“Scarlett, let’s look for a place to hide!” Emery cried as she frantically pulled my arm and ran back from where we came. I felt like a stiff mannequin being dragged along for the ride.
The paparazzi were not professionals in their field for nothing; in the blink of an eye, they were in full pursuit and soon ran us down and separated us.
Emery felt overwhelmed and could have barely taken care of herself, much less of me. She kept running and soon led the paparazzi off.
They came and went like a hurricane. Their target identified, the paparazzi pursued with full force. In other words, Emery had “sacrificed” herself.
I was just about to head out and hail a cab when a casual glance around stopped me in my tracks in surprise. Gregory was at the entrance staring at me. His charming features were alight with delighted mischief.
“Mommy, I ran into you again!”
Was this how rich families cared for their six-year-old children?
He was the heir apparent of the Fuller family. By standing still unsupervised, he became an easy target for kidnappers. There wasn’t a bodyguard anywhere near him.
I walked over and knelt down next to him. “Why are you here all alone?”
Emery invited me out at last minute. Even if Gregory was precocious enough, it would have been impossible for him to know ahead of time to intercept us.
As soon as I spoke, the wunderkind suddenly pouted. He tugged on my thumb and said in a pitiful voice. “Mommy, I’m lost. I’m scared.”
What?
Child, you had harnessed your father’s resources on your own to make an appointment with a stranger. It wouldn’t do for you to be so pathetic at such a young age!
“Alright, I’m here. No one will capture you.” In the end, I gave in to him. I tousled his hair in an attempt to comfort him as I picked up my phone. “Greg, what’s your Daddy’s number?”
As soon as I unlocked my phone, Gregory snatched it off my hands. “Let me do it, Mommy,” he said. “Daddy is at work; I am not allowed to call him. I’ll just text the bodyguard and tell him where I am.”
To my amazement, the child sent out a text with a fluent understanding of my device right in front of my eyes. It took him less than a minute.
We passed a fast food restaurant and Gregory stopped in his tracks. His beady little eyes were fixated on the fries and burgers on the menu.
Children were greedy, after all. I was just curious about the fact about rich people having a fondness for such unhealthy food.
“Greg, would you like a burger?” I asked.
“Yes,” Gregory said calmly with a nod. “I’d like to give it a try, for Daddy never lets me have any.”
He turned to me. “He’s very bossy and unreasonable. A fascist.”
I was stunned. Suddenly, I recalled the other day at The Jade when I heard a kid yell “Ashy”. So it was him.
Gregory was unusually brazen to call Ashton that.
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