Before Sophie Wilson could figure out what exactly was going on, the door burst open with a swoosh.
Charles Seymour stood in the doorway with a dark expression. The warm sunset light flooded most of the room, yet it still couldn't disperse the dense clouds on his face.
Sophie blinked her eyes—he seemed… well, a bit… unhappy, it appeared.
"What did you just say?" Charles spoke, the temperature in the room plummeting.
Sophie extended her index finger and gently poked Charles's arm, like a wobbly little kitten still unsteady on its feet, playfully teasing him.
Charles lowered his gaze, watching that pale tender fingertip poke lightly at his arm.
The fingertip was healthy pink, the nails full and glossy; with each poke, a part of his heart softened.
Sophie was poking him to divert attention, but suddenly, warmth enveloped her hand as a strong hand firmly grasped it.
Instinctively looking up, she fell straight into the endless starry sea of indulgence in his eyes.
