"Ah! Sorry, I didn't pay attention for a moment."
Zhao Xuemo blushed, placed the kitchen knife behind her back, glanced at the items on the bed in the room, and quickly explained, "Those things aren't mine."
"I understand." Lin Zifeng nodded solemnly.
He knew that in today's big cities, many sophisticated women are perhaps too picky or have too high standards, thus unable to find a satisfactory partner. Hence, they like to use certain things as a substitute.
"It's really not mine. A friend left them at my place."
Zhao Xuemo was dying of anxiety, but she couldn't appear too agitated, or Lin Zifeng might misunderstand it as "the guilty party gives themselves away."
She could only blame her few close friends who, during gatherings, not only had fun but also brought such disgusting things for her. They all knew how terrifying it is for a woman to feel lonely at night.
