But before Li Qiao could turn around, her wrist was seized by the scorching palm of the man. With a gentle tug, she was pulled back to him.
Caught off guard, Li Qiao fell against his body, and immediately, his strong scent filled her nostrils.
Shang Yu was still half-leaning against the head of the bed, his fingers tightened around her, saying nothing, just gazing at her with those deep, dark red eyes.
Li Qiao's eyes filled with resentment, her finger pressing against his chest, her tone cooled a few degrees, "Let go first, I'll go get the medicine box."
He had been drinking, and he was injured; Li Qiao didn't want to reason with him at this time.
"No need," the man said slowly in a low voice, affected by the alcohol, his handsome face was tinged with a slight redness, and his slightly drooping eyes revealed a trace of languid sorrow.
Looking at his face, all of Li Qiao's emotions receded like a tide.
