"So what," Mo Shiche's face was emotionless, with a cold and merciless arc to his lips, "looking like him or not is irrelevant to me—I don't know you, you have nothing to do with me."
I don't know you.
Although Luo Qiangwei had prepared herself when she came, after all, since she saw him last night, until now when she had come to the company to find him, he had been denying that he was Mo Shiche.
But when he really uttered those five words, her heart still couldn't help but be viciously pricked.
The wounds that hadn't healed in the past three years seemed to be ripped open again, bleeding profusely.
It must be because the room was too quiet, and his presence too overwhelming, she thought.
How long had three years been.
More than a thousand days and nights.
She had fantasized countless times that if she could see him again, what she would say to him face to face.
Whether it would be sweet nothings, or crying out loud, or some other scene... anything to fill her empty heart.
