"Where are we going?"
"Upstairs. Since you don't sleep here, why should I? Or is it that you don't want to take me there?" As this thought crossed her mind, Wen Qiao's lips puckered, her eyebrows drooped, and her mood instantly wilted. "No wonder you didn't tell me you booked a room upstairs. You never planned to bring me along."
"It's not like that..."
"Enough, don't say anymore. I know you don't like me. I'm so clingy—annoying, right? Back at home, you only slept with me because you had no choice, and today, out of humanitarian spirit, you came to check on me. There's no way you'd want to squeeze into this little crummy bed with me."
As she spoke, Wen Qiao straightened up from leaning on Fu Jinghen's arm, her head drooping, her shoulders shrugging pathetically.
Fu Jinghen: "....."
Not this again.
