In the rest area.
Song Shiwei brought Fu Yanhe to the sofa, and as she looked at the girl on it, a sense of urgency surfaced on her originally calm face, "Young Master Fu, He Miao was just fine, but for some reason, she suddenly started feeling unwell and kept saying she's hot."
Fu Yanhe looked at the black leather sofa, where a petite and delicate figure of a girl curled up.
Her long curly hair sprawled over the sofa, her figure wrapped in a black dress, her pale and delicate face flushed, her eyes misty like those of a cat, the corners tinged with red. Her thin, red lips were slightly parted as she murmured about the heat.
The skin unintentionally exposed in her curled-up position was dazzlingly white against the backdrop of the black sofa.
She looked like a fairy that had fallen to earth, both pure and enticing.
Almost instantly, Fu Yanhe knew Shen Yanhe had been affected.
He had only left her for a few minutes.
And she had been affected.
