The living room was bathed in silence, save for the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall. Yanyu stood with her arms folded, her face pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Li Tian sat casually on the couch, still wearing his blood-stained shirt, the edge of a blade just barely peeking from beneath his jacket. The air between them was thick — not with fear, but something more dangerous.
Unspoken truths.
"How long?" she finally asked, voice flat.
He glanced at her. "Since the beginning."
"You were never a waste."
"No," he said simply.
Her breath hitched. “So the pathetic man I married—the loser everyone mocked—was just a mask?”
Li Tian didn’t flinch. “It was a shield. I wore it to protect something.”
“What? Your pride?”
“No,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You.”
Yanyu bl
