"I'm hungry."
Shen Jing rarely pretended to be demure in front of Zhou Luchen; she couldn't keep up the act. She opened the car door and let him take her to eat.
Zhou Luchen didn't respond; he just pressed the accelerator.
He had known Shen Jing for a long time—from Luo Yuanping to Cheng Jinchuan, and then to Sun Qiyan. Her appearance, vulnerable and meek like a little white rabbit, was highly attractive to scumbags.
While waiting at the traffic light, she leaned close to Zhou Luchen's ear. "Zhou Luchen, I want to go to Zhao Yurong for porridge. Will they be open today?"
That private club, nestled deep by the lake in the Imperial Capital, catered exclusively to the elite of Northern Capital City year-round. If she wanted it open today, it had to open.
Zhou Luchen handed her his phone from the center console. "If there's something you want to eat, call the owner yourself."
