The sun was setting as the car came to a slow, heavy stop in front of the villa in Shanghai. The sky, streaked with soft shades of orange and pink, seemed indifferent to the heartbreak that was about to unfold inside the walls of the house. Li Xinjie, the first to step out, gritted his teeth as the physical pain from his injuries pulsed through his body. But even that pain was nothing compared to the agony tearing at his soul.
His steps were slow, each one heavier than the last as he approached the entrance. The front door was ajar, and as he entered the villa, the soft murmur of voices reached his ears. His frown deepened when he saw Cen Yehuan, his wife, standing near Zhang Mei, who looked up the moment he stepped inside.
"Xinjie," Cen Yehuan gasped, her eyes wide with concern. "You're hurt."
Li Xinjie's jaw tightened. "I'm fine," he said, his voice raw and strained. "I'll live."
