Trenton Smith's drinking halted as he lifted his head to glance at Sophia Phoenix, who had already reached the private room's doorway.
Sensing his movement, Sophia Phoenix turned her head, looking at him with a slight confusion.
But Trenton Smith had already averted his gaze.
With the only lively person gone, the atmosphere in the private room became somewhat desolate.
Trenton Smith leaned against the couch, silently drinking in the dim light, his expression revealing a touch of bone-chilling loneliness.
He had lost count of the times he had done this—every time he accidentally heard a voice like hers, or saw a silhouette similar to hers, he couldn't help but look up and follow. He knew full well she was dead, had even pulled her body out of the morgue to see for himself, but he still harbored the illusion—perhaps Norris Moore was still alive.
Alive in some corner he was unaware of.
