Kevin Cliff slightly raised his brow; that was a sharp tongue indeed.
"Ah! If you were still drinking, we could be playing drinking games," Louis Rockefeller said with regret.
"Let's just drink tea instead," he suggested.
Charlotte Green, who was about to close her door, heard it clearly and was somewhat surprised.
He's not drinking anymore?
Ha… it must be Abigail Summer's magic at work again.
…
After the meal, the weather was clear, and the sun shone brightly.
Charlotte, under her father's persistent urging, reluctantly left the house, languidly acting as Kevin's tour guide.
His tall figure walked ahead; Charlotte trailed by five meters. If he slowed down, she slowed down; if he stopped, she stopped as well, pretending to admire the scenery.
Eventually, unable to bear it any longer, she heard his cold voice drift towards her—
"You're twenty-seven, I'm thirty-five, don't you think it's childish?"
Childish, is it?
