Isabelle Martin escorted Jeffrey Foster back to his villa and, upon pushing the door open, couldn't help but frown.
During the four days of absence, Jeffrey's villa showed no change at all. The shattered flower pot remained broken, with soil scattered everywhere. The food on the table had turned moldy in the heated room, wafting a strong, unpleasant odor.
"Don't move." Glancing at the man beside her who also visibly frowned, Isabelle tossed out the words and began to tidy up.
Jeffrey wanted to stop her, but Isabelle had already swiftly begun to act.
Though she moved briskly, she wasn't quite adept at this; by the time everything was stuffed into a garbage bag, her nose glistened with sweat.
"All done." Isabelle panted slightly as she dragged the filled garbage out.
"Let me do it." Jeffrey, relying on his hearing to estimate Isabelle's position, stepped forward intending to take the garbage from her hand, only to inadvertently hold her hand instead.
