“What made you rush over here? Changed your mind?”Orlando’s fingers clenched into a firm fist. He hadn’t come here to be asked questions like this. If it weren’t for Cochette, he would never have set foot in the Sullivan family castle. It was understandable that Nightroe would never return to the Lightroe mansion. Over the past six months, Orlando had read the situation. He’d deliberately let things play out this way, feeling no need to interfere.“Where’s Cochette?”No beating around the bush. Orlando knew he was being foolish asking Nightroe such a pointless question. The man wouldn’t say a word. That cynical—arrogant—expression already hinted at the grim prospects here.Screw it. Orlando didn’t care.“Where’s Cochette!” This time, he had to suppress a growl in his voice, though he knew it made Nightroe chuckle faintly; as if something was funny, so the man found it deeply amusing.“How funny. A few hours ago I came to you asking the same thing,
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