Mr. Chen's face was grim. He had sobered up considerably, but inwardly, he still refused to accept defeat. He appeared to bow submissively, yet his eyes betrayed a vicious glint.
Qiao An didn't even need to guess Mr. Chen's thoughts. She could feel the malice washing over her—a twisted, frenzied, dark, and viscous malevolence that nearly engulfed her.
"Ma'am, should I go get Young Master Sheng to handle this?"
The beauty in the cheongsam's sudden question left Qiao An baffled for a few seconds before she couldn't help but laugh out loud.
"It's fine. A small problem like this doesn't require Young Master Sheng's intervention. I can handle it myself."
She looked down at Mr. Chen, a soft laugh escaping her lips.
"Still not convinced? What do you want to do, then? Do you need me to give you a chance to call for help?"
