"Where are we going?"
"Upstairs. Since you don’t sleep here, why should I? Or is it that you don’t want to take there?" As this thought crossed her mind, Wen Qiao’s lips puckered, her eyebrows drooped, and her mood instantly wilted. "No wonder you didn’t tell you booked a room upstairs. You never planned to bring along."
"It’s not like that..."
"Enough, don’t say anymore. I know you don’t like . I’m so clingy—annoying, right? Back at ho, you only slept with because you had no choice, and today, out of humanitarian spirit, you ca to check on . There’s no way you’d want to squeeze into this little crummy bed with ."
As she spoke, Wen Qiao straightened up from leaning on Fu Jinghen’s arm, her head drooping, her shoulders shrugging pathetically.
Fu Jinghen: "....."
Not this again.
He simply didn’t want to sleep in a bed that other won had slept in, found it too troubleso to change bedsheets late at night, and considering all the crew mbers were on this floor, it wouldn’t be convenient when he left in the morning. Besides, he was not comfortable with the uninviting bed in Wen Qiao’s room, hence he booked a suite upstairs.
But looking at the little woman beside him, who hadn’t heard a word yet was already oozing thick layers of grievances and sadness, Fu Jinghen felt both helpless and amused.
He stood up, reached for his suit jacket draped over the back of the sofa, "Let’s go then."
"I knew you couldn’t bear to leave alone in this room." Wen Qiao suddenly lifted her head and broke into a sweet smile, performing a dramatic change of expressions as if in a Sichuan opera for Fu Jinghen.
Fu Jinghen: "....."
Although he knew she was pretending, Fu Jinghen felt sowhat powerless against her.
"Wait for , okay? I need to fix myself up a bit."
"Okay."
Wen Qiao scrambled off the sofa, in a rush she slipped into her slippers, but inadvertently, her right foot kicked the left slipper far away—it hit a nearby table corner and then bounced back so, spinning between her and the corner.
Seemingly not expecting such a scenario, Wen Qiao looked at her slipper flying off, then down at her curled toes, and finally, turned her head dazedly towards Fu Jinghen, "Fu Jinghen, my slipper flew away."
Just as she spoke, she suddenly heard a deep, magnetic chuckle behind her. Since he was close, it surrounded Wen Qiao’s ears like a bass sound from a subwoofer.
She paused for a mont, then turned to look.
The smile on Fu Jinghen’s face had not faded, and he didn’t seem inclined to conceal it. When Wen Qiao turned towards him, he didn’t hide his amusent.
Wen Qiao surprisingly noticed a dimple on Fu Jinghen’s cheek that wasn’t very prominent; it showed faintly when he smiled.
The usually stern lines of his face softened with his smile, his narrow eyes harboring a slight mirth, and the top button of his shirt, usually fastened, was now undone, revealing a hint of collarbone. Having lounged on the sofa for a while, his shirt wasn’t as crisp as usual, loosely fitting him, and exuded a casual air, making him resemble a sowhat frivolous aristocrat.
There it was again—"thump."
Wen Qiao’s recently cald heart throbbed anew.
Whimpering internally.
She truly adored this man who could oscillate between being unapproachable and a charming scoundrel.
But this incident of kicking her own slipper away...
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