The tenderness in Lu Yanhe's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by sadness and anger.
He withdrew his palm, clenching it into a fist so tightly that his nails nearly dug into his flesh.
For a moment, he thought of strangling her, then committing suicide.
That way, they would both be free, and all their love, hate, right, and wrong would be obliterated, bringing an end to everything.
Ha... So she really was drunk and mistook him for another man.
Is it possible that, every night, that man treats her the same way?
Will he kiss her, love her, like I do?
Lu Yanhe gently closed his eyes. Su Jia, how I wish I could pretend not to know you, pretend not to remember you.
It's more about hating myself than hating her.
He stubbornly clings to hope for a woman so selfish and cold, who had once hurt him, knowing full well she doesn't love him, yet unable to let go.
...
Late at night.
In the spacious study, nine document folders were neatly arranged.
