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6

The first time I heard of Lucas was during my sophomore year.

A friend sent me a photo.

It showed a young man in a bartender's uniform, one hand behind his back and the other holding a tray, standing amidst the vibrant nightlife. His handsome face seemed out of place in that environment of revelry.

He appeared to notice my friend's covert snapshot and raised an eyebrow, revealing his discomfort.

My friend said, "This guy looks like Young Master Walsh."

At that moment, I was accompanying my dad at a birthday banquet. I glanced at the photo and raised an eyebrow.

Indeed, he did resemble him.

I looked at Young Master Walsh, who was reclining on the sofa. His thumb was circling his temple, a hint of crimson in the corner of his eyes, and his gaze slightly unfocused.

As if sensing something, he looked up, and in that instant, the lights dispelled the shadows in his eyes. He blinked at me and parted his lips slightly.

He said softly, "Rachel, I have a headache."

He looked pitiful yet infuria
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