The middle-aged man's tone was calm, as if he were telling someone else's story. Tranquil and composed.
After a pause, a warm smile appeared on the corner of his mouth:
"The little baby girl looks almost identical to her mother. From the first moment he saw her, the young master transferred all his feelings for her mother to her, deciding to protect her for life."
Qiao Yongyong was lost in thought for a long time, unaware of the cold sweat soaking her back.
There's no need to ask who the mafia gang's young master and the imprisoned girl are in this story; it's obvious.
She incredulously gazed at Qiao Zonghan beyond the glass window.
So familiar, yet so foreign.
The brother who accompanied her growing up and cherished her like a gem, was actually her biological father.
As a child, she naively asked why other people's brothers were only a few years or a dozen years older than their sisters, while her brother was so much older, almost old enough to be her father.
