The next morning, Cecilia Ye woke to find herself tightly embraced by someone.
The room was air-conditioned, yet still stifling. Her head, weary from the fever, felt a little dizzy.
She wanted to push the person away. But as she lifted her head and saw that handsome face, she froze in place.
Fu Zhiyie really was too good-looking—better than any TV star, in fact. Usually he looked stern and aloof, but asleep, he seemed almost gentle. His sharply defined face, deep features—it was remarkable.
Those eyes, now closed, were as deep and dark as ink when open, as if they could swallow a person whole.
Cecilia Ye couldn’t help herself; her hand reached out to gently brush his brows, then slid down to the bridge of his high, straight nose.
His skin was hot—fevered still, perhaps—but smooth beneath her touch.
Further down, she found his rather thin lips.
As if she was getting even for something, Cecilia Ye pinched his chin.
Once wasn’t enough, so she did it again. Hmph, serves you right for always pinching my chin for no reason.
"Had enough fun?"
A deep, husky voice sounded by her ear. At some point, the man had awakened and was watching her do as she pleased.
Shocked, Cecilia Ye drew her hand back, lifting her gaze—right into those ink-dark eyes she’d just been picturing.
"There... there was a mosquito," she stammered.
"..."
"Cecilia, do you really think I’m that gullible? Do mosquitoes appear in late autumn?"
He tightened his arm around her waist, and she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
Her heart was racing, like a startled little deer.
Why was he holding her so tightly?
Weren’t they on the verge of divorce?
That thought brought her abruptly back to reality. She pushed Fu Zhiyie away.
Blame it on Fu Zhiyie being far too attractive—it really did make her dangerously soft-hearted.
He used to hold her like this too, before Vivian Belle came back. Back then, she’d only felt happy.
Now... all she felt was sadness. She couldn’t stop wondering: is this the last time?
"Fu Zhiyie, when are we going to get our divorce papers?"
Just moments ago his mood had seemed so good, but now a chill settled between his brows.
"You’re that eager to get divorced?"
Yes—if we’re divorced, I won’t let myself get greedy anymore. Otherwise, it’s like having a knife hanging over my head, making every day feel precarious.
"Grandpa Rivers still has our marriage certificate. We’ll have to get it from him first."
"He... they don’t know yet, do they?"
"Mm, they don’t."
With that, Fu Zhiyie lost all interest in sleeping and got up from the bed.
"Aunt Whitney will bring you food soon. Make sure to take your medicine after you eat. I’m heading to the office."
And with those words, he left the room.
Cecilia Ye watched his departing back, thinking, He’s probably going to see Vivian Belle now.
She sat up, and just then her phone rang. Glancing at it, she saw Grandpa Rivers’s name on the screen.
"Hello, Grandpa Rivers," Cecilia Ye greeted sweetly. So much had happened since the birthday party, she hadn’t even called to check in with him.
"Ah, Cecilia. Grandma Rivers and I haven’t seen you for days," came his voice.
"Mm, Grandpa Rivers, I’ve just... been a little busy lately, that’s all. Cough, cough." She couldn’t hold back a soft cough.
"What’s this? Are you sick? Is that Fu Zhiyie taking care of you or not!" Grandpa Rivers’s voice grew stern; Cecilia Ye pictured him tapping his cane in irritation.
"No, Grandpa Rivers, it’s nothing, my throat’s just a little itchy."
"All right, all right, that’s good. Tomorrow, you be sure to come home with Fu Zhiyie. Grandma Rivers and I miss you. Come stay for a few days."
Cecilia Ye hesitated. "Um... I’ll ask Zhiyie about it."
"Ask him? If he doesn’t come home, see if I don’t give him a piece of my mind!"
"Okay, okay! I’ll come home with him tomorrow."
After hanging up, Cecilia Ye told herself she’d wait until tomorrow to call Fu Zhiyie. As for today, he was probably busy anyway.
*
Fu Zhiyie was honestly innocent—he’d gone straight to the office first. By the time he finished dealing with the mountain of work from the past two days, it was past five o’clock.
