The man's gaze fell brazenly on her chest, a profound, knowing smile in his eyes.
Seraphina Quinn's heart pounded like a drum, but she didn't dare make a reckless move.
She neither struggled nor shrank back. Steeling herself, she met the man's intensely heated gaze and spoke with calm composure:
"When I followed Mr. Joyce in from the main hall earlier, I saw the portrait of a deceased woman on the altar table. The frame was inlaid with gold and diamonds, and the incense burner used for offerings was a bronze antique from the Western Arkosian Dynasty. I'm guessing she must be Mr. Joyce's late wife?"
Cian was noncommittal. His expression didn't seem to change at all, but the aura around him invisibly grew distinctly colder.
Seeing this, Seraphina Quinn added, "I can tell Mr. Joyce was deeply devoted to his late wife. You don't seem like the kind of man who would easily have improper thoughts about other women."
