Mo Shiche's hand hanging by his side suddenly clenched into a fist.
The hand gripping his heart seemed to have put on a blade, cutting sharply without mercy, the fresh blood mingling with the wound, causing a tearing pain.
He looked at the woman's extremely pale face before him, devoid of any color, as if it was sand flowing through his fingers, gradually slipping away.
The panic of loss attacked his brain; his eyes displayed a complex and profound depth, going through several difficult changes before his thin lips parted and said, "I love you."
Luo Qiangwei stood there with an emotionless face, even with her pregnant belly, her figure remained so frail it was heart-wrenching.
