A group of people arrived at nine in the evening, possibly because it was the weekend, and the bar was quite lively.
Rosy Harris wasn't a heavy drinker, so after having two drinks with two colleagues around her, she stopped and sat idly at the edge of the sofa, starting to regret it a little.
After all—
She had been a well-behaved girl from childhood, and she couldn't quickly get used to such an environment.
It was too noisy.
After sitting for about half an hour, Rosy wanted to leave.
She stood up, and her gaze involuntarily landed on a spot, her expression slightly stunned.
Windsor Myres was drinking with a guy she didn't recognize at a nearby seat. The guy seemed rather refined, with clean, shiny black hair, a face that was slightly square, a tall nose, and he wore a thin black jacket over his T-shirt, sitting there looking at her drink, with a caring expression.
Who is he?
Rosy looked closely for a couple of seconds, feeling a bit conflicted.
