Scars of Hate

The air crackled with unspoken malice. Xiao Zhan's face was a mask of icy fury, his eyes burning with a hatred that chilled the bone. "You have to believe me, Zhan," Wang Yibo whispered, a desperate plea lost in the suffocating silence.

SLAP!!!!

The slap was brutal, a stark visual of shattered trust. Yibo's body snapped back, the force throwing him against the sharp edge of the sofa. Agony ripped through him as his freshly stabbed wound slammed against the wood. He crumpled, a strangled cry escaping his lips. Air failed to reach his lungs. Blood started oozing out from the reopened wound beneath his shirt.

Xiao Zhan's hand snaked into his hair, yanking his head back with cruel force. "Believe you?" he spat, each syllable laced with venomous grief. "Perhaps only your corpse will be enough to convince me, when I'll finally be able to get rid of the filth you've smeared across my life."

The words were a physical blow, stealing the remaining air from Yibo's lungs. His world shattered, the words piercing him with excruciating precision. He choked back a sob, a broken, ragged sound. A hollow smile twisted his bloodied lips. "Fine," he whispered.