Maxwell Peary sighed, reached out to open the drawer, and took out a cigarette.
Looking at the cigarette, his mind was filled with the image of Nia Mitchell's sweet, pink face.
Well, can't smoke,
promised to have little buns.
So, he casually tossed the cigarette away.
"Anne Davidson, stop deceiving yourself, Oliver is not my child."
Maxwell Peary couldn't help but want her to wake up a bit.
But unexpectedly, upon hearing this, Anne Davidson exploded like a madwoman.
"How can you say that? Oliver is your child. Look, he's becoming more and more like you. When he grows up, he'll be just as handsome and outstanding as you. You can't abandon this child!"
Anne Davidson roared, almost in delirium.
If Oliver were abandoned by Maxwell Peary, then surely he wouldn't want her either.
Thinking of this, Anne Davidson immediately softened her voice.
"Maxwell, can't we give Oliver a home? Let's go back to years ago, when we were carefree. I could stand by your side openly."
