"You're outstanding. You deserve a better home than this. There's no need to waste your time on me."
This was already the countless time Li Fei had rejected her so directly and firmly.
There was no cold indifference, no deliberate distancing—only an open and straightforward resolve to remain true to himself.
Larsa Pippen smiled faintly. There was no disappointment in her eyes; instead, they were filled with relief.
"I understand your stance, and I respect your choice."
"But my feelings are mine to decide. They don't need anyone's approval, nor do they need a response."
"Focus on playing. Go after the championship. I won't become a burden to you."
After saying that, she took half a step back and cleared the way for him.
She turned elegantly, without further entanglement, and left with easy grace.
Watching her retreating figure, Li Fei frowned slightly before turning and getting into his car.
He had never indulged in ambiguity and had always upheld his own principles and boundaries.
A complete rejection and a clear attitude were his respect for everyone else, as well as a restraint he imposed upon himself.
As evening fell, the lights of New York began to come on, and the city's neon signs lit up one after another.
Li Fei returned to his apartment alone. After washing up and resting, his phone rang as expected with an international call.
The caller was Monica Bellucci, who was recuperating in Europe.
The moment the call connected, the woman's gentle, soothing voice came through the receiver.
"Darling, I watched your postgame interview, and I also saw all the off-court news."
Monica's tone was calm and gentle, without the slightest hint of questioning or displeasure.
Leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window and looking at New York's dazzling nightscape, Li Fei's tone softened.
"I'm sorry