"..."
The atmosphere in the room suddenly became tense and stagnant.
Qin Qingqing forgot to struggle and stared at the man's handsome, sculpted brow and eyes in front of her.
Her ears echoed with his words: "Am I not a man, haven't you known for four years?"
The area around her heart suddenly began to hurt intensely.
As a result, her small face, flushed with anger, turned pale from that pain.
Mo Ziye dialed the phone in her pale, shocked, and resentful expression.
A few seconds later, a crisp female voice came from the phone, "Ziyi, what's up?"
Mo Ziye's dark gaze faded, and he said to the person on the other end of the phone, "Tongtong, can you come to the Qin Family? Qingqing has a fever."
Qin Qingqing was awakened by his voice.
Her waist was still tightly held by him.
Her body was pressed closely against his.
Their breaths were intertwined.
Yet, in such an ambiguous posture, her heart could not stir any sense of ambiguity—only a cold chill.
