In the deep night, the coolness was like water, and the moonlight streamed in through the villa's floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a layer of silver light, like a thin veil. Bo Yimo sat on the sofa in front of the window, holding a wine glass in one hand. The red liquid swayed in the glass, and under the moonlight, his features appeared even more exquisite, his brows and eyes distant yet clear, exuding a cold elegance.
At this moment, the door opened, and Little Nine walked in from outside holding a few sheets of paper, "Young Master, these came from the newspaper office. The editor asked if we should publish them."
Bo Yimo took them. They were photos of the afternoon's hand-holding between the two of them. He sounded somewhat pleased, "Qin Yikuo has pretty good photography skills."
Little Nine: …
Yes, yes, Young Master, as long as it's a photo of you and your future Young Madam, you always think it's well taken.
