When I met my diplomat ex-husband again, he actually became my "security consultant." They disciplined me coldly in front of the camera, but behind the camera they cornered me in a corner of a foreign hotel. "Article 3 of the agreement," he breathed hotly, "you are under my control." In front of the global live broadcast camera, he blocked all open and hidden arrows for me; in the middle of the night when no one knew, he uncontrollably kissed the old scar on my shoulder. When the war broke out, he came back and put a ring on me with his blood-stained finger: "This time, it's not an agreement, it's an order - come back to me." In every collision between body and soul, we are immersed in the uncontrollable heartbeat and the searing truth.
