Charles Seymour looked at Sophie Wilson, who was trembling between him and the wall, sighed softly, and with slender fingers gently caressed her delicate cheek, whispering, "Don't be afraid."
"Mm..." Sophie's reply came with a trembling tone. Wasn't he terrifying?
Asking her not to be afraid was like asking a mouse not to fear a cat, utterly against the laws of nature.
"You don't like this booth?" Charles asked.
"Li—like it..." Sophie nodded shakily.
"Like it?" Charles's face darkened. The person who designed this was clearly lying to him. If Sophie liked it, would she react this way?
The air pressure from a certain someone got lower, scaring Sophie into trembling even more, and she couldn't help but curse inwardly. Who had provoked this gentleman?
She hadn't seen him with such a fierce and intimidating aura for a long time.
Could this be a place he had specially chosen?
