Sibyl’s POV
I got up from the Nuri and tidied up my messy skirt. My loose hair cannot be recovered. So, I just let my hair fall out and let it fall on my shoulders. I sat down on the soft blue velvet sofa, took a glass of wine, and the cold liquid ran down my throat into my stomach, extinguishing the faint fire in my heart.
I leant back on the sofa, my glass in my hand, and looked at Nuri with interest. He was still in his chair by the fireplace, his hands on his thighs, his head bowed in confusion. But I guess his face must have been disappointed. What kind of man can stay in a good mood when he's being interrupted in the heat of the moment?
