Her forehead was covered in fine, dense beads of sweat. She raised her hand to wipe them away.
Behind her, the black convoy came to a smooth stop.
The car door opened, and chubby Harry jumped out, yowling and rushing towards Sophie Sullivan.
Hearing Harry's voice, Sophie Sullivan turned her head and saw the black Lincoln fleet that had caught up at some point.
She pursed her lips and looked at the man sitting in the back seat. His handsome face was cold and solemn, his lips slightly pursed, and his angular profile appeared deep and three-dimensional.
He looked as if he had been meticulously sculpted by God himself.
Handsome as a painting, exquisitely refined.
Harry climbed into Sophie Sullivan's embrace, demanding attention, his furry little head rubbing against her face.
Sophie Sullivan's face was still damp with a thin layer of sweat, and when his furry head rubbed against her, a good deal of his fur stuck to her.
"Harry, go back."
