Rain poured down, dark clouds pressed overhead, and fierce winds howled. Trees swayed violently in the wind, as though they might be uprooted at any moment.
Huge raindrops swept along by the gale battered the windowpanes, rattling against them without pause.
The instant he made out the surveillance footage, he felt as though he had been cast into an icy abyss. His blood ran backward, and barbed thorns wound around his heart, dragging it into the depths.
In the footage, his barely conscious self dragged the struggling young man up to the top floor, roughly pried his hands off the door, and forcibly hauled him into the room.
Fu Hanchuan sat blankly at the desk. The thunder and rain outside blurred into a meaningless hum in his ears.
That person.
Was him.
Why.
Hadn't he told him?
The anger had barely risen before helplessness swept it away.
All his strength vanished in an instant, and Fu Hanchuan bent forward, utterly drained.
Because I told Wen Yanyu I hated him, was that it?
The terror, fear, helplessness, and hurt in his eyes-how could Fu Hanchuan not have known? How could he not have seen?
Fu Hanchuan braced one arm against the edge of the desk to steady himself, slowly raising his other hand to cover the upper half of his face.
The bitterness rising from his throat left him struggling to draw great gulps of air.
Because Wen Yanyu liked him.
He had been certain Wen Yanyu would never leave him, certain Wen Yanyu could not bear to leave him and had no way to leave him.
So he had let his emotions run wild, venting his anger on Wen Yanyu.
He was a madman. He knew that. He did not like seeing Wen Yanyu cry, nor did he like seeing