It was almost funny. It's so funny that John, replaying it in his head, smokes another one a cigarette. The rite of exile to a rich family was no different from the rest of John's affairs. He was no different until your views crossed with him. Your frightened eyes dug into his skin. John shrugs off the strange thoughts as if they were cigarette smoke.

You are the child of an influential family who once again paid John extra so that no living soul would know about this ceremony; John is a tramp living in a small apartment, soaked in the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. Clearly not your level. He couldn't have dragged you into his lair, right? John, after all, is not a monster, but you are like a princess in his eyes.