The lights in the villa had long since been turned off, leaving it pitch-black.
He still remembered how, in the past, no matter how late he returned, a warm, orange light would always be left on for him in the living room and bedroom.
The light was so warm. Although he truly hated Annabelle Linton at the time, that faint glow had always warmed his heart.
Now, he finally realized.
It wasn't the light that had warmed his heart, but Annabelle Linton, who would wait up for him no matter how late he came home.
Leona Grant pursed his lips. Shrouded in darkness, he let out a soft sigh and entered the villa, a sense of desolation washing over him.
He had clothes in his car and had already changed in there.
Leona Grant irritably took off his suit jacket, casually undoing two buttons on his black shirt.
The living room was deathly silent, devoid of any human presence.
CLICK.
