Surrounded by so many people, nineteen was unexpectedly calm, lounging lazily in his daddy's arms, chewing on his pacifier. His chubby little fist still held onto one of Quan Jingwu's fingers, not letting go—a comfortable look that made people want to rush forward and hold him.
Even Mingdong, who was explaining the proposal, was attracted by nineteen's presence, significantly slowing down his speech.
Realizing that everyone's gaze was concentrated on his son, Quan Jingwu's dark brows furrowed slightly, and his cold eyes swept over them, his fingertip tapping on the table surface.
"Thud thud—"
"Planning to work overtime?"
The chilly voice made everyone tremble.
Overtime?
Wailing, we refuse it.
Everyone hastily withdrew their gazes, focusing earnestly on the meeting.
The meeting had been going on for half an hour, and as nineteen listened to the discussion, it seemed to him like a lullaby, and gradually, his glassy purple eyes closed.
