Seraphina didn’t quite know how to explain it. Should she tell the Young Master that whenever she saw muscular male statues, she immediately thought of him?“Anyway, I’m not looking,” she said, brushing it off.“Alright then, we’ll do as you say,” the Young Master replied, leading her into one of the oil painting galleries.They strolled quietly along the corridor, taking in the artwork as they walked.The gallery was serene. The Young Master moved with steady steps, pausing here and there at his own rhythm to study the paintings.Seraphina, on the other hand, was more scattered. Sometimes, the Young Master had already finished admiring a piece and moved on, only for her to realize belatedly and hurry to catch up. Other times, she wandered ahead, only to turn back and find him still lingering behind.Eventually, the Young Master simply wrapped an arm around her waist—partly to keep her from wandering off, and partly to support her tipsy self.Champagne wasn’t very strong, technically
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