It was late at night.
The man stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.
He had changed out of his white clothes and was now wearing only a thin black sweatshirt and black trousers.
It was still the same face, but the gentle expression of before had faded, and now the sculpted features were as cold as ice, as if frozen solid.
He stood with his hands behind his back, holding a glass of red wine.
The dim yellow light shone down from above, and the man's long, slender, fair hand gently swirled the wine glass in his hand.
The red wine rippled in the glass.
"What kind of mischief is that old geezer up to now?"
A cold voice slowly emerged from the depths of his throat, and for some reason, the surrounding temperature seemed to drop even further.
Didi.
Just then, a text message came in.
The man glanced at the phone lying on the glass table; its screen was lit, and although the unknown number wasn't very obvious, he still reached out and picked it up.
Slide your finger across the screen.
The man lowered his eyes, his long, narrow, bright eyes still gleaming with a sharp, dangerous light.
Now that you're here, when will you like to meet me?
Without any beginning or end, this baffling text message was sent out.
If it were someone else, they would definitely think the other party sent it to the wrong person.
But for someone with such a photographic memory, he saw through the other party long ago.
He raised his lips, a wicked smile playing on his lips, exuding extreme danger.
He seemed to ignore it, glancing at it casually before putting the phone back.
A few minutes later, the other party sent another text message.
The man turned his head and saw that the message was right on the screen.
"If you don't want to see me, then I'll attend your class, Coach Nan."
Less than ten seconds later, my phone received another text message with this address.
The other party already has his address information.
The man suddenly tightened his grip on the wine glass and smiled.
In the darkness, he resembled a demon, every smile and frown carrying a bloodthirsty air.
Pick up your phone.
The man's cold fingertips tapped on the phone screen.
He quickly typed a string of words and sent it.
The content reads: "Miss You is as annoying as ever."
drop.
You actually replied to me?
drop.
"You figured out who I am so quickly? Do you dare say you're not interested in me?"
Confidence is a good thing, but narcissism is not. This sentence was typed and sent without any emotion.
Before she could reply, the man sent another message: "If you want to die, then come on."
drop.
Death? I'm not afraid.
drop.
If I could die by your hand, I'd accept it.
Ignoring him, the man finished sending what he wanted to say and prepared to turn off his phone.
But when his gaze fell on the first number in the contact list, his dark eyes paused.
He stared at it for several seconds, and seemed to smile.
"White, small, language".
*
The next morning, Rong Shang brought breakfast to the office and knocked on the door, but unfortunately, no one answered after knocking several times.
Xiao Yao was just about to go get some water when she saw her standing at the office door and couldn't help but roll her eyes at her.
He said from behind, "The boss isn't here, don't bother."
When Xiao Yao saw the soy milk and steamed buns in her hand, she found it even funnier. "So shabby, who would want them?"
After he finished speaking, the girl in front of him turned around.
Xiao Yao glanced at her and then looked away.
As she swayed her hips, preparing to leave, the girl beside her suddenly rushed past her, shoving her aside.
"Ouch." Xiao Yao winced in pain.
Damn it.
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