The door opened.
A clear, melodious female voice rang out, tinged with a hint of laziness. "Do we have guests? I was just at the door and heard someone talking bad about me!"
Everyone in the living room: "???"
The atmosphere grew stiff and exceptionally awkward.
"Iris?" Leona Vaughn turned, stunned for a moment. She hadn't expected Iris to return just then.
The young woman changed her shoes at the door. As her waist turned, her long, jet-black hair swayed with the movement, elegant and graceful. It framed a fair, delicate face—bright and lovely, with a cool, pure air.
She was as captivating as a sprite.
Her aunt, Fiona Goldsmith, was momentarily taken aback. The smile on her face was a bit forced, but she still offered a greeting. "You must be Iris. Truly the daughter of the Sherwood Family, you're so beautiful."
James Vaughn clutched the teacup in his hand, his grip tightening as his dark, unreadable eyes sized up the young woman.
