On the day Lin Xi transferred schools, Jiang Lin was pinning a provocateur against the wall.
“New deskmate?” He sneered, shaking his bleeding hand. “Stay away from me.”
But her sweater carried the scent of sunshine, just like his dead mother’s.
He cruelly tore up her workbook, but she pressed a bandage to his wound. “Does it hurt?”
Ten years later, top-tier star Jiang Lin pushed open the door to a psychology clinic.
His voice was hoarse beneath his mask. “Dr. Lin, I’m seriously ill.”
Lin Xi flipped through his file without looking up. “The consultation fee is eight thousand.”
He suddenly grabbed her wrist. “You’re the only one who can cure me.”
When you personally sent me to the altar all those years ago, you should have known this day would come.
