Until Zhuang Xiyue's figure disappeared at the end of the hallway, Yun Ya let out a sigh of relief, closed the door, and hurried to the mirror. There was a red mark near the collarbone on the left side of her neck, conspicuous against her fair skin. Experienced women could tell at a glance what it was.
Yun Ya's heart sank instantly.
It seems Aunt Zhuang had already seen it just now.
What would she think of her?
Suddenly, she dared not think any further.
Yan Song had somehow arrived behind her, gently rubbing her long hair with a dry towel. His movements were tender, and there was an unusual warmth in his eyes, increasingly captivating.
Yun Ya silently watched the man in the mirror, pursing her dry lips.
"Don't be afraid." He suddenly spoke, his voice rich and deep, like a gently flowing stream, lightly brushing across her heart.
"My mother is understanding. Even if she finds out about us, she won't trouble you," Yan Song said slowly.
