But when Fifteen handed the phone to Qiao Mo, she couldn't help but be a bit dumbfounded.
In Fifteen's hand was a white phone, very simple and elegant, even more attractive than her original one.
But the problem was, this phone was simply not hers.
Qiao Mo looked up at Fifteen and said again, "Is this a mistake? This doesn't seem like my phone..."
"The young master sent me to bring you the phone."
The man in front of her repeated without expression, and Qiao Mo spoke again, "But this isn't mine..."
"The young master sent me to bring you the phone."
"..."
Qiao Mo was a bit speechless, looking at the man in front of her, she couldn't help but speak again, "Classmate Fifteen, I'm saying this phone isn't mine..."
"The young master sent me to bring you the phone."
The man in front of her remained as motionless as before, like a robot, courteous but with extreme patience, yet his eyes were filled with murderous coldness, like a killer's blade.
