At ten in the morning, Leng Youchen's fever subsided, and he woke up groggily. The suite was very quiet, so the rustling sound of a pencil moving on the drawing paper was particularly obvious.
He sat up and looked at the slender figure bathed in the morning light. He frowned slightly, and something cold fell from his forehead when he looked down. It was a folded wet towel.
The faint sweet fragrance in his dream was actually emanating from her.
He only remembered being drunk at the bar downstairs, someone tried to chat him up, but he rudely chased them away. Later, he drank till he was unconscious, and he had no memory of how he returned to his room.
He smirked sarcastically, turns out even when drunk, he automatically returns to her side.
What a fool!
Wei Anning heard the rustling sounds behind her, she stopped her pen and turned around. The man's dark eyes were exceptionally deep, like a gem emitting dazzling light.
Only his face was haggard, slightly sickly.
"Awake?"
