"Love," Albert Kingsley replied.
"Love is a light, green that makes you panic," Alexander Kingsley smirked playfully, "Nice, you should dye your hair. Your flaxen color is too low-key, dye it green!"
Though Alexander Kingsley's tone sounded like a suggestion, it was in fact a notification, a command. Being a soldier and a top special forces operative, even his cold voice carried a strong sense of oppression and an intense aura of killing intent.
No one could defy his words.
Albert Kingsley: "..."
Green hair, Uncle, are you serious?
After all, he was a legitimate heir to the Kingsley name. Did he need to lose face like this? Uncle, do you have to embarrass him so much!!
If he really dyed his hair green, how could he hold his head high in public anymore?
But, once Alexander Kingsley gave his orders, it was a nailed-down fact, unchangeable.
So...
One hour later.
Isabelle Nightingale fainted from losing blood.
Albert Kingsley's hair was dyed green by the adjutant.
