Mo Liancheng smiled faintly, and he didn't bother to remind her that her small hand was still in his. Instead, he played with it idly.
But when his hand touched a faint, almost faded scar on the back of her hand, his gaze paused: "How did this happen?"
"It was that bi—" Qu Tan'er started to say, but caught herself, especially with his hand holding hers, studying that scar which had once infuriated her. She tried to pull her hand back and retorted: "What's it to you?"
"Your King is asking you." Mo Liancheng applied a bit more pressure, not allowing her to withdraw her hand.
"The hand is mine. I'll answer if I want to, and if I don't, I won't." Damn him, did he really think he was the boss? She couldn't care less about him.
"This is the Eighth Prince Manor, everything here belongs to your King. That includes you."
