory large characters. His expression darkened for a moment. But before he had the chance to scold her, he saw what she had written and immediately froze. The bony hand took the thin “self-criticism,” and the man’s expression was hard to read, a mix of joy and anger. “I asked you to write a self-criticism, and you wrote this?”

“Yeah,” Ophelia looked at him nervously and shyly, “so did I pass?”

Seeing him staring intently at those words without saying anything, she shook his hand and said, “Honey?” The man’s expression remained unchanged, but in the end, he still couldn’t hold on. “No next time was allowed.”

Ophelia immediately squinted her eyes and sweetly acted like a spoiled child, saying, “I knew my husband was the best!”

The corridor upstairs. Bryson was dumbfounded. Wow, this could actually work?? He withdrew his gaze and asked Graham beside him, “Have I changed so much, Winford?”

Graham: “Maybe.” Anyway, it had changed quite a lot in front of the lady.

Bryson stroked his chin thoughtfully. Soon, he returned to his desk, tore off the half-page of paper he had just written, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into the trash can. Then, with a swift motion, he wrote down a few large characters: “Winford, I loved you so very much! Mwah-” Then, holding the freshly produced “self-criticism,” he happily submitted it.

Graham caught a glimpse, and shock instantly appeared in his eyes. “Mr. Merritt, wait a moment-” However, before the words were finished, Bryson had already swiftly disappeared in his wheelchair, and he didn’t even manage to hold him back.