The cold and ruthless man had already strode away and stepped inside.
Charlie River paused beside the butler. "The Young Master is in a foul mood. Rember, watch your words and actions!"
The butler nodded hastily. He could see that the Young Master wasn’t just in a bad mood—he was seething with rage!
Returning to his bedroom, Thomas Shannon went straight into the bath chamber to shower.
Standing under the shower, water sluicing over him, he closed his eyes. The image that surfaced in his mind was Sophie Sullivan’s face: defiant, a provocative smile playing on her lips, her gaze unyielding.
Thomas Shannon slicked his wet hair back, revealing a smooth, broad forehead. He punched the wall hard, cursing under his breath, "Damn it!"
She detested Minimus Hart, and hadn’t he sent Minimus Hart to her to be her plaything?
She kept asking where Raina Bell was and if she’d been punished. Hadn’t he brought Raina Bell before her, allowing her to exact punishnt as she pleased?
Wasn’t that enough? What more could she possibly want?
He had never made things difficult for George Stanford, much less hard him. And why? All because of her, because of that precious face of hers.
When he was on that business trip and learned she had escaped—returned to Country F with Lucifer—Thomas Shannon had barely managed to control himself, to suppress the fury that churned and burned in his chest.
Now, back in the bedroom, the sight of the bed where they had once been so intimate sent a torrent of emotions coursing through him. Anger, vexation, disappointnt, a sense of speechlessness... these feelings tangled together, morphing into an indescribable ache that lodged in his throat, making it hard to breathe.
Leaving the bath chamber, Thomas Shannon tied the waistband of his sleep gown securely and toweled his jet-black hair dry.
Harry must have slipped in at so point; he was curled up asleep at the foot of the bed.
Thomas Shannon walked to the foot of the bed, bent down, and lifted Harry by the scruff of his neck, leaving him dangling in mid-air.
Startled awake, Harry looked terrified.
Recognizing his master, he let out a pitiful OW, his paws paddling the air as if pleading for rcy.
"Useless creature." Thomas Shannon’s eyes were glacial, his low voice laced with displeasure.
Harry pawed at the air, trying to reach his hand, owing weakly in an attempt to appease his master.
Thomas Shannon’s cold eyes narrowed dangerously. "Tell , what good are you? She left. Why didn’t you go with her?"
Damn it!
Heaven only knew how desperately he wanted to know if Sophie Sullivan, that heartless, ungrateful wretch, was doing anything to betray him with Lucifer right now.
Was she kissing Lucifer again? Were they wrapped up in each other’s arms, shalessly intimate?!
"OW."
Suddenly, Thomas Shannon grabbed a handful of Harry’s whiskers, causing the cat to yowl in pain.
The small bell on his collar jingled sharply, unusually conspicuous.
Thomas Shannon tossed him onto the sofa. "Still think you can sleep on the bed? Hah! No dried small fish for you this month!"
Harry’s chubby body tumbled twice on the sofa before he managed to stop. He scrambled upright, howling in despair for his lost dried small fish: "OW!"
Lights out. Sleep.
User Comments
0 comments from readers