This is also why, as the "gatekeeper," Sumr Fairmont didn’t imdiately sentence Sean Lowell to "death."
But no matter how poorly a person speaks, they still need a sense of moderation.
Sumr Fairmont was truly angry, to the extent that even Artie’s influence was ineffective.
"Ah, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re willing to do a solo live stream for Sumr’s family’s whiskey, I’d be about to pour Paris water on you." Artie quickly entered into a state of second attack.
However, this ti, she wasn’t really battling—it was all an act.
Artie walked up to Sean Lowell, briskly carrying a cup of cola, using a volu that only they could hear, nudging Sean Lowell, "Sumr’s mom passed away eighteen years ago, Master, so maybe it’s ti you got a grip."
Artie’s reminder to Sean Lowell was partly to spare Sumr Fairmont from distress and also to apologize for dousing Sean Lowell with two taphorical buckets of dog blood the day before.
Getting close to Sean Lowell, Artie felt a strange warmth.
This unnatural feeling made Artie question whether her "cleanliness distance" had sohow shrunk.
The effect of Artie’s goodwill was almost instant.
Sean Lowell remained silent for a long ti until Leo, Artie, and Sumr Fairmont took their seats.
But the bamboo rod had no shadow—possibly due to direct sunlight.
With Earth’s rotation, shadows quickly reappear.
"I... still want to ask a question, do you... rember this necklace?" Sean Lowell seed oblivious to Artie’s unconventional "warning," as his gaze was fixed solely on Sumr Fairmont.
He stared intently, as if trying to see right through Sumr Fairmont.
Sumr Fairmont glanced at Sean Lowell, then at the necklace, before closely studying Artie’s expression, noticing that The Pouting Siren showed no signs of being enamored with this unreasonable man.
Sumr Fairmont wasn’t great at discerning sincerity from Artie’s tone, but the subtle expressions on Artie’s face never escaped her notice.
The slight embarrassnt Artie now displayed ant that the prior call, where she claid to fall for a singularly talented and exceptional guy, was rely to lure her back to the country—or perhaps more shockingly, to obtain a bottle of whiskey.
Whether it was to lure her back or get the whiskey, either was far better than Artie truly falling for a man who wears a button as a necklace.
Sumr Fairmont felt relieved, so much so that she thought she had no reason to stay there.
Sumr Fairmont pulled out whiskey bottled forty years ago, handed it to Artie, and left with two emotionless words: "I’m off."
Then she really left.
Leaving behind a bold and brisk silhouette.
Sumr Fairmont used to care very much about how others saw her, wishing dearly for everyone’s approval.
She had tried hard, but she wasn’t successful.
Now she only wants to live in the manner truest to herself.
She doesn’t mind being misunderstood by the world.
Why reconcile with the world when she hasn’t even reconciled with herself yet?
Sumr Fairmont doesn’t possess The Pouting Siren’s talent for playful allure nor the Nation’s Gentleman’s universal grace that leaves people feeling refreshed.
She doesn’t mind the entire world thinking she lacks upbringing.
Sothing one never originally possessed doesn’t simply materialize because one cares enough.
The persona Sumr Fairmont has crafted for herself consists of only two words—villain.
Why should soone who has never been treated kindly be gentle with the world?
Will the world suddenly respond if she’s a bit more gentle?
The Nation’s Gentleman can use gentlemanly grace to cope with the family upheaval he faced at eighteen, but first, he must have the credentials to be the Nation’s Gentleman.
What does villain Sumr Fairmont have?
She has nothing.
Not quite.
A month ago, she gained ten thousand bottles of whiskey, brewed in a lost thod.
Villain Sumr Fairmont obliges only a very few friends she deems worthy of help.
And this very few, from the ti her mory starts until now, never exceeded three people—Artie is one of them.
Artie is like a scorching sun.
She might be willful and indiscriminately scorch everything around her sotis.
But the sun can illuminate everything, including Sumr Fairmont’s heart that she considers villainous.
Just like now, The Pouting Siren hooks on Sumr Fairmont’s arm with full firepower: "Ah, Sumr, don’t go, Artie’s a bit tight financially lately, couldn’t bring herself to book you a hotel. Already thought from the airport pickup that Sumr should be slightly aggrieved, follow ho."
Artie pulls Sumr Fairmont back to her seat: "Artie skipped her al coming to the airport to receive you; do you really want to let such an irresistibly charming Artie go hungry?"
Sumr Fairmont has developed immunity against The Devilish Lolita’s charm for five years.
Even in this situation, she retains the resolve to leave.
"Ah, Sumr, if you just leave like this, little Artie will go hungry, accompany you back ho." Artie’s trump card against Sumr is self-infliction.
"What to eat? I’ll make it." For the frugal Sumr Fairmont, a six-word answer is unusually lengthy.
Leo wanted to help Artie persuade her, but this was his first encounter with Sumr Fairmont, unsure of how to assist in such a situation, so chose not to complicate matters.
Leo has truly never seen anyone able to withstand The Pouting Siren’s "claws."
Having witnessed his sister’s tenderness often, Leo suddenly found Sumr Fairmont’s domineering "I’ll make it" had a sort of magic.
Nation’s Gentleman started recalling if he ever said similar things when interacting with The Devilish Lolita?
Undoubtedly, he had.
But certainly never in such a tone.
Or perhaps, before eighteen, he did speak like this?
Nation’s Gentleman fell into contemplation.
The most skilled crisis manager, The Devilish Lolita, also pondered how to further salvage this dilemma.
Soon, all troubles found solution as Master Sean Lowell ended up fainting on the table...
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