A sleek black Maybach idled outside the bar just as the streetlights came to life down the whole block.
Outside every bar entrance, people lounged around, drinking and smoking.
A man stepped out of the car, heading straight into his own bar with purposeful strides.
Wasting no time, he walked directly to a certain booth. The bodyguards, recognizing their boss, bowed their heads respectfully. “President Jiang.”
Julian Jarvis glanced over at the booth—his rare-guest little sister was already thoroughly drunk.
She was sitting crookedly, desperately hugging the girl in her arms. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.
Bending down to peel away the so-called best friend she was clinging to, he felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
The pitiful, weeping girl turned around—it was none other than Cecilia Ye, whom he’d just met a few days ago.
Julian Jarvis was speechless for a moment. He’d never once considered that the friend his sister mentioned again and again would turn out to be Cecilia Ye.
Then again, they both liked to paint; they probably met at some studio.
Still—what was Cecilia Ye doing here? And why had she drunk so much she was crying like this?
While he was pondering, Cecilia Ye grew annoyed and tried to shake off his hand.
Only then did Julian Jarvis realize he was still holding onto her.
He sat down, frowning. “Cecilia, Cecilia Ye.”
But the girl was too far gone to even respond, soft and limp, collapsing uncontrollably onto him.
Cecilia Ye vaguely heard someone calling her name—a voice that felt familiar, but her mind was a foggy muddle. She couldn’t recall who it was.
Tears clung to her cheeks, her lashes damp, her small face and rosy nose flushed red from the alcohol—a pitiful and strangely enticing sight.
Julian Jarvis leaned closer and finally caught the name she was murmuring: Fu Zhiyan.
He huffed, feeling a strange surge of irritation.
Even drunk out of her mind, she was thinking of that utterly clueless husband of hers.
Turning to order the music cut, he cleared the bar and had someone send Mia Moore home.
In less than ten minutes, the place was silent and empty.
Julian Jarvis smoothed Cecilia Ye’s mussed hair back, sighing helplessly. “Cecilia Ye, I’ll take you home.”
But the girl who’d been crying just moments ago shook her head and wriggled free, reaching greedily for the wine on the table.
Julian Jarvis nudged the drink further away, speaking patiently. “Why don’t you want to go home?”
“I don’t have a home anymore…”
She mumbled, gazing at the out-of-reach drink as if slightly angered. With a wobble, she sprawled out on the sofa again.
Julian Jarvis, with no other option, scooped her up and grabbed her small purse.
The staff watched their boss—of all people—cradle a drunken girl in his arms without a glimmer of annoyance. Their faces looked as if they'd seen a ghost.
Every time he came to the bar, he hated people drunkenly flinging themselves on him—yet here he was.
Meanwhile, Fu Zhiyan arrived at Day Off, address in hand and a storm brewing on his face.
The bar district was a mess; his expression grew darker still.
He hadn’t even stepped inside when the bouncer blocked his path. “Sorry, we’re closed for the night.”
Fu Zhiyan lifted his eyes. What kind of bar closed at eight?
He shot the bouncer a chilly look, slapped the man’s arm away with a crack.
The bouncer recoiled with a grimace, staggering back a few steps.
Inside, the bar was silent—no music, not a soul in sight.
Fu Zhiyan walked a few steps in and immediately saw Julian Jarvis.
And the person in his arms—who else could it be but Cecilia Ye.
Fury burned hot in Fu Zhiyan’s chest. His eyes turned glacial.
Julian Jarvis noticed him, his gaze slightly arch as he met Fu Zhiyan head-on.
How interesting.
With heavy steps, Fu Zhiyan approached and asked coldly, “President Jiang, isn’t it time you returned my wife to me?”
After that incident with Cecilia Ye getting out of his car, Fu Zhiyan had already had Julian Jarvis investigated. Hah—no wonder, Julian Jarvis was a heavy-hitter in the city. Cecilia Ye actually thought he was just a gallery owner.
Fu Zhiyan reached out to take Cecilia Ye from Julian Jarvis’s arms.
Julian Jarvis let out a small laugh but didn’t stop him, letting Fu Zhiyan carry Cecilia Ye away.
He commented coolly, “President Foster, you do keep things interesting. I thought the woman you had your arm around at the art show the other day was your wife. Quite the player.”
