Why did she always avoid him like he was poison, interpreting any action he took—even a mere glance in her direction—as having the worst intentions?
Ji Anning's head was bowed in silence, appearing pitiful.
Ji Chicheng's anger waned against his will. His gaze shifted to the card in Ji Anning's hands. Her small hands were white and clean, the fingers slim and elongated, nails shimmering beneath the sunlight, thin, and rosy translucent.
Just glancing at them felt as if her fingertips grazed his heart, causing a tingling softness, softening his heart.
He sneered, "A hundred for a bit part, two hundred for a stunt double, three hundred to get beaten up."
So how many bit parts had she taken on, how many beatings had she endured to earn this money?
Damn it, how much hardship had she suffered over these three years?
Ji Chicheng clenched his fists tightly, gazing at Ji Anning, he took a deep breath, turned away, and presented his back to her.
Fuck, he was going insane.
