At that end, Nathan Moore’s handsome face immediately turned cold, his voice coming out icy and devoid of warmth.
"Titus Zane, is that pretty boy with you?"
She had intended to hang up the call, but upon hearing the unclear voice from the phone, Titus Zane still responded, "Yes."
A corner of her lips curled up in self-mockery, she had wanted to annoy him, but instead, it was her own mood that soured.
Pocketing her phone, she lifted her face, took a deep breath, and let a smile spread across her lips, thinking of all the joys in life. As long as she completed this task, she could enjoy life thereafter.
She once dreamed of choosing a quiet little town, but now, she wanted to travel the world, visit every known and unknown place, not worrying about running into an employer—she could always spend some Silver to go to Korea if needed.
She walked towards Wesley Foley’s bedroom, where he was sleeping, to see what he needed from her. Pushing open the slightly ajar door, the man in the bed was fast asleep—turns out it was just a murmur in his dreams.
With a helpless shake of her head, she gently closed the door and Titus Zane returned to her room.
When bored, one often looks for things to do, especially women.
It was deep into the night, yet she couldn’t feel sleep beckoning, so Titus Zane stood in front of her wardrobe, rummaging through it.
She took out a dress, held it up in front of the mirror, found it passable, and laid it on the bed, then picked out a shirt and placed it in front of her...
Such actions repeated, and soon, the bed was piled with an assortment of clothes.
Some still had their tags on, never worn.
Time passed, and the woman, still devoid of sleep, seemed tirelessly entertained by this activity.
Sifting through the clothes she didn’t like and hanging them back into the wardrobe, she then approached the bed with a dress of thin fabric in each hand, pondering between them, Titus Zane decided to first try on the dark green one.
She had just slipped the dress on and hadn’t fastened the zipper at the back when the ringtone from her phone, buried under the clothes, began to ring.
Glancing at her wristwatch, it was daytime on the other side of the ocean. She hadn’t contacted Sister Hua for several days; perhaps it was a call from her.
Bending over to pick up the phone, her cascading waves covered half her face and partially obscured her view. She carelessly brushed it aside and without looking at the caller ID, she answered.
"This is Nathan Moore." The voice, cold and lacking warmth, resounded, and at this moment, Nathan Moore was already standing in front of the main entrance of Titus Zane’s apartment building.
Still wearing his social attire, but the tie that was previously on his white shirt’s collar was nowhere to be seen. His handsome face broody, and his eyes dark, like the dense clouds before a storm hanging over his visage.
"Nathan, Nathan Moore?" Titus Zane felt somewhat incapacitated, repeating his name into the receiver. Before she could say another word, Nathan Moore took the lead.
"I’m downstairs at your apartment building right now. Open the door."
Startled, her European eyes widening with a Western flair, she stared wide-eyed, holding the phone, motionless.
"I said I’m at the entrance of your apartment building, now, open the door." Nathan Moore insisted, word by word.
Whether she was shocked by Nathan Moore’s icy displeasure or simply hadn’t come to her senses, Titus Zane uttered a few "ohs" into the phone and hurried out of her room to press the button to open the apartment’s main door.
After pressing the button, it seemed as if she finally realized what she was doing. The hand clutching her phone tightened, trembling slightly—her nervousness showing.
Wesley Foley was still in the apartment; she couldn’t let Nathan Moore come up.
This was the only thought in Titus Zane’s mind. Opening the door, she slipped on her shoes and seemed to forget that the zipper of the dress she was wearing was still undone at the back, as she hurriedly ran towards the elevator lobby.