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"You can put your other things here," Clyde offered after the small celebration ended.

Well, it wasn’t the end, but Trisha had already passed out from drinking, and Damon had already carried her from the other room to accompany his drunk girlfriend while the two were left outside, still sober enough to continue drinking.

Clyde is always amazed at how Yvette has such a high tolerance for alcohol that even if you’d drink with her every morning, she would still carry herself like she’s never drunk at all.

"I won’t come here often. You’re coming to Paris, not the other way around, Clyde. If you wanna see me, then—"

"I know, Mrs. Smith. My point here is that you might like putting your things in your husband’s penthouse." He arched his brow; his tone was taunting.

Yvette looked at him as she scoffed at the way he called her Mrs. Smith, thinking she was really his wife now.

"Mrs. Smith, my ass," she said, shaking her head, her lips stretching for a smile as she sipped on her drink.

Clyde pu