His words were precise down to the second, sounding like he was rushing home desperately, proving that he hadn't forgotten the promise he made to her back then.
The afternoon's deception was also glossed over carelessly, leaving people with no way to deal with him.
Claire Prescott's eyes lowered slightly as she looked at those thin, moist lips, "Did you drink?"
She heard him hum in response.
Claire held the hand on her cheek, leaned closer to him, and sniffed playfully, "It seems you drank quite a bit."
"Not drunk."
His voice was deep and steady. Even when he walked over earlier, there was no sign of drunkenness. His eyes were as noble and profound as ever, with a meticulously tied tie exuding elegance and courteousness, and the buttons of the shirt beneath fastened rigorously all the way up, his entire being emanating an air of abstinent detachment.
Yet there was a hint of authority.
Making her feel as if she were far away from him, longing to be closer.
