Mo Shiche's black eyes were fixed tightly on her, the darkness of his irises profound, and after a long while, his thin lips moved, "I'll come pick you up tomorrow morning."
"No need, I don't know what time I'll get up either. I'll take a taxi home by myself."
Having said that, Luo Qiangwei turned and walked away, casually raising her hand to wave behind her, "Good night my dear husband, drive safely."
Mo Shiche watched as her slender figure disappeared at the doorway, along with the swaying of her fragrant dress. His thin lips pressed tightly together, his handsome face a mixture of pleasure and anger, difficult to discern.
Mu Yunshen was speechless to the extreme, and simply bumped him with the car door, "Mo Shiche, have you gone mad?"
Gazing at a woman as if he had lost his soul, especially when it was Luo Qiangwei, who had chased him for seventeen years, the kind of woman who crazily loved him and wanted to marry him—how come he looked more like the pursuer now.
