Chapter 1772

A commotion downstairs, followed by hurried footsteps, caught the servant's attention as they turned. It sounded crowded, more than one person.

"Miss Rollins?"

Startled, the servant looked at Anastasia. She, too, was surprised but waved dismissively. "Don't panic. Let's go check it out."

Anastasia led the way. Reaching the stairwell, she saw a dozen or more burly men below and heard several voices, one belonging to another servant.

"Mr. Moore, Secretary Rollins would be furious if he knew you were misbehaving in the house!"

"Then let him come down and tell me himself!" Fabian shouted boldly. "I don't care if he beats me up! I must see him. I want to ask him if he treats me as family!"

"Miss..." the servant beside her whispered.

Anastasia stopped her with a raised hand and went downstairs. "I was wondering who was making all the noise. It's you, Uncle Fabian."

Her voice commanded attention. The men looked toward the stairs. The servant downstairs rushed over, wiping his sweat, as if seeing a savior. "Miss, Mr. Moore refused to listen and barged in. We couldn't stop him—"

"Leave us," Anastasia said casually, signaling the servants away with her eyes. "He's not an outsider; he's my uncle."

Hesitantly, the servants obeyed. Fabian perked up, nodding at Anastasia's politeness and acceptance. "That's better! It's good you remember I'm your uncle. Let me ask you something… do you know what day it is today?"

The question baffled Anastasia. Seeing her blank expression, Fabian chuckled coldly. "Your cousin's funeral is today. Don't you remember?"

She had forgotten. So much had happened at home: her father's illness, the constant stream of visitors, both helpful and hostile. Rhea's death, though shocking and suspicious, had been overshadowed by everything else. The suddenness and uncertainty surrounding the timing of the funeral had added to the confusion.

Anastasia assumed Fabian's anger stemmed from their absence. But why is he so angry? Is it a crime not to attend Rhea's funeral? She nearly killed me! Even if I had known, it would have been reasonable not to go.

Contemplating this, Anastasia poured Fabian a glass of water. "Things have been chaotic at home, and I truly didn't know her funeral was today. I'm sorry for your loss."

She handed him the glass. Fabian looked at her and the glass, his chest rising and falling rapidly from the wine he'd consumed. Seeing his niece, whom he'd cherished since childhood, so unconcerned, ignited his fury. He thought of his deceased wife and daughter buried in that cold grave.

He slapped the glass from her hand, rose, and pointed at her nose. "Stop wasting my time! Where's your father?!"