Amanda Smith slowly awakened under a dim yellow light.
The ceiling above her was an unfamiliar color, and she paused for a long while, still not understanding where she was lying.
A blanket covered her body, carrying a scent of incense, soft and clean. She rubbed her temples and looked around, her movements halting slightly when she saw the man sitting not far away on the sofa.
It was Samuel Johnson.
He leaned on the sofa with his head tilted back, his eyes half-closed as if taking a nap. The hazy light fell on his exquisite face, highlighting a seductively ambiguous charm. His legs were crossed and stretched out, a posture of utter relaxation.
Her memory was fragmented; she couldn't recall how she ended up here, but she faintly remembered being surrounded by a group of men after getting drunk.
Her clothes were intact, so it seemed he had brought her here, right…?
