"I've arrived, can be back before five."
Cheng Weiyue's heart thumped wildly, and she replied cautiously and earnestly with two words, "Waiting for you."
Ah, waiting for you.
Zhao Hanchen hated for a moment that his vision was so good that he could see these two words so clearly.
His voice fell on Cheng Weiyue's head, cold and clear, as if it were an icicle, "Cheng Weiyue."
It wasn't a strange voice. During those years when Cheng Weiyue was infatuated with Zhao Hanchen, she had heard his voice over and over again in public speeches.
Zhao Hanchen's voice was magnetic, the kind that young girls liked, a CEO's voice with less tenderness, more a sense of fleeting despondency.
But now, it seemed there was only coldness and hostility left.
Cheng Weiyue frowned slightly, didn't speak, and moved to leave.
Her wrist was gently grasped, Cheng Weiyue tried to break free, but without success.
