Qiao Ruoxin sat on the sofa with a pen in hand, tracing back and forth on a piece of paper, seemingly lost in whatever she was sketching.
From time to time, a smile would lift the corners of her mouth, as if she were immersed in her own world.
...
Two hours later.
The office door opened and Mo Chen's tall legs stepped inside, his dark eyes flickering with a trace of anxiety.
Seeing Qiao Ruoxin asleep on the sofa, the aggression in him finally began to subside.
He walked to his desk, pressed the intercom on his phone, "Bring in a blanket."
Then, he returned to the sofa in the reception area, watching the peaceful sleeping face of Qiao Ruoxin, a graceful curve forming on his lips.
Mo Chen noticed a few sketching comics on the coffee table.
His brows slightly furrowed, his slender fingers picked up the sheets of paper.
It was him on the drawings.
Looking up at the slumbering Qiao Ruoxin, had she been drawing him after getting the paper and pen?
The drawings were in a youthful style, romantic and tender.
They depicted him working just moments ago, even capturing the frown and displeasure on his face.
At that moment, a knock on the door sounded and Secretary Jiang brought in a blanket.
Mo Chen glanced at the sleeping Qiao Ruoxin across from him, signaling Secretary Jiang to place the blanket over her.
Secretary Jiang gently covered Qiao Ruoxin with the blanket, then left the office.
He stared at the comics on the paper, lost in thought.
Qiao Ruoxin was talented from the start, having been admitted to a top domestic film academy at the age of 16.
If she hadn't become his woman, she would have been shining in the entertainment industry by now, her pretty face would have surely made her a top star without a problem.
"Does it look like you?"
Suddenly, Qiao Ruoxin's voice rose, blurry and languid.
Mo Chen looked over at her, her sleepy, hazy appearance was soft and endearing.
His tone was cold, "No, it doesn't."
Qiao Ruoxin wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and sat up, snorting softly, "Denying the truth, just keep it for your collection, I know you like it very much."
Mo Chen's handsome face was full of disdain as he looked at her indifferently, "It's too ugly."
Qiao Ruoxin furrowed her brows and threw off the blanket.
She stood up, took the drawings, and forcefully placed them inside a drawer on the desk.
"You must keep it, no discussion!"
Mo Chen looked at her, "Qiao Ruoxin, in what capacity are you throwing your weight around here?"
"I know, I know, you don't need to remind me again that I am your most hated ex-girlfriend."
With an indifferent expression, Qiao Ruoxin sat back on the sofa and noticed his cellphone.
She picked up the phone, and at the sight of the lock screen, her heart ached fiercely once more.
The lock screen was a selfie of Qiao Ruoxin, making a funny face at the camera, looking quirky and cute, both adorable and sweet.
"Why is this ugly picture still your lock screen, can you change it to a nice picture of me?" she complained a little.
Qiao Ruoxin quickly entered the password, still her birthday, and let out a sigh of relief.
Then, the phone's wallpaper that caught her eye made her heart tremble, it was a picture of her lying in bed, asleep, with her eyelashes long and curled; she could no longer remember when it was taken.
Qiao Ruoxin frowned at the man across from her, "Why do you only use pictures of me making faces or sleeping? I have so many pretty photos... "
Mo Chen's voice was chilling as he spoke slowly, "That is the pretentious you, not the real you."
That was true, the beautiful pictures were all deliberately posed by her.
"Change it, it damages my image," she said, and went to change the lock screen and wallpaper.
Mo Chen suddenly stood up and snatched the phone from her hand, accidentally touching her fingers and quickly withdrawing his hand.
A wave of nausea began to rise, which he forcefully suppressed.
The flash of discomfort that passed over his handsome face was caught by Qiao Ruoxin, who noticed his distress.
Just a touch made him suffer so much? To this extent?
Why did this man force himself to such an extent?