Iris Harris, oh Iris Harris, how much do you really like this man?
Thinking of this, a bitter smile involuntarily appeared on her lips.
No matter how hurt she was, her feelings for him never changed.
She didn't know whether to call herself pathetic or if her love was just too humble.
The car was very quiet.
Iris Harris was never a talkative person to begin with.
And with Iris Harris present, Brandan Hyde naturally was also unwilling to speak.
Only the voice of an unknown French singer whispered in the car.
While driving, Brandan couldn't help but glance at Iris Harris.
She wore a simple office attire, her hair neatly tied at the back, revealing only her simple, clean face.
She was half-closing her eyes now, her eyelashes gently drooping, casting two heavy shadows under her eyelids.
Her pale near-translucent skin made her lightly colored lips appear pink, and Brandan glanced at them, his photographic memory quickly recalling how they felt when he once kissed them.
