Qiao Mo gazed at his profile, lost in thought.
His cheeks were coldly resolute, still carrying an extreme aura of dominance. At this moment, with his brows furrowed and thin lips slightly pursed, his look of intense concentration was inexplicably captivating.
Qiao Mo couldn't help but become somewhat entranced...
He was really good-looking, like the most masterful work of art, or a deep and enchanting sea, yet his aura was too cold and profound, inexplicably frightening.
Unexpectedly, this time Qiao Mo even forgot the pain.
Her cheeks still had traces of tears that hadn't dried, yet she just foolishly stared at him.
Two minutes later, Fu Nancheng finally finished treating her wound, and the tight frown on his brow slowly relaxed.
After throwing the cotton swab on the coffee table, he was reluctant to release her small foot.
Her foot was delicate, hardly filling his hand.