Fu Zhiyan’s gaze darkened. “No need for you to worry, President Jiang.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode out.
The bar’s staff immediately scattered, pretending not to have seen a thing.
Their boss carrying another man’s wife? They knew far too much for their own good.
As if nothing were amiss, Julian Jarvis left as well, driving home.
In the car, Fu Zhiyan’s temples throbbed as he glared at the woman in his arms.
Since Cecilia Ye had entered the Fu household, this was the first time she'd vanished without a trace—and gotten this drunk.
What made him angrier, though, was Julian Jarvis.
How could she let herself lie so thoughtlessly in another man’s arms?
Fu Zhiyan longed to shake her awake and give her a harsh lesson.
Art exhibition? He remembered Cecilia Ye going out that day and coming back with a bag full of gifts. Could it be…
He forced himself to calm down, settled Cecilia Ye into the passenger seat, and got in the car.
He bent down to fasten her seatbelt.
The drunken girl, reeking of alcohol, slumped forward and wrapped her arms limply around him.
Fu Zhiyan frowned, shoving her back against the seat firmly.
His chiseled face remained expressionless, eyes dark and cold. Her slender wrist was tightly clasped in his hand.
Cecilia Ye’s brows knitted, as if uncomfortable, and she squirmed under his grip.
Her weak attempts resembled a kitten’s struggle—not even worthy of mention in Fu Zhiyan’s eyes.
He reclined the seat a bit and peeled out of the parking lot, his tires roaring into the night.
People on either side of the street cursed as the car sped away.
Instead of heading back to the old mansion, Fu Zhiyan drove straight to the Fu residence with Cecilia Ye in tow.
The servants, seeing their long-absent master return in a thunderous mood, all held their tongues in fear.
Fu Zhiyan laid the dead-drunk girl on the bed and went to run a hot bath.
When he came back out, he found her sitting dazed on the bed, clutching the quilt and silently sobbing.
Fu Zhiyan’s eyes darkened.
She had the nerve to cry after all this, looking so aggrieved.
He stripped off her alcohol-soaked clothes and carried her into the bathroom.
Her fair body slid into the tub. Cecilia Ye seemed a little more sober, blinking up at him, her lashes quivering.
“Fu Zhiyan…”
“Fu Zhiyan…”
Cecilia Ye kept calling his name, as if she wouldn’t stop till he answered.
Fu Zhiyan responded with a cold grunt.
Cecilia Ye draped herself over the edge of the tub, her porcelain-pale form and reddened eyes making her look like a little rabbit.
She reached out, her wet hand leaving droplets on his overly handsome face.
His features twisted in impatience, but he didn’t dodge.
“Fu Zhiyan, I… want to eat chicken drumsticks.”
Fu Zhiyan almost laughed from exasperation. As punishment, he pulled her hand over and, far from gentle, began scrubbing her clean.
His rough palms slid over her smooth skin, making Cecilia Ye tremble uncontrollably.
Her small voice spoke up once more. “Do you know where Fu Zhiyan went? He doesn’t want me anymore.”
His hands froze. Fu Zhiyan looked at her, eyes brimming with suppressed emotion, her tears teetering but not yet falling.
“Why would he not want you?”
She thought for a while before answering slowly, “I don’t know. I don’t have a husband anymore.”
The word 'husband' thumped right against Fu Zhiyan's heart. Cecilia Ye almost never called him that—only when bullied truly hard in bed would she beg him using the word.
Ever since asking for a divorce, Fu Zhiyan hadn’t touched her again.
Thinking back to the bar scene, Fu Zhiyan snorted coldly. She kept calling his name, but she was nestled in another man’s arms.
“Why was Julian Jarvis there?”
Cecilia Ye seemed to draw a blank at first. Only after a long pause did she murmur, “Julian Jarvis is very nice.”
Those four simple words reignited the fury he’d only just managed to rein in.
His restraint snapped. Lips pressed in a thin line, Fu Zhiyan’s face turned stormy.
With a splash, the naked girl was pulled from the tub.
He wrapped her in a pure white towel, scooped her up like a child, and carried her out of the bathroom.
Dropped lightly onto the bed, Cecilia Ye was still a little dazed, unable to react before his tall frame loomed over her.