Yan Beicheng's face abruptly sank. His cold, black irises darkened, slowly turning bloodshot with anger. "Miss Lu, we aren't that close. I don't remember anyone taking me to your house when I was little."
Those memories were degrading to him; he did not want to even think about them at all.
He might be willing to call her his mother, but it was about where his courtesy extended to.
If someone thought that mentioning Jiang Changdai would appeal themselves to him, then they were sorely mistaken; it only served to disgust him even more.
Yan Beicheng was livid. He did not show any sign of emotional turmoil, but everyone could see that his expression was one of disgust and fury.
