Gu Chengze's fingers closed more tightly around Mo Xingxue's hand.
The pressure triggered something immediate and devastating. Her chest constricted until each breath felt shallow and insufficient.
The sensation dragged her backward—back to that night when she had twisted and pulled with everything she had, pleading for him to let go, only for his grip to tighten further, unyielding no matter how desperately she fought.
The memory rose cold and heavy, the same helplessness settling into her bones like a weight she had never fully shaken off.
Tears welled in her eyes. The corners reddened. A dull, heavy pounding began behind her temples. Nausea rolled through her stomach in slow, sickening waves.
The dappled sunlight through the leaves suddenly seemed too bright, the quiet rustle of the canopy too loud. She sat frozen, trapped between the present and the past, her free hand curled tightly into the fabric of her clothes.
