In the suite, Melford touched the bruised corner of his mouth in front of the bathroom mirror and winced.

"How many years has it been since we last saw each other, and the first thing you do is punch me? Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

He looked plaintively at the icy man sitting on the sofa.

Altsin pursed his lips in silence, his mind flooded with images of Chelsea from moments ago. Every word she said echoed in his ears. Her vibrant yet lazy demeanor, her cold yet mocking words—was that really Chelsea?

He was deeply suspicious.

Melford, sitting across from him, lit a cigarette and...