The man noticed her gaze and likewise lifted his head to look over.
Fu Cai hurriedly lowered her eyes, pretending to be engrossed in her book, and flipped two pages in a row.
This was the first time Zhao Bo Yan had seen Fu Cai since that day.
Her spirit seemed not too bad, apparently, she had recovered a bit, but her little face had lost its plumpness.
The moment he saw her, he couldn't help but think of the way she had cried in pain on the bed, her pleading increasing in pitch, pitiful and miserable, enough to make an ordinary person hesitate to harm her.
Fu Cai dared not lift her head.
This allowed Zhao Bo Yan to scrutinize her without restraint.
It was just the two of them on the second floor, the window was open, the rain had just stopped, and the thick moisture in the air was carried inside by the fresh breeze.
Zhao Bo Yan ordered a cup of coffee, and when it was ready, the waiter brought it up.