In the elegantly decorated room, the lights were bright, and the dim warm light illuminated the copper mirror, reflecting a gentle halo.
On the two-foot-high dressing table, everything had been overturned and was scattered on the ground. Xu Ying was half-leaning on the dressing table, her hands weakly lying flat on the surface. Her disheveled long hair covered the entire tabletop, her sandalwood lips occasionally parted, exhaling a faint orchid fragrance.
Xu Ying's charming and delicate jade cheeks were already blushing like the clouds, her eyes filled with a hint of shame. The nails painted with rouge left several indistinct white marks on the tabletop.
Chen Mo repeatedly called her Empress, but the way he treated her just now did not regard her as an Empress, but rather like a woman from a brothel, even less than a brothel's woman.
Yet, for some reason, this rough treatment stirred an addictive feeling in her heart.
