C91 A Portrait of Madame Laure(27)
The soft leather sofa had collapsed into a nest, and the bracket was in a mess. The chandelier hanging from the roof had been broken into pieces, and the pendants had risen with red candles to illuminate the smeared blood on the floor.
Wai Heng supported his forehead with his elbows on the armrest of the sofa. Other than a little bit of embarrassment and a small wound