The morning sun was just rising, and the pale golden light streamed through the glass, filling the entire bedroom.
Qiao Yin opened her eyes, gazing at the sunlight filling the room and at Lu Lingche beside her, and for a moment, she had the illusion that they had returned to the past, to those brief, peaceful and stable days of their marriage.
A warm kiss landed on her forehead, and she heard his voice, low and sensuous, ask, "Awake? Did you sleep well last night?"
Qiao Yin ignored him, wrapping herself in the quilt as she sat up, picked up the towel she'd thrown on the floor last night, and got out of bed, ensconced within it.
Last night's folly, she regarded it merely as a dream; waking up, her rationality returned—Lu Lingche was like thin air.
She went to the restroom to wash up, minding her own business.
Lu Lingche felt her disregard, but he didn't care, because her indifference was futile; he wouldn't give up.
