"By the way," he said, breaking the silence, "why do you take so long to reply to my messages? I always wait for your texts, you know." He let out a small laugh, but the humor didn't quite reach his eyes.
Yan An hesitated for half a second before answering, his voice void of emotion.
"Busy."
That was all he said. And hearing that, Wen Haoyi nodded slowly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He understood what Yan An was really saying: forgetit. I'mnotinterested.
Yeah, you'vealreadylostbeforeyouevenstarted.
Across the restaurant, an unwavering gaze remained locked onto Yan An.
Ye Xinren.
His fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass, knuckles turning white.
Hatred boiled in his chest, thick and suffocating.
Because of Yan An, his relationship with Jiang Yanxu had been torn apart—shattered, severed. Years of devotion, of love, wiped away in an instant. He had been forced to stay away, threatened, pushed aside like he was nothing.
