Scarlett Yates coldly said, "I won't drink alcohol."
He curved his lips into a smile, an exceedingly handsome face, his profound features appearing particularly distinct in the hazy night, with the lines from his forehead to his jaw being exceptionally graceful, like a painting.
The person across, just looking at the exterior, was very pleasing to the eye.
Such handsome features, noble demeanor, an impeccably charming and elegant smile, would stand out anywhere.
Yet such a seemingly noble, elegant, and perfectly poised man was, inherently, a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Under his refined appearance lurked a demon.
This face could infatuate all women, but Scarlett Yates only saw fear.
Maxwell Saxon slightly tilted his head back, the crimson liquid in the crystal glass flowed into his alluring thin lips.
His gesture of drinking was very elegant, from pouring, smelling, to sipping, vividly embodying the essence of "tasting" in wine tasting.
