After I Was Gone, Mr. Song Said He Loved Me - Chapter 2 - Mr. Song's Grip

The boy was clean-cut and about as tall as me, around 1.75 meters, weighing roughly 50 kilos, definitely on the slender side.

The man standing in front of him was a head taller, probably around 1.9 meters. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and had features more profound than most Asians, dressed in a light grey casual suit with diamond cufflinks that I identified as two carats at a glance. His wrist sported a Vacheron Constantin watch that clearly started at a million; don’t ask how I know, I’ve just seen too much. Working in this environment, I’ve developed a knack for pricing at first sight.

Perhaps I was distracted a bit too long, as the boy shot me a fierce look.

I greeted them coolly, “Excuse me, could you please let me through?” and smiled politely to indicate they were blocking the door.

The man glanced at me, and before I could discern the emotion in his eyes, he had pulled me into his embrace.

Oh wow! I blinked. What was this plot twist?

Then a charming, magnetic voice sounded over my head, “I’m just this sort of person, I like anyone young and beautiful, not just you.”

Although I was still figuring out the situation, I had to admit that being called “young and beautiful” was quite flattering.

“Song Yu… you’re going too far.” Tears rolled down the boy’s cheeks one by one.

It was quite a heart-wrenching sight.

Seeing this, I knew what was going on. Clearly, this man was using me to drive the boy away.

The me who should be fully cooperative with his act couldn’t just pretend not to see.

I didn’t say anything, just snuggled a bit more into the man’s embrace.

Hmm, his shoulders were just the right width, his chest muscles perfectly firm yet soft, and there was a faint scent of Gulong fragrance, pleasant and intoxicating.

Perhaps my subtle movement irked the boy even more, as he cried even harder.

Suddenly feeling a bit guilty, I then thought, I was doing a good deed here. The boy looked about my age, hardly over 20, falling for a man who frequents bars was bound to end badly.

The man’s patience wore thin amid the boy’s increasingly loud cries, and the hand on my waist tightened, clearly restraining his temper.

I really wanted to slap his hand away; I guessed my waist must have turned purple by now.

Damn, he’s really strong!