Inside a three-story townhouse in Queens, New York.
Emma picked up a bottle of over-the-counter cough suppressant and numbly tossed it into the trash. It landed among numerous other medicine boxes and vials.
She picked up a blanket and gently draped it over her mother, then smoothed her tangled, lusterless blond hair. Biting her lip hard, she wiped the drool seeping from her mother's parted lips with the back of her hand.
Thump.
The sound of a door closing downstairs was followed by leather shoes tapping against the floor. Emma hurriedly tidied the room, trying to make her mother's bedroom look less messy. In a flurry, she shoved the pile of medicines on the bedside table into a drawer.
Mr. Winston Frost came upstairs. He looked at Emma, who had just hurriedly closed the bedroom door behind her, his expression frighteningly dark.
"Mother isn't feeling well. She's already gone to bed."
Facing her father's cold gaze, Emma spoke softly but firmly. She stood upright in front of the bedroom door, hands clasped before her, making no move to step aside.
"Hmph."
Mr. Frost didn't press the matter. Instead, he asked coldly, "Whose car brought you home that day?"
Emma paused. She remembered that when she'd returned from James Howlett's home, the butler had arranged for a driver to take her back. She gave her father a simple answer.
"I visited a classmate. The driver brought me home."
"If the car was that ordinary, why did you need a driver? Don't forget what I told you, Emma. Don't waste your time on the wrong people."
Mr. Winston Frost's words were as cold and emotionless as ever. But what truly chilled Emma was how completely this man lived up to them.
He paused, then softened his tone slightly. "Meister has plenty of