York sat on the sofa, his face an emotionless mask. With his gaze lowered, his well-defined fingers gently tapped the side of his glass, making it impossible to guess what he was thinking. He said nothing, simply letting Ann stand there before him, his silence amplifying the oppressive tension in the room.
Ann twisted her hands together, nervousness and guilt written all over her.
After what felt like an eternity, York finally lifted his eyes to look at her. "Weren't you going to explain?" he asked. "Cat got your tongue?"
Ann was visibly stunned. They hadn't seen each other in so long, and she hadn't expected him to be so cold.
Her expression was cautious as she glanced at Mark. "York," she said, "can I talk to you alone?"
York shot a look at Mark, then back at Ann. "It's fine. You can pretend he's not here."
Mark took a few steps back and lowered his head.
Ann stood before York, clenching her fists to keep her composure. She had gone through so much trouble to return to the country and finally see him; she had to seize this opportunity.
Steeling herself, she carefully moved around to his side. Just as she was about to sit down next to him, a warning glare from York froze her in place. She immediately stood up straight.
Ann took two helpless steps back, then humbly knelt by the sofa, looking up at him. The moment she spoke, her eyes reddened with grievance. "York," she asked, "did your grandfather tell you I took sixty million from him?"
"Explain what you need to explain," York reminded her, his tone unreadable.

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