James brought Grace and her mother back to the Mitchell estate.
By the time they reached home, the sky was already darkening.
But instead of taking them to rest in their rooms, James headed straight for the prayer hall with the two women in tow.
Grace exchanged a quick glance with Mrs. Armstrong—pure panic flashing in both their eyes.
"James, it's already late, why are we going to the prayer hall? I'm really tired... let's just go back to our room, okay?" Grace clung to his sleeve, her tone soft and pleading.
Normally, her sweet tone alone would've been enough to sway James.
But not tonight.
He stayed stone-faced, said nothing, just yanked her forward without hesitation.
"James, hey—you're hurting me! Let go, please?" Grace let out a soft cry, trying to pull back.