Only then did he go pick up Vivian Belle.
Vivian Belle was delighted to get his call and quickly came down to the car.
She’d already decided to have Fu Zhiyie treat her to a candlelit dinner first. Her wrist, bitten not so long ago, was still carefully wrapped in a white bandage—looking far more dramatic than the injury probably was.
Fu Zhiyie glanced at her hand, then asked, "How’s it feeling?"
"Mm, it’s nothing, just a little sore," she said.
He nodded and started the car.
Vivian Belle looked at his handsome profile, his tall, upright figure. She thought, What woman wouldn’t like a man like this? No wonder Cecilia Ye wants to cling tight and not divorce him. Hmph.
"So, what do you want to buy?" he asked.
"Ah, Zhiyie, it wasn’t really about buying things," Vivian Belle said softly. "I just wanted to spend more time with you. Could you have dinner with me first? I haven’t eaten yet."
Fu Zhiyie nodded. He hadn’t eaten either. "What do you want to have?"
"Steak, maybe. I heard the revolving restaurant by the riverside is excellent—you can see the river from the windows."
Vivian Belle gave him an innocent smile, as if she had no motive beyond wanting a simple steak dinner. In reality, she already knew everything about that restaurant: it was a romantic spot for couples, always done up for candlelit dinners. All she needed was a picture at dinner, and she’d have plenty of opportunities to show Cecilia Ye.
Fu Zhiyie didn’t care much and turned the car toward the restaurant she’d mentioned.
The restaurant was dimly lit, with a single golden lamp above each table, a candle on the tabletop, and a single rose as a centerpiece.
They sat by the window. Fu Zhiyie’s expression wasn’t too pleasant; he didn’t care for this kind of atmosphere.
Vivian Belle slid her arm through his and said considerately, "Zhiyie, I didn’t know the place would be like this. A friend just said the food was good—should we go somewhere else?"
"No, let’s just eat here," he replied coolly, withdrawing his hand and leaning back in his chair.
"I’m so happy, Zhiyie. This is the first proper meal we’ve had together since I returned. I have to take pictures to remember it!" Vivian Belle cooed, taking out her phone.
Fu Zhiyie frowned but restrained himself—he really hadn’t taken Vivian Belle out to eat since her return; it wouldn’t look good to refuse now.
They continued their meal, taking pictures in between bites. By the time they finished, it was already past nine.
There was no time to shop for anything. Fu Zhiyie drove Vivian Belle home, promising to take her out again another time.
*
Cecilia Ye was feeling better, just still weak. Earlier, Fu Zhiyie had moved some of her painting supplies here, but the canvases and paints were still piled by the wall, waiting to be unpacked.
Her current home was a two-story penthouse—study and bedroom upstairs, kitchen and living room below. The living room was spacious, with a sweeping wall of glass that opened onto a garden and swimming pool outside.
She set up her easel in the open space by the windows, not really knowing what to paint. Penciling absentmindedly, somehow she ended up sketching Fu Zhiyie as he looked that morning in his sleep.
By the time she realized it, she’d already captured his eyes—their dark lashes fanning tightly. She stopped and looked at her work, then shook her head and erased it all.
Back at the Fu estate, she’d had little to do. When bored, she’d doodle for a while, but it always felt peaceful—she’d known Fu Zhiyie would come home each night, so she’d never felt anxious or uneasy.
Now, all she could picture was Fu Zhiyie with Vivian Belle. Where were they? Was he eating dinner with her, buying her things, driving her home? Or maybe bringing her home with him?
She’d agreed to the divorce, but after four years of marriage, it was impossible to adapt overnight to life without Fu Zhiyie. Her heart couldn’t get used to that hollow, Fu Zhiyie-shaped emptiness, either.
Cecilia Ye curled into herself, burying her head in her knees. On that wide chair, she looked even smaller, even more fragile.
Night was falling, the rosy light of sunset fading away. Early, her dog, whined softly at her feet.