In the night, the beams of car lights occasionally pierced through.
Snowflakes danced wildly in the light.
On the terrace of the loft, a brief silence fell, leaving only the sound of three people's rapid heartbeats.
The woman under the street lamp cast her gaze through the storm, sweeping across their faces, before it settled precisely on Zhang Yan.
She nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and her austere face seemed to show a trace of extremely subtle smile.
Zhang Yan finally confirmed that she was Tang Song's driver.
Lin Feifei and Cheng Xiaoyue swallowed hard.
As typical literary young women, they had watched countless movies, read countless novels.
But this scene before them—
The snowy night, the luxury car, the mysterious cold woman, and the specifically delivered gift.
Seemed more unreal and impactful than any fictional plot.
And thus, all this happened to their most ordinary friend Zhang Yan.
