The man's expression was icy. The chill in his eyes was like being trapped in a glacier, making one shiver. "It's her own choice."
The cigarette butt was forcefully crushed in the ashtray.
The last wisp of smoke finally dissipated into the air.
Charlie River knew only one thing: after the maniac had been touched by someone, she could never get close to the Young Master again.
The Young Master was a clean freak; his women had to be spotless.
Not a single flaw was tolerated.
The top-tier Club had a Presidential Suite, lavish and extravagantly designed.
Every detail was a testament to the designer's meticulous care.
Sophie Sullivan was pulled into the suite by Maxwell Sinclair. After he shut the door, he said, "Let's not waste time. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can sign the contract."
Sophie's expression turned cold. Before Maxwell Sinclair's hand could touch her, she nimbly dodged away.
Maxwell Sinclair's hands were left hanging in midair.
