The art studio building was deserted and quiet, its scattered amber lights casting an eerie glow.
Wu Fengchen slowly approached, then heard a strange sound from inside that made her shiver. She pushed the door open a crack. On the studio sofa, an unspeakable scene was unfolding. The woman’s black hair flowed like silk, her eyes glimmering as she glanced around like a demon. Wu Fengchen could almost feel the steamy atmosphere inside. Her breathing slowed for a moment. She was about to leave when the man turned his head and she froze. It was Luo Ming.
He was the man she’d confessed her feelings to not long ago. She wanted to die on the spot.
Luo Ming had clearly seen her too. He looked surprised, quickly pushing away the woman wrapped around him like a water snake. As he straightened his clothes and walked toward her, Wu Fengchen turned and ran. But she wasn’t fast enough. He clamped a hand around her wrist and said coldly, “What did you see?”
“Did you do something you don’t want me to see?” Wu Fengchen shot back.
His grip tightened abruptly, and pain throbbed in Wu Fengchen’s wrist. She looked into his cold eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
Luo Ming let go of her hand and sneered. “Whatever.”
Then, suddenly, he leaned down and stared at her. “Are you jealous?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Not even a dog would be jealous over you!” Wu Fengchen snapped.
Their brief years of youth soon passed.
When they met again, she was a mature, captivating woman at the homecoming banquet, walking gracefully with her arm linked through her father Luo Huaide’s.
Her father said expressionlessly, “Call her Mom.”
