But that tension inside him had never truly eased.
Before he closed his eyes at night, he would replay every detail of the day. 'Did she talk too much with someone else?'
'Who handed her a bottle of water?'
'Did anyone stay near her seat for more than ten seconds?'
The moment he noticed the slightest anomaly, his breathing would grow heavy, his fingers would clench, and his mind would race, playing out every possible scenario.
The feeling was like a dull knife sawing through flesh—slow and constant.
If Shanshan so much as frowned, scowled, or even just glanced at someone else for a second too long...
...the thought would just POP into his head: 'Better to snap her neck myself.'
'No need for anyone else to do it. I'll do it myself.'
'Quick, precise, and traceless.'
'As long as she doesn't belong to anyone else, that's enough.'
Whenever this thought surfaced, he had to suppress it with even greater willpower.
