During the day, when she was working, she had the maid come up to clean, and she noticed the maid opened the window and then closed it—it must have been secured then.
Mrs. Young drew the slight gap of the curtain closed, left the study, and locked the door.
Hearing some noise downstairs, Mrs. Young went down and just so happened to see Dylan. Her eyes narrowed a bit, and with an appropriately surprised expression, she asked, "Dylan? When did you get back?"
Dylan's coat was off, his shirt wrinkled, and his sleeves rolled up, revealing a strong forearm with a gruesome scar still faintly visible. That face, clearly over 40 years old, yet more captivating than any young, handsome man, carried a sense of decadence and disregard now, and those seductive, indifferent peach blossom eyes.
Dylan replied indifferently, "Just got back. Sister-in-law, why aren't you asleep so late?"
