One could rather say that Mo Xiuchen departed for the guest room not to prove that he wouldn't violate her boundaries, but because he slammed the door and left. He, like her, didn't know what to do.
To keep her by his side, he had exhausted every possible method.
He had tried being both gentle and forceful with her. Having exhausted all options, he had only resorted to harsh words tonight, hurting her but also causing him no less pain.
In the guest room, Mo Xiuchen stood coldly and desolately by the floor-to-ceiling window, a half-burnt cigarette between his right index and middle fingers. The rising smoke shrouded his deep eyes, as dark as a still pond, and permeated the aura around him—lonely and desolate.
Wen Ran's pale face reappeared in his mind, causing him to abruptly break the cigarette, which dropped onto the carpet at his feet.
