Contempt

"Let's go."

With a wave of his sleeves, Zhao Xinrui was led by a waiter into a room.

After taking a deep breath, he strode in. Just as he was about to say something, he couldn't help but froze. There was no one in the room.

Zhao Xinrui frowned: "What's going on?"

The waiter bowed in response, with an neither humble nor overbearing attitude: "Young Master is having dinner now, and this is a time when he usually doesn't like to be disturbed, so please both of you wait here for a while."

"What?" Zhao Ting was furious. They came all the way and were asked to wait?

He looked at Zhao Xinrui and said angrily, "Dad..."

"Calm down!" Zhao Xinrui scolded. Zhao Ting had no choice but to swallow his unspoken words.