Luo Wanzhao sat on the bed.
The night wind blew through the window crack. Though the spring breeze was gentle and pleasant, she felt cold all over, her teeth chattering.
Facing Lu Shiyan, her facial muscles twitched uncontrollably, pulling into an ugly smile, her brows and eyes quickly drooping again. Her lips trembled as if caught in spasms, and coupled with her pale, sickly appearance, the scene was both unseemly and pitiful.
But in her eyes, there still lingered a final thread of hope. In a hoarse voice, she asked, "What did Your Highness say?"
Lu Shiyan remained impassive: "I want to divorce you."
Luo Wanzhao stared at him, unconsciously swallowing. Her hands, resting on the embroidered quilt, quietly clenched into fists.
Tears welled in her eyes, and her voice was barely audible: "Why?"
