Through the crowd and past a half-hidden, ornate screen, in the dim light of the corner, Celia Sterling couldn't quite make out Silas Norwood's face.
But some people only needed to be seen from a distance; their unique aura was enough for anyone to recognize them.
Kian Sterling followed her gaze and teased, "What? Have you taken a liking to that flower on a high peak?"
"No." Celia Sterling's gaze fell on Silas Norwood's minimalist white shirt. He was clearly in the middle of a bustling crowd, yet he exuded a cool detachment, a certain ascetic air that seemed completely otherworldly.
But the man she was looking for was wearing a dark purple, almost black, shirt.
Or perhaps it was a vibrant, starry purple like the one Kian Sterling was wearing. The lighting in the hallway outside the dressing room had been dim, so it was only natural for her perception of the color to be off.
'But no matter how off my perception was, there's no way purple could look like white, right?'
