Yun Ya looked at the handsome face so close at hand, silhouetted against the backlight like a Heavenly God descending, and she felt a bit dazed.
Yan Song gripped her waist with both hands, his eyes coldly fixed on the nanny lying on the ground, a flash of murderous intent flickering briefly in his gaze.
As he lowered his head, the tenderness in his eyes unfolded like layers of apricot-colored spring waters, as if a single glance could drown a person within.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, examining Yun Ya from top to bottom.
Yun Ya stood up straight, smiling and shaking her head, "No."
Yan Song remained skeptical, giving a cold glance to the woman clutching her chest and crying out in pain on the ground. If he had been a moment later, this woman's filthy hands would have landed on Yun Ya's face. He couldn't bear even a strand of Yun Ya's hair to be disturbed; this woman was courting death.
