Aunt Zhou clasped her hands in front of her and cleared her throat, saying, "When Madam came home this afternoon, she said...she said it was her fault this time, and asked me to apologize to you."
Upon hearing this, Mu Jin Huan's hand paused while scrolling the mouse, the ripple in his deep black eyes lasting only a second before returning to their usual calm.
He gave a faint acknowledgment, continuing to browse the English emails on the computer screen.
Black shirt, black suit pants, black cotton slippers, exuding an invisible sense of oppression.
If not for the lit desk lamp and the computer, he could almost perfectly blend into the night.
Aunt Zhou said no more and quietly exited the study.
The steam rising from the teacup shrouded Mu Jin Huan's profound features in a thin mist, inscrutable.
Having finished dealing with work matters, he returned to the bedroom, and it was nearly eleven o'clock.
