Then, Ayanna laughed softly.

That’s right. She came from a humble background. How could she refuse him?

She got into his car. It’s a black Land Rover. He never used to drive such a car. Instead, he used to sit in the back seat of a black limousine, driven by a chauffeur. He would never smoke casually in the car either.

The man before her was still Anderson, yet he wasn't.

He had changed so much.

He didn't ask for her address. It wasn’t like he cared. Stepping on the gas pedal, he took her straight to a villa.

As the car entered a familiar alley, she exclaimed, "Why are we coming here?"

"Why not?" he replied.

He turned off the engine and looked at her. The car's interior was dim, their profiles flickering in and out of shadow.

He stared at her for a long time before speaking coldly,

"I bought this place again last month. You’d be wrong if you think I did it out of nostalgia, Ayanna. I did it to remind myself of this disgraceful past, to remind myself never to trust a woman