The treasure he devotedly held in the palm of his hand had unexpectedly plunged her into such peril.
If there was even a sliver of solace, it was that, thankfully, his treasure was asleep, spared from the helpless, desperate hell of witnessing everything with eyes wide open.
Ye Che wiped away the tears at the corner of his eyes, bent down to kiss Xia Weiyi's temple, then stepped out of the bath, wrapped her in a towel, dried her off, and carried her out of the bathroom.
...
Xia Weiyi felt certain that she must be sick.
Otherwise, why was her consciousness growing more and more blur, her head aching as if needles were being inserted into it, her throat dry, and despite several attempts to shout, she couldn't make a sound.
The only thing she could feel was a man constantly whispering something in her ear about 'Give it to me, what kind of woman, whether she's clean or not—'
Then, she was lifted up and held against a robust and slightly cool chest.
