Karl stepped into the room to find Morrison lounging casually on the bed, dressed in relaxed clothes. His long legs were crossed, half-reclined against the headboard. Fresh from the shower, damp hair hanging down, his sharply defined, handsome face carried an undeniable chill—so magnetic that even Karl couldn't help but think, What a captivating man.
But Morrison's mood wasn't great. His perfectly shaped lips were pressed tightly together, giving off an unmistakable aura of "stay away."
"Yo, bro, feeling fancy today, huh?"
Karl grinned as he walked over and plopped down beside Morrison on the bed. Morrison barely resisted the urge to kick him off and said without lifting an eyelid,
"If you've got something to say, say it. If not, get out."
Morrison didn't want to spend even a minute with Karl. Every time he saw him, he thought of Lilian, and his mood darkened—irritated, angry, miserable.
Ignoring the cold reception, Karl shifted awkwardly and finally spoke up,
