Lance didn't care at all. He picked Yvette up by the waist and placed her back on the bed.
Lance didn't even care about his wound, allowing the red blood to flow on the creamy white sheets.
Lance looked at her, his eyes lighting up.
The woman who he thought "died" five years ago. The woman who appeared in his dreams every night was in front of his eyes.
"Yvette..."
Lance's tall and slender body was suppressing her. She was trapped in his arms tightly. He called her name one by one in a tender and loving tone.
The closer he got, the more Lance felt her temperature and her fragrance. Her true existence felt quite different from when she was a piece of memory in his dream. Lance always woke up at midnight when he dreamed of her.
Yvette watched as Lance's bloody palm caressed her cheek, her eyes, and her lips with strong affection.