Shang Yu was sixteen when Ming Dailan had a miscarriage and began to resent him.
The empty gift box seemed to tell Li Qiao that his world had been blank since he was sixteen.
The twenty-third gift was the Qiao Mansion he gave her, which was also their future home.
Li Qiao carefully packed all the items in the gift box and retied the ribbon.
The living room was silent for so long that Shang Yu furrowed his brows and asked tensely, "You don't like it?"
Li Qiao's fingers stroked the black ribbon, feeling a bit uneasy inside. She said she liked it, liked it very much.
The man's tense jawline visibly relaxed.
Just as he was about to speak, Li Qiao turned to look out the window, her tone soft, "Where did you hide these treasures before?"
At that moment, through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, Li Qiao could easily see the man's reflection.
Actually, beneath Shang Yu's handsome and aloof exterior, lay the most considerate and gentle nature.
