This scene, Mo Nanjue would later recall, felt like a thin needle trapped in his heart that no matter how hard he tried, he could never pull out.
This was the first time a woman had dried his hair for him.
Just simply, dried his hair.
The women who flocked around him varied in types and flavors, each one utterly obedient.
When he said one, those women would never, dare to say two.
But Tong Ran was different; sometimes before he could even say one, she could go straight to one hundred.
She butted heads with him time and time again, crossed his boundaries time and time again, and time and time again made him so angry he wanted to kill her.
Yet, he was damnably obsessed with her scent!
He liked her innocence, her fragrance, her hair, her voice, her smile...
He liked it every time she lay beneath him on the bed, looking at him with wide-open eyes.
And her nature, as stubborn as a wild cat, would occasionally become gentle, and each time it struck the softest spot in his heart.
