Last night, Luo Xiaoqian did not sleep peacefully.
It had barely dawned when she awoke from a nightmare, her eyes snapping open. She raised her hand to touch her forehead, only to find it drenched in cold sweat.
Turning her head, beside her, Leng Zimo was gone.
Aside from the sticky discomfort of cold sweat, Luo Xiaoqian tried to sit up, but found her right hand restrained by something.
She turned to look at her right hand and saw it was wrapped thickly with a towel, which was secured with a bandage—one end tied around her wrist, the other attached to a post at the head of the bed.
This freak Leng Zimo, he had actually tied her up?
No, that can’t be right!
Luo Xiaoqian lifted the thin quilt with her free left hand, checking herself. Her torn dress was still on, as was her undergarment, and she felt no discomfort; apparently, he hadn’t done anything to her last night.
She curled up, using her left hand to undo the bandage on her right wrist, then got out of bed.
Her warm soles touched the cold floor, causing her feet to shrink back slightly.
She had been carried up by him yesterday, and her slippers were still downstairs. With that thought, she got up again, went to the wardrobe with one hand, opened the doors, stripped off the no-longer presentable dress, draped a bathrobe over herself, and then tiptoed to open the bedroom door, creeping downstairs.
In the living room, the lights were on, and the piano room door was open, but Leng Zimo was nowhere to be seen.
He probably didn’t want to deal with her, so he left, right!
Luo Xiaoqian sighed in relief and tiptoed towards the door to put on her slippers.

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