You are just my little trophy
In the dark of the night, the car sped through the empty streets, headlights cutting through the shadows as Ling Buyi sat in the passenger seat, her body trembling uncontrollably. It wasn't just the cold seeping into her bones—it was the icy presence of the man beside her, her husband, whose face remained hard and expressionless as he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. The engine roared as they oversped down the winding roads, but he made no effort to adjust the car's temperature or offer her even the smallest comfort.
Ling Buyi shivered, rubbing her hands together in a futile attempt to create some warmth. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he even noticed. The man beside her, tall and brooding, kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his expression cold and indifferent, as though she were nothing more than a stranger in the seat beside him.