The sweet and gentle boy is actually crazy and bad.

"Wen Zhi, you're a madman, I really, really hate you."

Wen Zhi was deeply stung by her gaze.

In the past, he would be fiercely angry at her resistance and escape; now, he feels more anxious and tormented, as if pierced by her words and gaze, experiencing a bloody and mangled pain.

"That's not true, Ah Sheng, I didn't..."

"I didn't do that. I'm always terrified when you bump into things, how could I bear to let you fall down such a high step?"

Unable to vent his grievances, Wen Zhi's eyes reddened.

Suppressing his violent nature, he pleaded with her, almost choking back tears, "Please believe me this time, Ah Sheng..."

She cried.

He also shed tears.

She was in pain.

He seemed to be in even more pain than she was, as if he was the one with the broken leg and the one being forced and manipulated.

Wen Yisheng felt that his acting skills were comparable to those of a movie star.

She took a deep breath, her voice trembling, closed her eyes, and whispered, "Let's break up. Stop torturing me."

Wen Zhi's expression changed, and the air around him seemed to turn icy cold instantly.

Her words of breaking up were enough to shatter his rationality.

"Torture? I've gone to great lengths to take care of you, and you call that torture?"

Wen Yisheng's eyes were red, and even her docile little beast suddenly erupted in anger: "Do I have to thank you for making me like this?!"

Wen Zhi's fingers tightened, forcing down the anger in his heart, his tone low and harsh: "So no matter how I explain, you're convinced I'm the one who made you fall down the stairs, and you just won't believe me, is that it?"

Wen Yisheng coldly turned her face away.

Wen Zhi reached out and forcefully turned her chin, his hand moving like a venomous snake, his expression icy: "I think you've finally found an excuse to break up with me, haven't you?"

Why...?

"We clearly get along very well. You kiss me so passionately, and you even get shy. I don't believe you haven't developed any feelings for me."

"Affection? Wasn't it something you forced upon us?" Wen Yisheng said, finding it ridiculous.

Wen Zhi swallowed hard, a smile curving his lips, and said somewhat hoarsely, "Anyway, I can feel that you like me."

"No, I don't like it at all." Wen Yisheng stared into his eyes.

She caught the complex emotions he was trying to suppress in his eyes: panic, fear, and vulnerability.

She spoke each word clearly and calmly, deliberately belittling his feelings to nothing, crushing them mercilessly on the ground.

Wen Yisheng smiled sweetly yet cruelly: "Every day I spend with you is incredibly painful. Kissing? That's really uncomfortable."

"No matter how affectionate you are, you can't hide your wicked nature. In my heart, you are just as despicable as Lan Mao. Wen Yihan is a hundred times better than you."

"Every time you touch me, it disgusts me. I only kiss you to make you less crazy and give me a chance to breathe. I think about how to get rid of you, this monster, every day."

She got to see Wen Zhi trembling with anger, his chest heaving, his eyes red and filled with a deep gloom.

A strange, morbid pleasure welled up inside Wen Yisheng.

"Are you finished? Continue." Wen Zhi closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again with unusual calm.

Wen Yisheng didn't want to talk anymore. She stared at a point in the air, her expression numb and calm.

Wen Zhi thought she had said enough.

His eyes were dark, and he gently pinched her chin, leaned close to her ear and kissed her, then laughed.

Don't even think about breaking up.

"I want you to be beneath me, for the rest of your life." He laughed maliciously.

Her tone shifted, her smile turning cold: "Disgusting? Bear with it."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.