The guests who were close enough to hear all showed astonishment on their faces. They all looked over, and Sheng Miao's face just couldn't keep composure, turning green one moment and white the next. She forced a smile and clung tightly to the man beside her, "Shiche, let's go over there to entertain the guests."
Mo Shiche didn't speak, as if he hadn't heard her, but indeed he turned and walked away with Sheng Miao.
Luo Qiangwei watched his tall figure, feeling the wine glass in her hand become very heavy. Yan Chu stood by her side, sneering lightly, "Weiwei, can't you let him go, you keep staring."
"Probably just can't let go," Luo Qiangwei withdrew her gaze, her smile serene, "After all, he 'died' for three years, and I lost those three years, which I probably can't make up for in the future."
Ironic.
From the first moment he saw her this morning, her words revealed the simplest and most profound irony.
