The man who had reached the doorway stopped in his tracks, turned his head to glance at him, then asked coldly, "Was it you who used a billion pounds to get her out of custody?"
When he asked this question, a chill, venomous tint emerged in his dark pupils, like a poised snake, sending chills of fear through one's heart.
"It wasn't me." William frowned, the broken bones in his hand throbbing painfully enough that cold sweat trickled down his forehead, and Trenton Smith's murderous gaze inexplicably chilled him to the bone. He had a premonition that if he dared claim responsibility, this man would have no qualms about dismembering him in front of the police—he didn't regard him at all.
His family ran a family business, a prominent clan in London, but a billion pounds was no small sum for bail; raising that amount of cash to bail out Sherry White wasn't going to happen overnight.
