Ya'er had boasted enough and only then noticed Yan Xiaye on the couch, looking down in silence. The young lady's temper flared instantly, and she pointed at her and screamed, "Wicked woman, why are you here! I've asked Daddy so many times, why hasn't he driven you away yet?"
Buzzing filled Yan Xiaye's ears following the screams. She pressed her forehead, and amidst the noisy surroundings, suddenly heard that haunting tone she remembered all too well.
In just a few minutes, fine beads of cold sweat covered her forehead, trickling down her delicate, elegant cheeks into her collar.
Under her long quivering lashes, her gaze unfocused, vacantly falling on some distant unknown; a mist of tears gradually rose in her eyes, her expression one of utter terror, as if trapped in an endless nightmare.
Yan Shuirou silently observed Yan Xiaye's reaction. Her bright red lips tightly pursed, she held a tape recorder that was playing and tiptoed to place it beside the window.