Zhuo Jian's heart pounded like thunder, subconsciously gripping his sturdy arm tightly.
"No! We can't hold a press conference like this."
She was moved, but reason still prevailed.
Fu Yanye buried himself in her burning skin, his voice hoarse, "I can't let something like this happen again."
He couldn't let her face such dangers alone anymore.
Last time it was a lucky escape with the paint throwing, this time it was because of the starlight event, but what about next time?
Fu Yanye stuffed her slender waist forcefully against his body, the feeling of wanting to melt her into his own being growing stronger and clearer.
Power?
Money?
Background?
Those things shouldn't just be for show.
Even if that person is Lin Jiaoyang, it's still no good.
Late, Zhuo Jian was carried by him into the bathroom to wash up, change clothes, and then carried back to bed.
On the soft, fluffy bed, rolling around felt like rolling in the clouds.
