A familiar address, as if she had never left.
She turned her head, and the man with a tall and straight figure slowly approached her, the corner of his mouth also showing an elegant curve.
At the moment Yvonne turned her head, a strange glint flashed in his narrow eyes under his glasses.
He was momentarily distracted, but his smile remained as he quickened his steps.
Yvonne pursed her lips and nodded, "Mr. Gray."
On the second floor, in Christopher Gray's office, the same set of vintage mahogany furniture. Sitting on the sofa, he leisurely made tea without haste or stress.
As Yvonne mentioned her flight tomorrow, Mr. Gray paused and looked at her, "Won't you stay for a few more days?"
Yvonne shook her head, "Yvonne Young is dead, there is no suitable identity for me to stay in this city."