In the bedroom, Qiao Ruoxin simply packed her suitcase.
She sneaked a glance at Mo Chen, who was sitting on the single sofa.
His expression was gloomy and indifferent, his arm propped on the sofa armrest, long fingers resting on his forehead as if he was in a world of ice and snow.
The man's eyes were as dark as spilled ink, endlessly deep.
Watching her every move intently, with three hours left before she headed to the airport, he treasured every second as one less to see.
Qiao Ruoxin stood up, walked over to the man, and took the initiative to sit on his long legs, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"I'll go after we eat together," she said.
Seeing the way Mo Chen looked at her made her feel uncomfortable.
He gripped her slender waist tightly and said in a deep voice, "Little Ghost, what about me don't you like?"
Qiao Ruoxin was taken aback, her fingers involuntarily tightening on the collar of his robe.
