Wen Qiao had slept too much in the afternoon, resulting in her experiencing insomnia after turning off the lights.
And the man lying next to her had already fallen into a deep sleep.
Wen Qiao carefully moved Fu Jinghen's arm from around her waist, turned to her side, and examined Fu Jinghen under the moonlight coming through the window.
Her gaze slid from his eyebrows to his prominent nose and finally rested on his thin, well-shaped lips.
As she looked, Wen Qiao couldn't help but smile foolishly.
That such a perfect man belonged to her made Wen Qiao feel proud and self-assured.
During her girlhood, she often discussed with her friends their ideal future partners; she listened to her friends describe one ideal partner after another but never pictured her own future partner.
What use was there in imagining so concretely when fate was something determined by destiny?
If asked when she began to like Fu Jinghen, Wen Qiao couldn't provide a specific answer.
