,
Nathan Moore lifted his dark pupils, and as he exhaled the smoke, a smirk appeared on his lips, giving Titus Zane a chilling sensation.
His thin lips slightly parted, and he slowly uttered a few words.
"What do you mean? You don't understand?"
Another rhetorical question rang in Titus Zane's ears like a person strapped to the guillotine, his head being held down, the executioner raising the large blade, yet unwilling to drop it down, continuously indicating towards the head—spreading terror and panic in her heart, subsequently becoming uncontrollable.
She hated this feeling, the feeling of being manipulated by someone.
In anger, she pushed aside Nathan Moore's long legs blocking the front of the sofa, twisted her body, and sat down beside him, speaking with a tone and expression that were both cold.
