Song Chen heard his own racing heart.
One beat after another, it was beating violently.
His hands were propped up against the window. The cold temperature of the glass penetrated through his palms, spreading from his blood vessels and skin to his heart.
It's her!
It's her!
It must be her!
Song Chen had never been so sure before.
In this world, only she had such a thin and cold back. Only she could dress up like a beautiful person in a painting. In the days and nights they spent together, he was familiar with the curve of her shoulders, the softness of her waist, and the back of her figure was deeply engraved in Song Chen's heart.
"President?" Seeing Song Chen's strange expression, the assistant asked tentatively.
After a long while, the man in the black suit turned his head.
The assistant saw his slightly red eyes.