Jian gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles turned pale. "Bian," he said, voice low and firm, "what have you done to my grandpa?"
There was a pause—and then a laugh, loud and mocking. "What do you think I've done?" Bian replied, as if this were all a game.
Jian's jaw tightened. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, his words sharp but not shouting. "I never did anything to you. And yet, you keep trying to push me, cross me. If you hurt him, I swear—" Jian stopped, his breath catching in his throat. "I'll come for you. And I'll make sure you regret it."
A strange heat began to pool behind his eyes, a pressure that made his forehead throb. He instinctively reached up and rubbed between his brows, trying to ease the pain.
On the other end of the line, Bian's voice dropped into something more bitter. "What didn't you do? You stole everything from me, Jian. My life. My parents. My place in this family. Even Grandpa… You always got the good things. Always."
