Jocelyn's probing words were not cleverly delivered.
No matter how smart and cunning she was, she could not match the man before her, who was nearly eight years her senior and had weathered many storms. In front of him, all her scheming was just self-delusion.
His penetrating gaze also made it daunting for anyone to play tricks in front of him.
Owen Moreland did not answer Jocelyn's question, nor did he even turn his head to look at her again. He stepped into the private room, and the door closed softly and mercilessly behind him.
Jocelyn stood frozen in place, her face pale and unsightly.
She felt as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over her from head to toe. It was unclear how long she was dazed, but she slowly came back to her senses.
Even if he suspected her, what of it? Without evidence, he couldn't do anything to her.
