Paranoid Private Collection: Mr. Huo Sweetly Dotes on His Little Wife

Ji Yunan had never seen such a man before. That night in an alley in the old town of Naples, she was holding a broken wine bottle and breathing heavily, in front of two gangsters whose courage she had smashed. Then Huo Zhixu walked out of the darkness, stepped on the broken glass with his leather shoes, dragged her into the car, and locked the door. He took her bleeding hand and wrapped it in gauze. The force was so strong that she hissed in pain. He said: "You also know it hurts? From today on, you are under my control." He paid her mother's ICU debt, transferred experts from Rome, and remitted her brother's tuition fees. He imprisoned her in the manor halfway up Posillibo and stood in the living room looking at her, looking over her from head to toe - as if making sure that something was not damaged or damaged. "You run away once, and I'll catch you once. In Naples, from the port to the airport, from the police station to the court, they are all my people." She hated him so much that she gritted her teeth. But he stood outside her door in the middle of the night, clutching the tickets to her art exhibition, and his voice was as hoarse as sandpaper: "Tell me the truth. Are you running because you hate me - or are you afraid that you will fall in love with me?" Later she tore up the ticket. He thought he had won. Until that day in the heavy rain, she raised her hand and slapped him. Her tears were worse than the rain: "Huo Zhixu, you hung my paintings all over the gallery and gave me your life - have you ever asked me if I want it?" He pressed her in his arms, and his voice trembled for the first time: "It's okay if you don't. But I won't take back what I gave." From that day on, Ji Yunan knew - this man was crazy. And she was the only one who could make him crazier.