“Have we met before, sir?” I looked at the man in the wheelchair. He had Mickle's face and pale blue eyes. I can't remember where I saw him.
“Are you dressed, Eva?” Ian came over and urged me. “We're ready for the photo.”
“I've already changed.”
“Iverson, what are you doing here?” Ian noticed the man in the wheelchair. “It's not your turn to take pictures yet. You can rest in your room.”
“So, this woman is my father's other daughter?” The man looked at me with a half-smile. “I'm Iverson, Mickle's loser son.”
This disabled man is Mickle's son? I've never seen him on the news. No wonder he looks like Mickle.
“Iverson, you'd better not say that to the press.” Ian looked serious. “You should know very well why you're here.”
“I cooperate with you, I understand that,” Iverson said as he pressed the button on the electric wheelchair, which immediately turned around.
“Let me know when it's my turn to perform.”
