Jiang Yiren sat on the chair in the room, holding her phone, the screen on the chat with Song Guanchao.
She typed several times, then deleted several times, and in the end just stared at the screen in a daze.
After a long time, she finally typed a sentence: "Are you back?"
One second, ten seconds...
Nothing each time.
"He should be back by now, it's been over half an hour."
"He must be talking work with the Mayor, no time to reply to me. Yes, it has to be that."
Jiang Yiren comforted herself.
And in the room a few walls away from the one she lived in, a snow‑white, lustrous body that could make blood boil was lying on the bed with legs spread.
On top of her was Song Guanchao's tall, strong, well‑muscled body.
He was kneading Wu Qiangwei's soft breasts, sucking on her tongue, his iron‑hard waist thrusting without pause.
The sheet beneath them had long since been soaked in a big patch.
