Banyan City, the apartment where Titus Zane resided.
The bottle of red wine was empty, yet Titus Zane didn't feel the slightest bit drunk; on the contrary, he was even more lucid.
In contrast, the gentle man on the couch, his cheeks flushed like the rosy dawn, had long since shed his suit. The red tie hung around his neck, the collar of his white shirt open, lounging lazily on the couch like a drunken man, all trace of his former refined elegance gone.
Leaning on the couch, Titus Zane propped his head with one hand, his cheeks slightly hot while his clothes remained perfectly neat. His other hand clutched the shawl draped in front of him as he looked at the man on the other side of the couch, corners of his lips faintly curving.
The two of them, gazing at each other, one in decay, one in elegance, neither speaking a word.
A few minutes later, Titus Zane straightened up, tightened his shawl, and asked the clearly inebriated man.
