In the middle of the night, it began to rain unexpectedly.
The drizzle was not heavy, but it was enough to make Lu Zhanbei, who hated rainy days, feel a sense of unease for no reason.
Standing with hands behind his back, the man's silhouette was as stoic as a mountain.
Squinting his eyes, he stood silently in front of the floor-to-ceiling window on the eighteenth floor, gazing down. On the roads below, which looked like black ribbons, the ceaseless stream of car lights was like tiny embers, as if a layer of shimmering light was spread on the ground.
The view from here was always good. It was a pity, though, that he no longer had the heart to appreciate it.
The work he had recently was not particularly heavy, but because he also had to deal with matters related to Gu Qianqian, he had to spend extra time working overtime.
In reality, he had already handled almost everything, but he hesitated and did not leave.
