She casually scanned the crowds in the hall, clutched the sleeves of her coat, and strode out of the club.
As she walked along, she stomped her feet hard, a habit of Tara Summer's when she was in a bad mood, often serving as an outlet for her pent-up frustrations.
Snow Eagle stood next to the golf cart outside the clubhouse, her eyes resting on the riding gear that Tara wore, her expression turning even colder.
With squinted eyes, Tara seemed to harbor a murderous intent.
"Let's go." Tara Summer passed by her, sitting in the front passenger seat and roughly stripping off her riding gear.
About to throw it away, Snow Eagle stopped her coldly, "Miss, you should keep this belonging of the young master!"
Tara stopped her hand, watching as Snow Eagle got into the cart and then drove off, gritting her teeth, she eventually chose not to throw it.
