Chapter 63. How Did I Treat Valencia Those Years?

Burke leisurely leaned against the leather sofa, his hands twirling the glass cup that held century-old liquor. He cast his dark eyes on Maverick, who had just stepped into the private room. “Eh! Brother three, asking us to meet in the club in such an early afternoon…” Burke's words came to a pause upon seeing the dark look hung on Maverick's face.

Burke silently raised the glass toward his lips and chugged a mouthful of liquor, yet he didn’t part the glass from his lips after the chug.

Burke’s inquisitive eyes fixated on Maverick's face as if gauging Maverick's facial expression before saying another word.

The gloomy-faced Maverick strode toward the sofa placed at the epicenter and elegantly sat on it. He picked up a bottle of whisky and poured the contents into a neat glass cup. He picked up the glass cup and raised it toward his thin lips.

Farrell placed the empty glass cup on the table, and his seductive, foxy eyes slanted bewitchingly