Killed

The cold, dimly lit warehouse buzzed with the faint murmur of disinterested onlookers. None of them cared for the man in front of them, his pain merely a backdrop to their bored chatter.

Ye Xinren stood tall, his lips curling into a knowing smile, his fingers brushing over the document in his hands with an air of ownership. He spoke to himself, his voice low but edged with something that wasn't quite curiosity: "What's wrong with this, huh?"

In the past, Jiang Yanxu had always said, 'What's mine is yours.' And now, here was a hidden property he had stumbled upon. But instead of gratitude, Ye Xinren was met with curses. It was almost laughable.

Was this the same Jiang Yanxu who once swore loyalty, the man who had once given up everything for him? The man who couldn't bear to share a life without Ye Xinren in it?

Jiang Yanxu's throat tightened painfully, the rope around his neck pulling the life from him, every breath a struggle. His chest heaved, each inhalation a slow battle against the darkness creeping into his vision. A tear escaped, its warmth contrasting sharply with the chill of the air.

In his barely conscious state, he wished he could speak, tell Ye Xinren that if death was what he sought, then so be it. But there was one thing Jiang Yanxu would fight for, even in his final moments—the land that should rightfully belong to Yan An.

But as he tried to speak, no words came. His mouth was empty—his tongue was gone.

Ye Xinren stood over him, a cruel glint in his eyes, the document held like a weapon against the broken man at his feet. "How could you hide this from me, hubby?" His voice was playful, almost teasing, but there was no warmth in it, only a coldness that made the air seem to freeze. "It's not fair. Don't I mean something to you?"

Jiang Yanxu could barely hear him, the pain in his body stealing everything except the one word that struck through his delirium—unfair. The laugh that nearly escaped him, bitter and dark, got lost in the suffocating pain, but the thought lingered, like a shadow.

Unfair? How was this unfair to Ye Xinren? After everything he had done—using him, discarding him when he grew bored—Ye Xinren had the gall to speak of fairness?

Jiang Yanxu's mind whirled in regret. If only I could go back, just once. I would never have let Yan An slip away. I would have let that little demon rot where he belonged, and saved myself the torment.

But he had been weak. He had let himself be used, let Ye Xinren's charm and promises blind him to the reality of his own desires. Now, all of this—his agony, his mistakes, his weakness—had led him to this moment.

Ye Xinren smirked, his face as cold as a blade. "But it's fine. I don't need your signature. All I need is your fingerprints. Your father's lawyer said they're necessary for me to take the land. Don't worry, I've waited two years for this. So, be a good boy and cooperate."

Jiang Yanxu's vision flickered. His fading mind reeled as he recognized the significance of the document. The land. The one thing his father had withheld, the one thing that had cost him everything when he refused to marry Yan An. But now, it seemed that Ye Xinren had outplayed him.

"Don't make me wait any longer, Yanxu," Ye Xinren purred, his voice like honey, but the venom beneath it was unmistakable. "I'm a patient man, but even I have limits."

Jiang Yanxu's heart twisted. He fought to stay conscious, every beat of his heart a drum of defiance, but it felt like his body was betraying him. He understood now—the man he had once trusted, the one who had once whispered sweet lies in his ear, was now his executioner.

With a casual, almost careless command, Ye Xinren turned to the man holding the rope, his face lit by a dark amusement. "Finish it. Now."

The man nodded grimly, his hands tightening around the rope. A horrible, guttural sound ripped through the air as the rope was yanked tighter, squeezing the life out of Jiang Yanxu. His body convulsed, spasming as his vision swam with darkness. The pressure on his neck stole all breath, leaving only the painful thud of his pulse in his ears.

His hands went limp, dropping uselessly to the sides of the chair, his body a ragdoll, unresponsive. The world dimmed around him, and he felt the creeping coldness from his limbs, his extremities going numb as the light in his eyes began to fade.

In the space between life and death, his mind lingered, haunted by the soft echo of Ye Xinren's voice.

"You think I'm the villain here, don't you? But that's okay, just know that I loved you. It's just that we weren't meant to be. And now ... we're even."

The words reverberated through his fading consciousness like a cruel melody. And then, just as his heart seemed to stop, something sharp pierced his side—cold, invasive, and final.

Jiang Yanxu barely felt the pain. His body was already shutting down, the sharpness of the knife fading into a dull throb. The blood that soaked his clothes was warm but felt far away, a distant memory.

And then, as his senses failed him, he saw Ye Xinren's grin—sly, triumphant—just before his eyes slipped shut.

A cold, emotionless voice broke through the silence. "Dispose of him. Leave no trace. Make it look like suicide."

Suicide. The word lingered in Jiang Yanxu's mind like a ghost, but there was no more room for it. His body, frozen and still, finally succumbed to the cold.

And then ... silence.