In the third year of being misunderstood, Shen Nian lived in a rented apartment with her three-year-old son.
The day a man kicked down her door, she was scooping noodles out of a pot with a strainer.
“Whose child is this?” Lu Hanchuan gripped her chin, his eyes as cold as ice.
Shen Nian said nothing. Three-year-old Lu Xiaonian peeked out from behind her and called out in a babyish voice:
“Uncle, when you scold my mommy, you look just like a dog.”
Later, that “dog” bought out an entire street of luxury boutiques just to win her favor.
Looking at the room piled high with bags, Shen Nian said without expression, “Mr. Lu, I only want my son, not you.”
Lu Hanchuan pinned her against the wall, his voice hoarse. “But I want you… and the chance to be the child’s father.”
