After hanging up the phone, Yan Chen rubbed his temples and was about to leave when his footsteps suddenly halted.
An instinctive intuition made all the hairs on his body stand on end in an instant, but it was too late.
Feeling a sharp pain at the back of his neck, he opened his mouth, a trapped beast-like roar escaping from his throat as boundless darkness consumed him.
In the last second before losing consciousness, he saw a pair of eyes, clean and beautiful like glazed glass, but full of cruel indifference, like a messenger of hell.
The door opened again, and a young boy walked in, silently hiding in the shadows.
At this moment, Ming Jing lifted her head while the boy lowered the brim of his hat, his right index finger lightly rubbed against his trouser seam.
Tao Xingxing was excitedly caught up in a pile of gifts, unable to contain his joy. Ming Jing left the crowd, walking to the edge of the terrace, below the half-meter high railing was the abyss of the thirtieth floor.
