She knew that mentioning her mother could always create a crack in Song Qingya's composure.
As she spoke, the rims of her eyes turned red, and she wore a look of utter remorse.
Tears welled up, threatening to fall but never quite spilling over—a result of deliberate control.
She lowered her head slightly, avoiding direct eye contact, making her "remorse" appear all the more genuine and believable.
Song Qingya watched her, her gaze scrutinizing.
That gaze was like an invisible ruler, measuring Song Chenglu's every expression and every movement, inch by inch.
She was all too familiar with this kind of performance. Growing up, Song Chenglu had staged similar scenes countless times.
'If she truly regretted her past actions, why would she have repeatedly pushed my boundaries time and time again before this?'
She could see through the pretense in an instant.
