The black bag stood at the edge of the table.
The atmosphere was stern and cold.
Leh Ying had seen this scene too many times, looking helplessly at the closed purple sandalwood doors.
What exactly was the gift?
Moving her gaze away, it fell on the man who sat by the chair, arms crossed, allowing the half-burnt cigarette in the ashtray before him to burn down to the end.
It felt less like he was giving a gift and more like he was being tied up and brought to a tribunal for judgment.
With a nervous heart neither sinking nor rising, Leh Ying picked up the teacup to drink, her hand shaking uncontrollably for a moment, nearly spilling the tea.
The man let out a cold snort and slowly took out a kraft paper bag from the black paper bag with his slender fingers that exuded superiority.
Unraveling it bit by bit, it was almost as if he were wrapping her heart into it.
He then pulled out a slightly thin paper flip-folder, leaned in, and placed it audaciously on the table.
