Wen Jiao remained silent, her eyes lowered even further, gazing upon her hand where the needle was inserted.
What have I done?
Is it worse than cheating?
—It depends on whose perspective you consider.
From Wei Shuqian's standpoint, the harm done that year was too brutal.
A rich heiress's arbitrary whim had completely reshaped his life.
Wen Jiao still didn't dare to ask what exactly had happened in the end.
Therefore, she couldn't answer Bian Yue's question; instead, in a voice barely above a whisper and hoarse, she said: "Bian Yue, I don't know, I've done something wrong, and I don't know what to do."
Bian Yue felt an immense heartache, enveloping Wen Jiao in her embrace.
Many things were unknown, and as an outsider, how could one comment further?
All Bian Yue could think about was that if it were possible, she still hoped Wen Jiao could be happy.
Later that night, Bian Yue saw Wei Shuqian again.
