C7

Without making any arrangements for the operation, Zhan Yan stayed in the office for the whole afternoon. Unknowingly, it had already started getting dark outside the window. Zhan Yan suddenly remembered that Ji Weiyang asked her to accompany him to the banquet. She hurriedly stood up, and her vision suddenly turned black. After staggering for a few steps, she managed to stabilize herself.

Breakfast was just a lie. He didn't even eat lunch. His head felt heavy, his stomach throbbed, and so did his heart. She took out her phone and called Ji Weiyang.

The phone rang many times before answering. A familiar, low, magnetic voice came from the other end. "What is it?" he asked.

"I, I might not be able to accompany you to the banquet."

"There was a brief silence, then the sound of the air currents filled the both ends of the microphone." "And the reason?"

"I'm not feeling well."

He was silent again. Then, he gave an emotionless "En" and hung up the phone.

A beeping sound came from the phone. Zhan Yan looked at it in a daze and laughed bitterly. She had long since gotten used to his indifference. Initially, she would cry in grievance, but three years later, today, she didn't even have the strength to cry. Zhan Yan thought, if she died, he would probably react a little.

After getting off work, Zhan Yan slowly took off her white coat, changed into a halter dress, and sat on a chair in a daze. Somehow, she was very much against returning to that ice-cold home. Then, Du Xiaomo rushed in quickly and forcefully pulled her along to the bar.

When Zhan Yan returned home drunk, it was already midnight. She found her key and entered the room without turning on the lights. She walked along the wall towards the bedroom. For three years, a thousand and ninety-five days and nights, she had touched every corner of the house alone.

"You're back?" A gloomy male voice suddenly came from the darkness, carrying a unique coldness. Without any warning, it indeed had a horrifying effect, causing people's hair to stand on end.

Zhan Yan's body trembled, and she subconsciously stopped moving. Under the dim moonlight from the window, she saw a man in a dark grey suit, blending perfectly with the darkness on the linen sofa in the living room. His tall and big body was slumped on the sofa, and hhermovements were slow as she lit up a cigarette. In the moment of light, Zhan Yan saw that three buttons had been torn off the shirt on his chest, and his well-built chest was faintly discernible.

Zhan Yan leaned her body against the ice-cold wall. She was very tired and really didn't have any spare effort to deal with him.

The atmosphere immediately fell into a deathly silence. She did not speak, and he accompanied her in silence. It was like a silent contest between them. In the end, Zhan Yan was still not as calm as he was, and was the first to speak, her tone carrying a sense of ridicule, "Mister Ji, today is not number eight."

"This is my home." "Yes," he replied, implying that whenever he returned, her door must remain open to him.

The corners of Zhan Yan's lips curled up as she sneered. "Why would he want to come and go as she pleases? This place was more like a hotel than a home to him, and there was also her, her bed maid, who was free of charge.

"Then go ahead, I'm tired." After she finished speaking, she turned around and walked towards the bedroom.

She reached out to turn the handle of the door. Just as the door was opened a crack, a force suddenly came from behind, bringing along a cold chill. She was pinned to the door by a heavy weight.