"How did you get here?" Forsythia Brown asked.
Snowflakes were falling, some landing on the man's head, looking extraordinarily enchanting under the light. His ordinarily pitch-black eyes were filled with a tender warmth that could drown someone.
"Gem Atkinson." Forsythia Brown called again.
"Let's talk inside." The man finally spoke.
It was too cold outside, and he was worried she would freeze.
While talking, the man had already picked up Forsythia Brown horizontally and asked, "Which room?"
The customs here were not as open as in River State. Forsythia Brown patted his shoulder, saying, "Put me down quickly."
The man asked again, "Which room?"
Alright, he was always dominant. Forsythia Brown gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck, "On the second floor, the last room at the end."
Strong and steady footsteps echoed in the hallway.
He had always been quietly watching her, his gaze was like a catastrophe that she could never avoid since they first met...
