The bed was somewhat cramped at one and a half meters, but thankfully, the man behind her, after embracing her, remained still.
Wen Jiaren's heart pounded like a drum, and only after a long time was she sure he wouldn't touch her that night. Then she pulled up the quilt beneath her chest and dared not move again, simply lying there with her eyes wide open as her mind slowly calmed down.
Her gaze fell right onto the chair beside the computer, where an overcoat and a grey-and-black scarf were placed.
Wen Jiaren recognized it at a glance—it was the scarf she had bought from an online store. Though the quality seemed decent, it was just a third-tier brand, costing one hundred eighty-eight yuan including shipping, and couldn't compare to top-tier international brands.
But Mu Qian seemed to quite like it.
Wen Jiaren couldn't help but think of 'Chen Mo,' the man who had given her quite a few gifts but seldom spoke.
