But no matter how long she waited, the call was never picked up.
Once, twice, a third time—no one answered.
Mo Chuxi had every reason to believe that those few dozen seconds of voice call history shown on WeChat had to be problematic.
The rain was coming down harder and harder.
Mo Chuxi stepped on the gas and sped all the way back to the manor.
It was already past nine thirty; downstairs in the living room, only the maids were walking back and forth.
Mo Chuxi went straight upstairs and turned the doorknob with a click.
The door opened, and she saw Yan Xinxin sitting alone on the bed. The cradle was empty; both of their sons were gone.
Mo Chuxi closed the door, ignoring the discomfort of her damp clothes, and quickly walked to the bedside.
"Xinxin."
"Pa!"
"..."
Completely off guard, Mo Chuxi took a solid slap from Yan Xinxin right across the face.
