Qin Shu angled her head to look at Fu Tingyu. He had just finished washing up, with his hair sticking to his head and water dripping down his forehead, his face too pale and moist. He was cold and distant, and his sculpted features remained unreadable—he was mad.
"Please don't be mad at me." Her tone was discreet.
Fu Tingyu had tried to regain his composure earlier in the bathroom. He was staring straight into her eyes when his voice lowered, "Who hurt you?"
Qin Shu was about to reach out and pull at his sleeve, but her hand froze in mid-air. She was afraid of this question. She would not have hidden the truth if it was that simple.
The Crimson Sand Organization was enigmatic. Their influence and resources were unpredictable. If he had known it was them, he would have sought revenge on them, which was what she did not want to happen.
