Ji Chicheng had come down from the thirty-first-floor staircase, and Ji Anning, watching his tall figure descending, pouted even higher.
"Ji Anning, stand up yourself."
Ji Chicheng walked behind Ji Anning, and with a downward gaze from his elevated position, he looked at her commandingly.
Ji Anning turned her face away petulantly, refusing to look at him, "I'm not getting up."
"Really not getting up?" Ji Chicheng raised his eyebrows, his voice carrying a dangerous signal.
"Not getting up."
Unafraid, Ji Anning defiantly tilted her head back, her arms wrapped around her knees.
In front of anyone else, she had to pretend to be strong, pretend to be tough, pretend to be cold-hearted and ruthless, pretend that she didn't care about anything, that nothing mattered.
She was tired, really tired, just wanted to act spoiled, to be spoiled by the uncle she loved dearly.
She wanted to feel his gentle indulgence, his helplessness towards her.
"Really not getting up, huh."
