Ya'er cast a disdainful glance at her, then snuggled back on the sofa to stare at the TV screen and lazily commanded, "Hurry up and make dinner, I want fries and chicken wings."
Yan Shuirou, not daring to defy her, answered with a smile and took off her expensive coat to drape over the sofa, heading alone to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
As she turned on the tap to rinse her hands, she lowered her gaze to her own well-maintained, tender fingertips that seemed to belong to a young girl, completely forgetting the last time she had cooked.
Perhaps she was indeed of humble origin, but she had made it this far on her own, and both her body and mind had long grown accustomed to the life of a wealthy young madam. She had once come so close to firmly grasping her dream in her hands, only to now be told it was nothing but a pipe dream—anyone would struggle to bear such a blow.
