In this moment, both of them knew that the charade was over. There was no use in pretending to be weak or submissive any longer. Zhao Ling met Yan Xing's gaze directly, her eyes shining with determination, unafraid to hold his gaze and let him see the strength within her.
With their hands entangled, Yan Xing and Zhao Ling struggled on the bed, their red wedding attire intertwined in a chaotic dance. The room filled with the sound of their breaths and the rustling of fabric as they grappled for dominance.
Neither of them seemed to gain the upper hand, their strengths evenly matched. Zhao Ling's mind raced, frustration mounting as she cursed Yan Xing silently. In a swift move, she managed to catch hold of Yan Xing's wrist, a momentary victory in their struggle.
