Nia Mitchell sat, face flushed and exceptionally anxious, on the other side of the room. She dared not look at Maxwell Peary, her eyes fixed on the milk cup in her hands.
"I... I just don't want to go."
Seeing her refuse without giving a reason, Maxwell Peary certainly wouldn't heed her protest.
"There's no room for negotiation."
He was informing her, not discussing with her.
After speaking, ignoring Nia Mitchell's awful expression, he took the milk cup from her hands, placed it on the coffee table, and then swept her up by the waist.
Nia Mitchell instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, pouting her lips, her face a mask of displeasure.
"You're too overbearing, too autocratic," she began to protest.
"Mm."
"You don't care about my feelings. You're too much."
"Mm."
"And you smoked! You went back on your word."
"Mm."
"Hey! Can you say something else?"
"Mm."
