Benson raised his hand and squeezed Lynn’s chin, fire in his eyes.

Lynn immediately raised her hand and slapped the hand on her chin but was unimpressed.

Lynn, "?"

The jaw was forced higher and higher, and Lynn was forced to tiptoe. The uncontrollable feeling made Lynn frantic.

From Benson’s black pupils, Lynn sees a miniature version of herself, like a poor clown!

"Remember that time in the bar, playing the game of dice? Your legs didn't get sore?"

The familiar sense of shame immediately climbed up Lynn’s face, and her legs trembled slightly.

Lynn wanted to open her mouth to speak, but abominably, she found herself unable to speak...