Zhao Jingrong became increasingly smug and walked up to Mo Baichuan, whispering softly, "Baichuan, let's go inside."
Mo Baichuan nodded and followed Zhao Jingrong inside.
"Hiss!"
Just then, a sharp pain shot through Zhao Jingrong's hand.
Why was he suddenly using so much strength?
Zhao Jingrong turned to look at Mo Baichuan, only to see his gaze fixed on the sofa in the living room.
There were two people sitting on the sofa.
It was Ni Yang and Mo Qishen.
Mo Qishen was peeling an orange for Ni Yang, who was eating it and talking to Mo Qishen, a faint smile spilling over her lips, her eyes clear and bright, dimples shallow, a beauty almost like jade.
How beautiful was Ni Yang?
Beautiful enough to make Zhao Jingrong, a self-important heiress, feel utterly astounded; every encounter with her was dazzling.
Ni Yang was so beautiful, and she was interested in Mo Qishen, that loser?
Could it be that her intentions were not on the surface?
