Chapter 1773

The glass shattered on the floor with a crisp, sharp sound. Servants rushed in from outside.

"Miss Rollins?"

Anastasia waved them away, then calmly regarded Fabian. "What are you doing, Uncle Fabian?"

Her tone was calm, but her smile had vanished, replaced by a cold, dignified expression.

Slightly drunk, Fabian yelled, "What am I doing?! It's your cousin's funeral today, and neither you nor your father bothered to attend! And he hasn't answered my calls for days. What's that supposed to mean?!"

"My father hasn't been feeling well and needs rest," Anastasia replied. "If you have something to ask him, please wait until he's better." She paused, then added meaningfully, "However, I doubt he'll appreciate your current tone. He's unwell, and, as you know, illness tends to put one in a bad mood."

Fabian's shock was palpable; he still feared Cameron. Only Rhea's influence had dulled his apprehension. Before this, even Cameron's cough would make him question his actions. Now, though grief-stricken over Rhea, his fear was lessened.

"Stop trying to scare me," he said, walking towards the stairs. "I'm here to see how he's doing. He's unwell, isn't he? As his brother-in-law, I should visit." He called out, "Ron, I'm here! Are you feeling better?! Ron?!"

Anastasia panicked as Fabian approached the stairs. She hurried to block his path, arms outstretched.

"My father isn't well and won't be seeing anyone! You shouldn't disturb him unless you want an unpleasant scene!"

Fabian stopped, Anastasia's blockade notwithstanding. Instead of appearing unnerved, he scanned her, sneering meaningfully.

"Tasia, what game are you playing? Your father isn't even sick, is he?" He pointed upstairs, his gaze knowing. "He's not even home, is he?" If he were, the commotion would have alerted him. Ron would surely have someone throw me out, even without a personal scolding. Yet, only this girl stops me. Something's amiss.

"No!" Anastasia mustered her courage, looking him in the eye. "My father is upstairs, resting. As I said, he's ill. I'm trying to spare you embarrassment, but if you insist on disturbing him, be my guest!"

She dropped her arms, straightened her back, adopting a defiant posture. Fabian hesitated. He narrowed his eyes, leaning against the stair railing, his gaze shifting between Anastasia and the upstairs landing. Finally, he pointed at her.

"Are you lying to me?"