Facing that pair of frigid, ink-black eyes, Jiang Zheyu's voice slowly trailed off. Her pale lips moved, but in the end, she said nothing.
She'd done more than enough just by buying him out of the Night Club.
Mo Chuan stared at the girl before him. Her face was still covered in that hideous makeup. It looked like she had been crying; tears had left winding trails through the cosmetics.
Under the stark white light, the skin showing through was as fair as jade, and her figure was delicate, small, and pitiful.
She squatted in the distance, her white dress filthy. The garish red marks on her slender arms ruined the overall aesthetic, yet they held a strange, vivid beauty of their own.
Mo Chuan recalled the sight of the girl getting into the fighting ring for his sake and the pathetic way she looked when slammed to the ground. A flicker of irritation made his ink-black eyes turn even colder.
'Since she's the one who wants this, it's not like I'm the one losing out.'
