"Ladies are to be respected and cherished, not to demonstrate one's fangs with swinging fists," a calm and sexy voice carried an indescribable air of aristocratic elegance, "If one can't even manage that, there's no need to be a person."
The man who suddenly appeared was around thirty-five to thirty-six years old, tall and with a frame that clearly did not belong to the domestic build, making his suit look dashing and neatly fitted. His deep-set features and high nose bridge gave him a mixed-race appearance; most captivating, however, were his tea-colored pupils, unfathomable, enough to drown any woman.
He seemed to be born with a smile, always carrying a trace of elegance at the corner of his mouth. But his slight smile wasn't like Sheng Aiyi's, which looked deliberately posed. His elegance appeared etched into his bones, flowing through his blood. He truly resembled a noble straight out of a medieval oil painting!
Such a person, once seen, leaves a lasting impression.
