Chapter 142. I Can’t Fall Asleep

A few minutes later, Tristan walked out of city hall.

When his eyes swept across the road lights, he seemed to see his teenage self from twenty years ago, who was lanky, with stubborn eyes and a heart full of hatred and struggle.

At that time, he was fresh out of the hospital. When he uncovered the gauze on his mother’s face in the inn bathroom, he collapsed. He took a knife and wanted to fight those people who did this.

His mother cried and held him tightly to stop him. She grabbed a fruit knife and pointed it to her chest to force him to give up the thought.

She said revenge was a dish that should be eaten cold.

So he took twenty years.

Or probably all his life.

Before returning to the villa, Tristan parked his car by the sea for some time.

He squatted at the beach, took out the photo he took from Donald’s office and flipped his lighter on.

One of his hands blocked the wind as he ignited the picture. He stared at it. Its corner