New Year's Eve, the restaurant was filled with joyful diners, old and young dressed festively, but the masked Feng Yan walking through the hall seemed out of place.
However, no one paid attention to the woman wrapped up tightly, simply attributing it to the bitter cold of Imperial Capital's winter.
"What do you want?"
Sitting in the private room, Feng Yan's face was as dark as it could be, her eyes displaying not only resentment but also a trace of arrogance.
Luo Lin looked somewhat disappointed. "Do you think that as long as your demands are met, this matter can be perfectly resolved?"
Not even a trace of urgency or remorse—she truly was no longer that ambitious yet somewhat naive girl I once discovered.
Feng Yan didn't seem to think this was an issue. "Bank transfers and chat records can be faked; this is nothing."
