The face under the black baseball cap was a thuggish face. The smirking eyes were tinged with some sense of arrogance and contempt.
Zephyr paused before greeting with a straight face. “Mr. Thompson.”
“What?” Nicholas was surprised, sneering. “Did I hear it right? You’re calling me Mr. Thompson?”
Zephyr smiled, his gaze deep and impassive. There was an innate sense of authority on him that anyone who came close would feel an intangible pressure—Nicholas was not exempted from it.
It unnerved Nicholas, and he felt strange about it too.
“You must have forgotten what you were like when you pandered to me in the past, huh?” He patted Zephyr’s shoulder. “Hah, you were like ‘Mr. N’, ‘Sir’… Stop f*cking acting like some civilized man now!”
Just as Nicholas’ hand touched Zephyr’s shoulder, the latter grabbed his wrist immediately.
Nicholas was surprised but kept a straight face. He wanted to pry his hand away, but Zephyr kept a vice grip, disallowing him to move.
“Marcus!” he growled. “What do you want?”
Zephyr scoffed and twisted his wrist.
The sense of pain that surged painted Nicholas’ face red. His eyes were murderous as he stared at Zephyr.
“Mr. Thompson, please watch your words,” Zephyr emphasized each word. “No matter how useless I was, it’s in the past. You must have heard how people change with time, right?”
“Marcus Grist—”
“Even if I’ve pandered to you in the past, you’re unworthy of it from now on! So stop coming to me for trouble. Don’t blame me for playing rough, otherwise!”
Each word was so powerful and dominant that Nicholas could not help being alarmed.
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