His tone, his voice, to Ji Anning, sounded so calm, filled with confidence.
A breath stuck in her throat suddenly surged up. Ji Anning stood up, turned around, and hurled the water in her hand toward the man behind her, yelling furiously at him, "Ji Chicheng, how could you treat me like this?"
He could be unaware of how difficult her secret love for him had been over the years.
He could be proud, distant, capricious, and domineering.
But how could he do such things to her, repeatedly, without feeling her fear, her turmoil, and her pain?
Or was it that he took pleasure in trampling on her, insulting her dignity, as if it had become a habit?
Otherwise, how could he now be so calm and self-righteous in confessing to her?
She had nearly died for him, yet he boasted to her so calmly about his capabilities, asking her to continue being with him, blindfolded, lying in bed, allowing him to insult her body and soul?
