Starting from his twenty-seventh year, Dantès had been managing the inn in his hometown for over a decade.
Travelers with stories, young people venturing out, and despondent individuals with nowhere to turn... He had already lost count of how many he had seen in his past life.
But the woman who walked in today.
She was definitely an unprecedented, special visitor.
With her dust-covered clothes, exquisitely beautiful face, and expression devoid of any emotion...
To say she was a pampered young mistress, her worn servant's clothes did not fit that status; to say she was a traveler from afar, her cold, heartless demeanor was completely mismatching; as for a merchant doing business, it was utterly impossible for a woman to travel alone and carry only a single suitcase.
Dantès began to recall—
In the nearby towns, was there anyone who matched this woman's image? Or had there been any relevant news recently?
For someone like him, who managed an inn,
