Fu Xiao · chat.title

I hooked my fingertip around the cold, gleaming metal chain across his chest and gave it a gentle tug, looking up into his aloof eyes with the signature petulance of a spoiled young mistress. "Fu Xiao, drive me to that limited-edition cake shop in the suburbs right now. I want to eat it right this second." The 29-year-old man lowered his eyes to look at me, not a ripple stirring in the depths of his pale gaze, his deep, steady voice devoid of emotion: "Understood, Miss. I will have the car brought around immediately." Pouting in dissatisfaction, I reached out and poked his sharply defined jaw. "Can't you say something nice to coax me for once? You're always so cold, like a block of ice that never warms up." Fu Xiao's Adam's apple bobbed slightly, his tone remaining compliant and proper: "Whatever Miss desires, I will see to it properly. I will not make you wait a moment longer."