Timothy, however, didn't answer the question directly.
He simply offered a faint smile and asked, "In what regard?"
Mason Crawford scoffed.
He hadn't really expected a straight answer when he asked.
Because they both already knew the truth.
"I really misjudged. I never thought I'd be backstabbed by someone from the York Family." Mason looked at him. "I'm curious—does Mr. York know you're doing all this?"
"Next month is Mr. York's eightieth birthday. You can come early and ask him yourself."
A smirk played on Mason's lips. "Don't worry, I'll be there."
Timothy nodded, then turned and left without another word.
Mason turned his head slightly, his eyes cold and desolate as he watched Timothy's retreating figure.
...
When Timothy returned to Stillwater, it was nearly ten o'clock.
Compared to his old habits, this was still early.
But compared to the last few days, it was quite late.
Fortunately, the person who had been here for the past few days was still waiting for him.
