"President Mo is really interesting," she mused, "just a moment ago, he was holding his daughter, arm in arm with his fiancée, his face as calm and composed as ever."
"You still love me," Mo Shiche's abyss-like dark eyes gazed at her, his Adam's apple moving up and down as if he was addicted to drawing poison from a bottle, repeating insistently, "You still love me, Tangtang, you're jealous because you still love me, right?"
He said "you still love me" four times in a row.
Luo Qiangwei had thought that she should be devoid of resentment or self-pity, but as she listened to him speak like that, she inevitably trembled, and the long-suppressed, tsunami-like sorrow rushed to her heart, her eyes suddenly reddening.
