Atlas seemed as if he hadn’t heard anything, his eyes filled with molten lava.
No one dared to meet his gaze or look into his eyes, and the searing lava within was about to melt away that movie-poster-like scene.
That was his woman, his wife, currently in an elevator with another man. Just watching this scene made his heart almost unbearable. If looks were like blades, Jack Smith’s hand might have been cut off hundreds of times by now, muscle and bone alike.
The powerful and icy aura exuded from the man’s tall and muscular body nearly filled the entire room. Even with adequate indoor heating, it still felt like being swept into a cold wave, making one shiver.
His gloomy eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, fell on Charlotte’s face with a madness that seemed intent on devouring her small face.
"Everyone get out..." The voice was low and cold, somewhat frightening: "Don’t you have work to do?" His chilling gaze swept over everyone behind him, signaling them to leave one by one.
Everyone quickly disappeared from the surveillance room, including the young girl holding a cup of coffee, who hurriedly put down the coffee before being ushered out.
The surveillance room fell silent, leaving only Atlas and Daniel Parker.
Daniel Parker had his rules; he knew when he could leave and when he didn’t need to avoid anything.
Having been with Atlas for so long, if he didn’t know this, he wouldn’t qualify as his special assistant.
"The technicians will arrive in ten minutes. We’ve already called the elevator company. This situation can’t be forcibly opened, but there’s a problem with the internal wiring; we just need to wait a little longer," Daniel reported softly from behind Atlas. His boss was in a foul mood, so he spoke with great caution, afraid of stirring up more trouble.
Atlas said nothing, his eyes coldly fixed on everything happening on the surveillance screen.
"If you’re not scared, why are you trembling a bit? Are you cold?" Jack Smith looked at the slightly trembling Charlotte. At this moment, she seemed like a tender leaf at the treetop, ready to dance with the wind as it blew.
Some women’s faces can withstand close scrutiny, and Charlotte was exactly that kind. Her delicate skin was moist and clear, not a pore or flaw visible, radiant and translucent like a fluorescent light, almost tempting one to reach out and touch—wondering if this was a real person or a life-sized SD doll.
He casually took off the flight jacket he was wearing and draped it over Charlotte’s shoulders. A woman with such graceful delicacy always aroused a man’s protective instincts, and Jack Smith was no exception.
"Why are you wearing a short-sleeve shirt? Shouldn’t you be in warmer clothing like long underwear in this weather?" Charlotte couldn’t understand why Jack Smith, after taking off his flight jacket, was only wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt. Wasn’t he cold?
"To look better. Celebrities always have to maintain their style. Don’t you like it?" Jack Smith stretched his arms, revealing some totem and ancient script-like tattoos: "I don’t really get it either, but it’s cool, right?"
Charlotte seemed to understand Jack Smith a little. He really was just like a child—so simple and straightforward it was almost unbelievable.
Is this the definition of cool? A few tattoos, ripped jeans, and the trendy fashionista look—does that count as very cool?