It landed right at Sheffield Benedict's feet.
The maid kneeling by the door looked up at Sheffield Benedict as if she had seen a savior.
Sheffield Benedict's expression was indifferent as he stepped forward, his voice calm, "What temper are you throwing now?"
Emma sat by the bed, clutching a pillow that she then slammed down onto the floor, before turning around, "Was it you who released Hannah from the dungeon?"
Sheffield Benedict chose a somewhat remote spot to sit, his demeanor gentle, "No."
Emma's eyes were red, her usual demeanor of feigning weakness and playing the victim.
In front of different people, she always put on different faces.
At this moment, she turned pitiful and weak again, "Sheffield, even if it wasn't you, it must have been Wayne."
Sheffield Benedict remained noncommittal.
He always adhered to gentlemanly etiquette, mostly appearing as graceful as an aristocratic young master.