Alexander suddenly opened his eyes, his tone cold and hard: "No need! Isabella is irreplaceable, I don’t need a substitute! She is the only one!"
"Okay, okay, fine, if you don’t want it, I won’t force you."
Ryan quickly cald his son down when he saw he was about to lose his temper: "Matters of the heart are up to you, I was just making a suggestion."
He stood up, ready to return to his room to rest: "Go to bed early, don’t stress too much, things at ho will get better."
Alexander ignored him, still annoyed about the earlier attempt to find a substitute for Isabella.
He sat in the living room for a long ti before going back to the bedroom to sleep.
The side effects of the dicine he took before bed began to erge, causing his dreams to be fragnted, nurous and chaotic.
He dread of that substitute trying to replace Isabella, dread of whether it was in a previous life or in the future, he finally married Isabella, but Isabella didn’t love him, always wanting to escape.
He woke from the nightmare, turned to look out the window, and saw that the sumr sky was only just beginning to brighten.
Four thirty.
He realized he had only slept for two hours, yet it felt as long and painful as two lifetis.
Unable to sleep, Alexander got up, went to the cabinet, took out a sowhat old sketchbook, and brought it back to bed to look at.
It was filled with drawings Isabella had secretly drawn in the past, including two portraits of him.
Back then, he insisted she do portraits of him, but Christopher Weaver found out, and Isabella got beaten for it.
He was too young to protect her, Christopher Weaver scolded Isabella in front of him, and only hit her after he left. It was the next day that he found out he had caused her to be beaten, and he rushed to reason with Christopher Weaver.
Christopher Weaver admitted his mistake then and even gracefully apologized to Isabella.
He was very pleased and asked Isabella to continue drawing for him, but Isabella refused no matter what.
He was too proud and arrogant, never putting himself in her shoes, partly because he was too young to see through Christopher Weaver’s sches.
He caressed the sketchbook, softly saying in the dark: "Isabella, I’m sorry."
If there’s a next life, I will never let you suffer again.
As daylight slowly broke, Alexander put the sketchbook away, changed into loose clothing, and went out for a morning run.
Shortly after he started running, a girl began trailing him.
"Hi, seeing you again!"
The girl greeted him from behind, but Alexander ignored her, maintaining his fast pace as he ran on the tree-lined path.
This girl had been following him recently, very fond of talking to him.
"Can you tell your na today?"
"Run a bit slower, running too fast in the morning isn’t good for your health, right?"
"How long have you lived around here? I haven’t seen you in this area before, where did you live before?"
...
She was out of breath but still mustered the energy to chat him up.
He was the most handso, elegant guy she’d ever seen!
Running with him every day was the happiest thing in her life!
But unfortunately, he was terribly aloof, unwilling to talk to her, and would even speed up to shake her off.
Ten minutes later, there was no one behind Alexander, the chatty, annoying passerby had finally been left behind.
He went ho, showered, changed clothes, made breakfast for himself, and after eating, drove to the company.
After a busy spell, at ten in the morning, he went to Star Region Group.
"Harry Hunter, how about our collaboration?"
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