He walked slowly, seemingly at ease.
However, to Jing Haohao, his leisure was more akin to torture.
Mr. Suzuki eventually stopped in front of the sofa, overlooking Jing Haohao for a moment before slowly bending down to stub out his cigar in the ashtray. He twisted it gently, his movements seeming like those drawn-out, slow-motion scenes from movies.
When Mr. Suzuki's fingers left the ashtray, he naturally picked up a drugged glass of wine and slowly walked over to Jing Haohao, crouching down beside her.
Jing Haohao subconsciously sank into the sofa. The composed demeanor she had maintained was slightly shattered. Her heartbeat pounded rapidly, as if it might jump out of her chest at any moment, her body filled with terror.
As she saw Mr. Suzuki's face coming closer and closer, the already exhausted Jing Haohao began to struggle with renewed desperation.
The driver began to apply more force in restraining her.
