Who Are You?

"Who are you?" Avery Miller turned around to see a woman whose presence was striking, clad in a black, form-fitting mini dress, her short, red lips and hair accentuating her curvaceous figure.

She stood there, chin slightly raised, with a cool, detached gaze. Even her mere presence, casually standing there, seemed to dominate the atmosphere within a five-meter radius around her. This woman was undeniably formidable.

Avery held a piece of dull, dusty rose fabric that trailed on the floor, and felt a sudden wave of embarrassment under the stern gaze of this unfamiliar woman, even though she was a guest of Mr. Yamada's.

"Hello, I'm a friend of Mr. Yamada's. He asked me to wait here for him," she suddenly felt as if her own aura had diminished significantly, unsure of where to place the fabric she dragged along.