Mason Nightshade had no idea how inadvertently uttering just a single sentence caused the woman such hurt, his mind only occupied with thoughts of his woman waiting at home for him. He accepted the goods, handed over three hundred-dollar bills, and hurriedly left without waiting for the cashier to give him change.
The car sped down the road, Mason Nightshade's hands gently tightened on the steering wheel. At this time, there were few cars on the road. With his foot on the accelerator, he raced back to the old estate as fast as he could.
Upstairs, he pushed open the bedroom door and walked into the bathroom.
She was clutching her stomach, her face scrunched up in pain. Upon seeing him return, she lifted her pale face and frowned in dissatisfaction, "Why are you so slow?"
"The supermarkets were all closed. I only found one store in the city." Mason Nightshade opened the large package and placed it in front of her, asking in his usual cool tone, "Which one are you used to using?"
