On the day of his confession, I still pathetically wanted to hide in the corner—just to see him one more time.
But less than three hundred meters from the venue, I ran into that thug again.
He had a knife in his hand, and six or seven more thugs followed close behind.
“Boss, is that her?”
Sensing danger, I turned and ran.
In a panic, I dialed Ryan.
The phone rang for three seconds before being cut off.
I tried again—same thing. Three seconds, then disconnected.
When I dialed a third time, his phone was already turned off.
Dragged into a dark alley, I had no idea that Ryan was at that very moment adjusting his suit, checking the bouquet for his big confession.
