As Cynthia entered, Albert casually picked up a piece of clothing draped over the sofa and tossed it to her with a nonchalant look.
"Go take a shower."
She grabbed the item, took one look, and nearly popped her eyes out. It was a black, sheer, silk slip—so thin that, held in her palm, she could see the lines of her hand right through it. And the neckline? Cut so low, it might as well plunge down to her navel!
Wearing this barely-there fabric was no different from wearing nothing at all. He was definitely doing this on purpose! This man was an absolute shameless, twisted pervert!
Fighting the urge to hurl it back at him, she threw the slip onto the sofa and turned toward the wardrobe, her voice laced with indignation.
"I'm not wearing it! I'll just put on my old T-shirt."
Hands tucked in his pockets, he watched her with an infuriatingly smug expression. "I had Fredy toss that T-shirt. It was way too worn out."
