There were no Nissans nearby, and Adam Bolton couldn’t figure out why the owner of the red Corolla was still in the mood to go sightseeing here. Turning sideways, he walked into a photo developing shop, his eyes still fixed on the cars in the square, not noticing someone coming out from inside. He bumped right into them, and half his shoulder was soaked through by an icy cold drink.

“Sorry, sorry…” The other party apologized repeatedly, fumbling nervously through her handbag. Her hair covered her entire face, revealing only a slender, fair neck, giving an impression of extraordinary delicacy—as if just looking at it, you could almost feel that heart-stirring, soft, springy touch.

She was definitely a beauty. At this moment, Adam Bolton was no longer the naive sixteen-year-old boy; he couldn’t help but want to take a step back to see what kind of exquisite, flawless face was hidden beneath that hair. The woman looked up first, her innocent and guilty eyes making Adam Bolton’s heart skip a beat. In that instant, Adam Bolton could hardly believe that a woman with such beautiful eyes would fabricate lies to the provincial inspection team about Henry Harris taking bribes.

What remained in Adam Bolton’s memory of Yvonne Clark was a haggard face. Back then, Adam Bolton had just started his freshman year at university, still green and pure, unable to appreciate the kind of beauty that comes from a mature woman weathered by life. But now, after experiencing so much and with his soul returned to the body of a sixteen-year-old boy, he was shaken to the core by this mature and stunning face.

Yvonne Clark was tall, dressed in a pale yellow dress, with a wide leather belt at her waist that accentuated her slender figure. Her mature and gorgeous face showed neither fatigue nor haggardness; her beautiful eyes, tinged with a faint sadness, were captivating. She looked about twenty-three or twenty-four, maybe even older—after all, it’s hard to tell the real age of a beautiful woman. Adam Bolton could completely understand why his mother used the word “enchantress” to describe her, and why, when his mother suggested that Yvonne Clark might be Henry Harris’s lover, his father didn’t firmly object. Adam Bolton thought that if he had enough power, he too wouldn’t be able to resist claiming such a woman for himself. Damn it, Henry Harris was a deputy mayor, a man, but not some paragon of virtue. Even if he had been chaste before, after seeing Yvonne Clark, he probably wouldn’t want to keep playing the saint.

But at this time, Yvonne Clark should have been William Grant’s woman.

Adam Bolton licked his dry lips, his throat also feeling a bit parched. In his previous life, Adam Bolton had known many beauties, and among all the women he’d met, only David Brooks and Henry Harris’s daughter Emily Harris could compare to the current Yvonne Clark. Though all were rare beauties, their temperaments were completely different. Compared to David Brooks’s cold elegance and purity, and Emily Harris’s sweet innocence, Adam Bolton believed that Yvonne Clark’s beauty was even more capable of turning the world upside down.

“I didn’t notice you coming in…” Yvonne Clark had no idea that the look in the young man’s eyes held not only fascination with her beauty, but also other complex emotions. She took out a handkerchief to wipe the cola off Adam Bolton.

As Adam Bolton caught a whiff of the faint fragrance from Yvonne Clark, he reached for the handkerchief, his gaze involuntarily sliding down to her full chest, barely contained by her dress. “You’re wet here too, maybe you should wipe yourself first; look at me, I’m soaked, and I can’t really get clean…” He couldn’t help but regret that only a few drops of the drink had spilled on Yvonne Clark’s chest, leaving a small patch of red bra visible. Even the shopkeeper behind the counter couldn’t help but crane his neck for a look.

Yvonne Clark blushed, turning her body to avoid the shopkeeper’s gaze, but didn’t try to avoid Adam Bolton’s eyes. She dabbed her chest a few times with the handkerchief, not realizing that as she did so, her collar slipped lower, revealing even more of her snowy white skin for Adam Bolton to feast his eyes on.

“Sorry, how about I buy you a new one to change into?”

“It’s fine, the sun’s strong outside, it’ll dry soon.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Yvonne Clark asked again, uncertain.

Adam Bolton waved his hand nonchalantly, watching as Yvonne Clark got into the red Corolla.

In 1994, Haizhou City didn’t yet have any one-hour photo shops. Adam Bolton handed his film to a shopkeeper who didn’t seem too curious, then returned the camera, had lunch, and when he came back to South Gate Square, he found the red Corolla was still there.

“Hey, if you’re heading down the mountain, I can give you a ride…” As Adam Bolton passed by, Yvonne Clark rested her chin on her hand and called out to him, her snow-white arm resting on the car window, leaving a red mark.

“Waiting for me?” Adam Bolton pointed at himself, not understanding why Yvonne Clark had come back. But with such a golden opportunity handed to him, he’d be a fool to let it slip by. Even though he had some doubts, Adam Bolton quickly circled to the right, opened the car door, and as he leaned halfway in, couldn’t help but sneak another look at Yvonne Clark’s snowy white skin.

As the car drove down Xiangshan, Adam Bolton glanced at Yvonne Clark’s plump, fair cheek, deep in thought. In his mind, he kept speculating about the role Yvonne Clark played in the Henry Harris case.