The rain seemed endless, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of aster. The couple walked down the alley while sharing an umbrella, finding their way back home.

Josie hugged her hands at her front, feeling slightly cold without a jacket. She also seemed to have grown even paler.

She stole a glance at Dexter. Noticing that his expression wasn’t overly cold, she asked somewhat hesitantly, “Why didn’t you tell me when Grandpa fell ill, Dexter?”

The man’s knuckles turned white from the force of gripping the umbrella. Without turning to her, he retorted, “Tell you to make you worry?”

“But…” She recalled having a row with him at that time. “You could have just told me. Then, I wouldn’t have scolded you so severely.”

A cold snort escaped Dexter’s lips. “That isn’t necessary.” He looked at her. “Don’t you scold me enough?”

Josie pursed her lips, tacitly agreeing with him.

After a brief silence where all she could hear was the sound of the rain hitting the stone bricks, she suddenly heard Dexter asking, “Josie, do you love me or hate me more?”

This question caught Josie off guard, but she blurted, “Of course, it’s hate.”

and his voice involuntarily turned hard. “To what extent? You hate me so much that you wish to kill me?”

all my years, Paul had never hit

was solely because she was on his turf. Once she got out, she would return to her fierce and aggressive

a frown, unsure of the appropriate tone to

Dexter was not one to back down. From the beginning, he had always been in control, and someone at the helm would

was particularly awkward at that

storm must be brewing out there now, with everyone. condemning her. Getting slapped was well

soon as those words rang out,

was keeping

I want-to see her fall from grace, losing all

his gaze back at her, his gaze sharp as a

“I likewise think a slap was too lenient for me. I don’t mind

no difference whether he does it once or twice.

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