Difícil escapar das cores da primavera

Zhao Baitong had never done anything rebellious in her life.

Except this once, when she walked out of a lesbian bar with her colleague and was caught in the act by Fang Zhixu.

It was late autumn. She wore a short jacket and a fitted lambskin skirt that hugged her perfect curves, her long, slender legs exposed to the night air. As she stepped outside, she found Fang Zhixu leaning against his Red Flag sedan, exhaling smoke, his expression dark as midnight.

They locked eyes for a single second, and Zhao Baitong immediately yielded.

She told her colleague to go ahead and got into Fang Zhixu's car.

Inside, the atmosphere was oppressively tense. Neon lights flickered beyond the windows, and the night stretched on endlessly.

Fang Zhixu let out a cold, derisive laugh, his voice icier than the darkness. “When a man can’t satisfy you, you go looking for thrills at a lesbian bar. Zhao Baitong, you’re really making something of yourself.”

His hands gripped the steering wheel as he turned it—an ordinary gesture, but in his hands, it was strikingly masculine, full of presence.

The orange streetlight reflected off the engagement ring on his left hand, stabbing at Zhao Baitong’s eyes, weighing heavy on her heart.

It was this very hand that had engineered the most advanced aircraft components, catapulting his aerospace company to the forefront of the industry and making him the most sought-after chief engineer.

Now, these hands—this man—would belong to someone else.

A sharp pain shot through Zhao Baitong’s heart.