His expression was cold and harsh, his tone was brash, carrying a burst of unnamed rage.
Purple Summers was baffled and didn't know how she had managed to anger him.
But ever since the two had a frank conversation, Nathaniel Summers always spoke to her in this sarcastic and strange manner—it wasn't surprising anymore.
After Nathaniel Summers finished speaking, his expression became even gloomier. He didn't even glance at Purple Summers before turning around and leaving.
Purple Summers stood still, watching his retreating figure, her thoughts in disarray and restless.
Something was gently rubbing against her foot, and when she looked down, she found it was Cleo, who had returned from swimming, snuggling against her ankle, leaving it damp.
She sighed softly and led Cleo back.