C5 He hates her

He approached the gravestone, kneeling slowly as his fingers reached out to brush away the dust from the girl's photo. Again and again, he wiped it clean, but the image did not change. Her youthful face stared back at him — haunting, frozen in time.

“How is this even possible?”

His breath hitched.

“How could she be dead? Why is her photo on a tombstone?”

He had come all this way for her.

But there it was — etched in stone: her name, her death. Seven years ago.

Yet just days ago, he had seen a recent photograph — her, with a man he knew to be long dead… and a child. A happy, perfect family.

"No... this can’t be real. It has to be a fake."

His mind reeled. He couldn’t accept it. Not after seven years of relentless searching, of combing through continents for a trace. Was he hallucinating? Or was someone playing a cruel trick on him?

“If she’s dead… then what did I see?”

His fists clenched. If her body lay decomposing beneath his feet, then all those years — the endless torment, the hope — had been for nothing.

With one last, hollow look at the image on the grave, he pulled out his phone and dialed Max.

---

At the Qing Group’s main office, Max was absorbed in his computer, preparing reports for his boss’s first day back at headquarters. His focus broke when his phone buzzed again. Ziyan Qing. Calling. At this hour?

He froze.

Had he done something wrong already? Or worse… had the boss found her?

His hands trembled as he answered.

“Y-Yes, boss. Good morning! You… want the grave dug now? B-Boss, are you really going to condemn someone even in death? Maybe we should wait for reincarnation—”

A long silence.

“Okay, boss. I’ll arrange it.”

Max winced, mentally preparing to work in a psychiatric ward if this continued. His cold-blooded CEO now wanted to dig up a grave. Was revenge now eternal?

---

Ziyan, standing silently near the tomb, barely reacted as Max and the team arrived.

“They’re here, boss.”

The moment Max looked at the tombstone, his breath caught.

That was her. The same girl. The one the boss had been searching for like a man possessed for years. But she was here — beneath dirt and stone. Dead.

“Boss… is it true?” he asked, stunned.

“No.”

Ziyan’s voice was deep. Calm. Too calm.

Before Max could speak again, forensics arrived. Max’s confusion turned to realization — Ziyan hadn’t come for revenge on the dead. He wanted the truth.

Ziyan handed them a long strand of hair from his wallet.

“Compare this to hers.”

Everyone froze.

Max gawked. For seven years, this man had carried a single strand of her hair. Not hatred — not really. Something deeper. Something unspoken.

A memory surged.

Under that old tree, years ago — she was reading. His basketball had struck her by accident. She’d dropped her book, looked around wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said.

She handed him the ball, and he — by accident — tugged her hair.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Just a single tear slid from her extraordinary hazel-gray eyes.

Back in the present, Max asked gently, “Boss, are you alright?”

Ziyan clutched his chest. That same ache. That tear still haunted him.

His voice was low, guttural. “I want answers within a day.”

---

The next morning, Ziyan stood at the villa, phone pressed to his ear, eyes fixed ahead.

“You said you had information. What’s the delay?”

“I do, Mr. Qing… please, I just need more time.”

“You have twenty-four hours. If I don’t hear from you… you won’t live in Country M again.”

He ended the call.

Seven years. Seven goddamn years. And every time he touched the truth, it vanished like a wisp of smoke. He would never accept she was dead. Not without undeniable proof. Not until he looked her corpse in the eye.

And not because he still loved her.

Because he hated her with a passion that burned hotter than hell.

“You must be living peacefully now, hmm? A sweet life with your husband and child?”

His lip curled.

“But not for long.”

He whispered it like a vow.

“I’ll take it all from you. Everything you love. You’ll regret surviving me.”

His gaze remained locked on the villa.

That was why he returned to Country M — a place soaked in grief and betrayal.

---

Behind him, a soft voice pierced the silence.

“You said you’d forget her, Ziyan. That you’d move on… that you’d let it go. How could you forget your promise?”

Mrs. Qing stood in the doorway, worry written across her face.

He didn’t answer.

In his mind, he repeated the word again and again.

“Promise…”

Yes. He had promised.

And broken it.

.