"Song Zhaozhao is my artist, and she has worked all day and is already very tired," Qin Yao's smile faded. "You cannot see her."
Zheng Heng's hand gripping the steering wheel subconsciously tightened.
He was about to say something when Meng Yanxi took over the conversation, his voice gentle. "We were indeed presumptuous today, President Qin. Your car will take care of it, the issue today is our fault."
Qin Yao gave Meng Yanxi a cursory glance and felt that this seemingly gentle man had an indescribable gloomy quality.
He frowned and said, "I don't need your money. Let's leave this matter as it is. Zheng Heng, you can barely protect yourself in the Zheng Family. It's better not to bother Song Zhaozhao anymore. Her vocal cords can't withstand another destruction."
Zheng Heng, his sore spot pricked, said nothing. Meng Yanxi had someone bring the car around, and he drove, first taking Zheng Heng home.
