Thomas Shannon’s expression was as dark and cold as deep water, the fire in his eyes gradually spreading. Their gazes t in mid-air, crackling with unspoken hostility, neither willing to back down.
After a long ti, Thomas Shannon sneered, "Did you misunderstand sothing?"
Sophie Sullivan eyed him with cold disdain.
"I’m looking for Harry."
"Looking for Harry led you to my bed?"
A flicker of embarrassnt and awkwardness crossed Thomas Shannon’s eyes. However, who was Young Master Shannon? His ntal fortitude was so strong it was intimidating.
He pursed his thin lips, his cold eyes glinting with derisive mockery. "Every single thing here belongs to , Thomas Shannon. This bed, this manor... even you. Who would dare say otherwise?"
She knew he was shaless, but tonight he had redefined her understanding of the word.
Sophie sneered, shaking her head in disgust. Saying nothing more, she jumped off the bed and walked out without a backward glance.
Thomas Shannon’s handso brow furrowed deeply. Where is she going?
He followed, watching as she strode barefoot out of the dical office and then headed towards the manor gate.
She wants to leave?
"Stop!" Thomas Shannon commanded in a low voice. His voice was cold and heavy, laced with displeasure.
Sophie ignored him completely. Thomas Shannon strode forward, his tall fra blocking her path, and grabbed her shoulder. "I told you to stop. Didn’t you hear ?"
"..."
"Do you think you can leave without my permission?"
"..."
She remained silent, her gaze cold, refusing to even look at him.
Thomas Shannon, finding this utterly pointless, released her. "Go back then."
With those words, he strode past her and left.
After so ti, a maidservant hurried over. "Maniac, it’s getting late. You should go back to the dical office and rest."
As she spoke, the servant squatted down in front of Sophie, placing a pair of slippers on the ground. "Quickly, put these on."
Sophie turned her head, confirming that Thomas Shannon had left and wouldn’t bother her again. Only then did she whisper her thanks, put on the slippers, and turn back towards the dical office.
The maidservant followed her. "Actually, you don’t have to thank . It was..." It was, in fact, Young Master who had told her to do this.
After that unpleasant night, Thomas Shannon never appeared before her again.
Sophie, for her part, was glad for the peace. She ate her three als on ti each day and ensured she had plenty of sleep. She was preparing to face her second reparative surgery in the best possible condition.
The next day, after waking up, Sophie went to Old Mr. Standford’s room as usual. She had breakfast with him, and they discussed the details of the upcoming surgery.
As soon as she entered, she saw an energetic Old Mr. Standford, who beckoned her over to sit.
"Fiona, co."
Sophie had long since beco immune to the na ’Fiona’.
She sat down on the sofa, and George Stanford handed her a surgical plan. Regardless of whether she could understand it or grasp the technical terms, he began his explanation.
He gestured over Sophie’s face for a good while, demonstrating parts of the procedure, and then told her what kind of post-surgery reactions to expect, how long the recovery period would be, and so on.
Although Sophie didn’t understand the technical terms, she brightened considerably upon hearing about the recovery period and the expected post-operative results. A smile finally touched her previously somber expression.
"Old Mr. Standford, I’ll leave it to you. I trust your dical skills!"
Sophie handed the surgical plan back to him and patted his shoulder, her expression clearly saying, ’I have faith in you.’
George Stanford laughed heartily. "Alright! With that trust you’ve shown , I’ll definitely fix this ugly face of yours."
Breakfast ended in a pleasant atmosphere.
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