A pendant hung around the neck, a Bvlgari brand—actually a rose gold riveted ring, strung on a simple black cotton cord, swinging outside on his chest.
The hem of the tank top was half tucked into the pale blue washed denim jeans below, and the other half hung outside.
The Hermès crocodile belt, which Mr. Chu had given to Su Huai with reluctance, was fastened at the waistband, partially hidden, partially visible.
The dark red trench coat's hem hung above Su Huai's knees, open at the front; at a casual glance, everything below the solid pectorals was all leg.
He strode forward, his perfect proportions maximizing the visual impact, like a hormone wild beast that slays both men and women, piercing straight into one's field of vision.
Not to mention Cheese was dumbfounded, the flight attendants behind him hadn't taken their eyes off Su Huai, their eyeballs as if glued, yet not having the courage to ask for his WeChat.
So damn trendy!
