"Hmm, Lucas, didn't you say you'd wait downstairs for my call? I'm not feeling well right now, can you come pick me up..."
A chilling coldness inexplicably came through the phone.
Charlotte Knight didn't look at the phone screen at all, her body had already gone limp as she moved to sit on the sofa in the lounge.
She was still wearing ten-centimeter high heels because of the evening banquet. The heels were very thin; the lounge floor was slippery, and the high heels were unstable beneath her feet, she almost fell.
"Lucas... Lucas, have you come?"
After all, it's been over twenty years without a man's care.
He's the only man who has ever cared about her like that, the one who truly gave her warmth.
Not speaking of love, but she heavily relies on him.
"Lucas?" Over the phone, that extremely cold voice of Lucas Knight pierced through, magnetic and lazy, but containing a chilling murderous intent.
