Only Grace Gordon and Stanhope Brown were left in the room.
She looked at Stanhope, who was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, reading documents, and didn't dare to make a sound, like a child who had done something wrong.
Stanhope was wearing a dark-colored shirt, his cuffs rolled up, revealing his strong arms and well-defined wrist bones.
His expensive brown watch was placed on the tea table.
The slender, bony hand flipping through the documents held a half-burnt cigarette.
After finishing a document, Stanhope stood up and walked towards Grace.
Grace's tension grew, her head lowered, unable to explain why. Although Stanhope didn't say anything or get angry, she felt an icy chill in the air.
"You weren't afraid there, but now you're afraid of me?" Stanhope's smooth, cold voice sounded as he looked at Grace, his expression dark as an ancient glacier.
Grace still didn't look up. She could only see Stanhope's hand at his side, holding the cigarette and his exquisite belt buckle.
