Chapter 717: Chapter 717: Not Fit to See the Light
Perhaps because she had just washed her face, she looked as if draped in a layer of mist, her eyes glistening as they met his gaze.
The sight of the figure at the door seemed to brush away Hannah’s weariness.
She extended a hand to pull the visitor inside. He, Arnold, obliged her gentle tugs. With his back against the door, he found himself standing before her tender form.
A subtle fragrance lingered at the tip of his nose, as if carrying the warmth of the girl before him.
There was no light in the room; it was pitch black, save for the scant moonlight filtering in through the window, casting a silvery light over the floor.
She leaned against him as if she had shed all of her strength, her arms circling his slender waist, whispering softly, "Arnold."”
Her voice seemed to carry a hint of grievance, soft and pleading.
Lowering his eyes, his gaze deep, Arnold wrapped one arm around Hannah’s willowy waist, his other hand gently cupping her chin, staring into her glossy, dark eyes.
Mildly misty, one glance was enough to melt half of his resistance. "Hmm, why didn’t you turn on the light?"
Hannah pressed her lips tightly together before releasing them, only to reveal a layer of fresh red, as vibrant as a flower in full bloom overnight. Her voice was as gentle as water, "Given the nature of our relationship, it’s inappropriate for us to meet in the light. Meeting under the cover of night is already a grace from the heavens."
As she spoke, she lowered her head, likely wiping away silent tears. She seemed as delicate as a fragile blossom.
Arnold paused slightly. Without a second thought, he lifted her up. Adjusting to the darkness, his steps showed no hesitation, "What script are you playing out this time?"
He placed her on the couch, wiping away the few tears adorning her face, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He was more than happy to play along.
Hannah reached out, her grip steady on his neck, her upturned face full of warmth and laughter. Her voice was crisp, "The Battle Between Ximen Qing and Pan Jinlian."
In the corner, Jinlian shuddered, burying her head deeper.
She kept muttering under her breath, "I must not look. I must not listen."
This time, she added another line — "Whimpering...where are you, darling?"
Once Arnold processed what had been said, his expression remained unchanged. He teasingly pinched Hannah’s feverish cheek, his voice deliberately harsh, "Cut it out."
Hannah slipped out from under his hand, burrowing into his arms, "Alright then, let’s do another one; I am the gentle and easily frightened young widow, and you are the audacious and domineering gang leader."
After saying this, she lifted her head, a gleam in her eyes, eagerness flickering.
Arnold’s expression was unchanging, except for the corners of his lips, which curled up into a faint smirk. His hand lightly traced her face, coming to pause on her brightly colored lips.
Even that gentle touch seemed to be enough to light the fires of her seductive charm, accentuating her virginal skin, leaving him intoxicated.
His voice inevitably roughened, his gaze as black as ink, his words laden with profound emotion, "So will you come with me and become the lady of my stronghold?"
He looked at her as if she was a bird trapped in a cage, a bird that had no place to go, softly sobbing.
The girl bit her lower lip lightly, her long eyelashes blinked, and quick enough, a tear fell. However, her eyes shone with bits of brilliance, filled with anticipation.
Her voice, in contrast, was steeped in the tone of a cry, "But... but my husband..."
Her tears were genuine, but only a few drops had fallen. To the observer, she truly did look like a young widow, forced into submission. Her face was a picture of resistance, yet her gentle nature prevented her from uttering a word of refusal.
She lifted her porcelain face, her lips barely parting.
