Thinking of this, Sylvan Cheney painfully lowered his head, his hands digging into his short hair, the taste of that agony coursing through his entire body, even his throat was bitter.
The position of his heart ached, beating without rhythm or pattern.
Several times, it felt like his heart was about to stop.
Because he had lost everything.
He had already lost the one who loved him most in this life.
Yukon Carbon was still standing by the bed; this was the first time he'd seen Sylvan Cheney like this—this high and mighty man finally showed emotion and regret.
He thought Sylvan would never regret anything in his life.
Cold indifference crept into Yukon's heart; he remained composed and unruffled. He almost hated Sylvan Cheney for deeply hurting a pure and kind girl.
The night at the hospital was silent; outside the window roared the strong wind, and a layer of mist had long coated the glass, spreading everywhere.
