Agatha had been about to have a fit because of Irvin’s a antagonizing laughter. But his frank words had stunned her into silence.
She had held the position of matriarch of the most prestigious famly for years. She wasn’t a fool. So, she could see that Irvin was serious.
If she decided he was no longer of use, she could directly ask him for his life. There was no need to continue wasting effort on ploys or games. Irvin had told Agatha this, and she could tell he had meant every word.
This realization left her brain utterly paralyzed from shock.
Agatha didn’t understand. She couldn’t fathom how Irvin knew what she was up to when Magnus didn’t.
What made even less sense to her was how Irvin could
oid stiticalmly outer up his life to her when he knew she wanted him dead.
How could anyone be so cool and collected after knowing someone wanted them dead, especially when that someone was their own mother?
Agatha was stunned for a long time. When she looked at Irvin again, it was as though she were gazing at a terrifying monster.
“A demon! You really are the demon child! I was right to abandon you back then!” she exclaimed.
How could Irvin be so detached and terrifying if he
had accepted it with a smile.
Someone who could laugh while offering up his life couldn’t possibly be human.
Irvin was the demon child–the innately evil twin–the enlightened shaman had spoken of then. He was the devil who would bring ruin to the Hardwell family and be their downfall.
Years ago, the shaman had foretold that if Agatha were to bear twin boys, the Hardwells would suffer catastrophic misfortune. But at the time, she hadn’t believed him.
As a woman of the modern age, she had always felt that she would always treasure her babies, regardless of their gender. They were a pair of precious twins that others could only dream of having. She had sworn to protect them and would never allow superstition to dictate their fate.
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