Dinner?
Charlotte Miller looked at the sky outside. Although it was not dark yet, she believed it was already late.
It seemed like she had slept all day again.
Charlotte struggled to slowly get up; her clothes were torn, some shredded, some cut by a knife, anyway, they could no longer be worn.
And within her reach was his shirt.
Charlotte was unwilling to wear his shirt; she didn't want more of Atlas Hallow's scent lingering on her.
So she could only go upstairs to find clothes to change into.
The pain was unimaginable, as if she had to bend at the waist when walking; he had left countless terrible fingerprints on her waist.
However, she noticed one thing: the wooden cabin had heating on, giving a very warm feeling.
After changing her clothes, she went downstairs and found that Atlas Hallow had really prepared dinner.
How could she be sure it was he who made it? Because there was no third person here.
The dinner he made was very simple, simpler than any meal before.
