In the routine morning meeting, Oliver Shaw sat in the president's seat, still wearing the same suit he had worn to work yesterday.
The dark gray suit and white shirt were neat, his dark red tie perfectly knotted. As the departments reported their performance, Felix Shaw glanced faintly at his father, trying to discern something from his demeanor.
Oliver occasionally looked down at the documents in front of him, perhaps the tie was too tight as he casually reached up to adjust it—a very ordinary, casual gesture. However, it made Felix's gaze tighten and his peach blossom eyes slowly narrow, even his fingers gripping the pen tensed.
When his father adjusted his tie earlier, Felix might have seen, if he wasn't mistaken, a small patch of red on the left side of his father's shirt collar, likely a kiss mark.
