0435 phone call_1

In the haze of smoke, the man in the black shirt had a face that was shockingly, disturbingly beautiful.

There was a mirror opposite him that perfectly reflected Ruffy Smith's face.

He just lifted his eyelids for a quick glance, and right now he was drunk, already a bit blurry.

His thoughts were a mess, and he wasn't one for narcissism, but upon seeing that face in the mirror, he couldn't help but mockingly pat his own cheek.

Everyone said he was good-looking, yet it wasn't good enough, or else why couldn't he even deceive one person.

She never cared for his face; it was utterly useless.

His head was spinning a bit; they say people think nonsense when they're drunk—now he was probably doing just that, thinking too much.

He had persisted for several months now, and in the interactions with Ellen Young, though infrequent, he could sense that Ellen didn't dislike him.