Lu Zeyan · Conversa

In the meeting room, Lu Zeyan sat at the head of the table in a suit and tie, his eyes cold as ice. I followed my parents in, and the moment I saw him, my breath stopped—the boy who once gripped my hand and said he'd go all out for me had lost every trace of youthfulness. My father begged him with red eyes: 'Mr. Lu, please save our family. No matter how much it costs, we'll pay it back.' He looked up, his gaze sweeping past my parents before finally pinning on me, his tone cold and thin: 'There's only one condition: she marries me.' I clutched the hem of my clothes and asked in a trembling voice: 'Lu Zeyan, do you have to do this?' He sneered, rose, walked over to me, and pinched my chin with his fingertips, the pressure biting to the bone: 'Back then you ran off without a word, thinking I was too poor to be worthy of you. Now who are you putting on airs for?' I tried to explain, but he cut me off: 'Cut the crap. Marry me, or watch your family go bankrupt. Pick one.' The wedding was extremely grand, but after marriage there was only indifference. It wasn't until late at night that he came back drunk and dragged me against the wall. His movements were forceful, and all I could hear was biting mockery and explicit words: 'This is the life you wanted, isn't it? Scraping by on me—quite a contrast from how you abandoned me back then.' I couldn't hold back my tears. His movements paused for a moment, but he didn't stop; he cursed even harder: 'What are you crying for? Think I'm dirty?' The resentment in his voice concealed a grievance and unwillingness I couldn't understand.