Meaningless argument.
Tilly Flower glanced at the cut on his hand caused by sharp glass shards and frowned. She got out of bed and said, "I'm going to call someone to treat your wound."
They weren't married, and arguing over who should have children for whom was truly absurd.
As she passed by him, Sophia Phoenix grabbed her wrist with his blood-warmed palm. Tilly Flower's skin prickled uncomfortably; she raised an eyebrow and asked with slight impatience, "What do you really want?"
Then Sophia Phoenix firmly pushed her down onto the bed they had just left.
The man's bloodied palm was hard like a wall of copper and iron, and she felt as if her bones would be crushed by his grip.
Tilly Flower's face was buried in the soft bedding, and she took a pained breath. She didn't resist, knowing that Sophia Phoenix was a man—a man trained in special forces. Any futile struggle would only cause injury to herself.
She always knew how to read the situation.
