Banyan City, the apartment where Titus Zane lived.
A bottle of red wine had already reached its bottom, yet Titus Zane felt no trace of inebriation; on the contrary, he was much clearer.
On the other hand, the man nestled on the sofa bore a rosy hue on his cheeks, his suit had long disappeared, a red tie hung loosely around his neck, and the collar of his white shirt was open. He lounged lazily on the sofa like a drunkard, nothing like his previous gentle and refined appearance.
Leaning against the sofa, Titus Zane supported his temple with one hand, his cheeks slightly warm, yet his attire remained impeccably neat. Holding the shawl tightly in front of his chest with one hand, he gazed at the man on the other side of the sofa, a slight curve at the corners of his lips.
The two stared at each other, one with a sense of defeat, the other with elegance, neither spoke.
A few minutes later, Titus Zane straightened his body, tightened the shawl, and asked the evidently drunk man.
