She didn't hate him, even now, she had never hated him.
It had been her one-sided pursuit all along, her one-sided emotions, she had willingly laid herself at his feet to be trampled upon.
If there was any hatred, it could only be directed at herself.
She vigorously wiped her face, drying her tears, her whole being exhausted and devoid of any strength.
"You can go," she leaned on the bed, her expression tired and indifferent, "I want to rest now."
Samuel Johnson wouldn't let her go; he was still concerned about Amanda Smith intending to leave. He pulled her over and demanded with his shoulders pinned, "You said you were going to leave, where would you go?" He slightly narrowed his eyes, a few strands of cold light shining through, "I won't give you a chance to escape, Amanda Smith. We have fifteen years between us, and the accounts are not yet settled. Where do you dare run to? Even if you run to the ends of the earth, I will bring you back!"
