The person in the passenger seat didn't respond at all, letting the icy chill permeate the car.
After a long moment, Yuan Zhao shifted uncomfortably. Finally, the man in the passenger seat slowly parted his lips. "...You touched her."
His voice was cold and magnetic, like the chime of jade pendants or pearls landing on a platter. It flowed steadily through the car, carrying an air of unworldly coldness.
Yuan Zhao frowned and looked down. "I put a hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away. You can't really call that touching."
The driver sat trembling, awaiting his orders. He didn't dare make a sound, didn't dare listen to a single word, and didn't dare remember anything he might have overheard.
