The anticipated pain did not come, and Xia Wan'an stood dumbfounded for a moment before turning around.
The first thing that caught her eye was a delicate and fair wrist, contrasted against the white shirt and black suit cuff, exuding an aura of restraint.
Then Xia Wan'an's gaze fell onto the hand. The back of the hand's blue veins stood out because of the force used, and the well-defined, slender fingers were elegant.
However, Xia Wan'an did not fixate much on such a beautiful hand because her attention was quickly drawn to the large droplets of blood falling from the palm of the hand onto the ground.
Three seconds later, Xia Wan'an abruptly looked up at the person wielding the knife.
Han Jingnian must have just escaped from a dinner party, a faint smell of alcohol still clinging to him. His enchanting face was filled with coldness and terrifying aura, a bloodthirsty murderous intent brewing in the depths of his captivating eyes as he stared at the knife in his hand.
