Henry Han always had the same dream, over and over again, without stopping.
In the dream, he could always return to that evening, holding Jesse Yun’s hand to lead him into the black Bentley, and then watching himself get out of the car again, and then the dream came to an abrupt end.
Repeated over and over again, every time he wanted to continue, to prevent the next tragedy, but his head was like an alarm clock, and he would suddenly wake up at this time, as if reality was telling him, no matter how real the dream was. They are all false, and things happen if they happen, and even if they regret it for a lifetime, they can’t be undone.
This night, he dreamed of Jesse Yun again.
He peeked out of the clear lake, black hair clinging to his forehead messily, making his face paler, and he just smiled with the towel handed by his assistant, his bright eyes slightly Squinted, revealing a dimple on his cheek.
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