Fu Zhiyan's brow was furrowed, his whole body radiating a cold, forbidding aura.

He didn’t speak for a long time before finally saying, "Alright. When you’re better, we’ll go."

Cecilia Ye was in a terrible state, barely awake. Hearing his response, she quickly drifted back into a fitful sleep.

Fu Zhiyan couldn’t pinpoint what he was feeling. It was as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of crushed ice, the chill creeping from his throat down to his heart.

That night, the person on the bed began to have nightmares.

Fu Zhiyan never left the hospital room, constantly on alert. Soon, he heard quiet, stifled sobbing.

He walked over to the bedside, watching as tears trickled down the small face half-buried in blankets.

Every drop seemed to land on his own chest, making it ache inexplicably.

Even in her dreams, Cecilia Ye cried in a muted way. Her tiny voice trembled, her porcelain-white teeth biting her lip, not daring to let anyone hear her cry.

He reached out to wipe her tears, only to find her skin burning hot—she was running a fever.

Then came her terrified murmurs, “No, please, no…”

The tall man crouched by the bedside, patting her gently through the blankets.

"Don’t be scared, Cecilia. It’s alright. I’m here."

Hearing his familiar voice, Cecilia Ye calmed down a bit, her sobs growing softer.

Fu Zhiyan stood up and pressed the call button.

In the VIP ward, the nurse rushed in almost immediately, along with the on-call doctor.

Since Cecilia Ye was allergic to some medications, the doctor advised a physical cooling method for her mild fever.

He asked the nurse for alcohol-soaked cotton balls.

But Fu Zhiyan refused the nurse’s help and took over the task himself.

The room quieted. He soaked a cotton ball with icy alcohol and gently wiped behind Cecilia Ye’s ear.

He continued slowly down to her neck, and when his gaze fell upon the injuries there, he couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if Henry Hart had been a minute later.

Regret gnawed at him. He should’ve gone as soon as he got the call. What had he been doing?

He unfastened two buttons on the loose hospital gown, revealing bruises and marks of varying sizes, some violet, some red.

Clenching his jaw, Fu Zhiyan’s face went cold, a chilling aura rolling off him. Clearly, Theodore Zane could not be allowed to have an easy time in lockup.

He meticulously finished wiping Cecilia Ye down with the alcohol and tugged the blanket over her.

Then he stepped outside to call Henry Hart.

"Yeah. Don’t kill him; just make sure he wishes he were dead. Let him live."

He hung up decisively.

Cecilia Ye’s sleep was troubled and restless, her nightmares relentless.

Sometimes, she dreamt of her childhood, sometimes of the freezing meat locker at the slaughterhouse.

Sometimes, she dreamt of Theodore Zane’s leering smile as he tried to undress her.

Most often, she dreamt of Fu Zhiyan standing far away, as if he couldn’t see her. She called out for him again and again, but Fu Zhiyan never seemed to hear.

All night long, Cecilia Ye either cried or shivered, her fever ebbing and rising in turn.

Fu Zhiyan stood guard, whispering comforts and soothing her back.

He didn’t sleep—not even for a second—until dawn crept in through the windows.

Cecilia Ye whimpered softly, "Fu Zhiyan, I’m scared..."

At last, he couldn’t resist any longer. He climbed into bed, slipped under the blankets, and gathered Cecilia Ye into his arms.

He had to admit it: his heart ached for her.

Strangely, once held in his arms, Cecilia Ye quieted, no longer crying.

"Cecilia, don’t be afraid," he murmured, gently patting her back and smoothing her soft hair, the words spilling out before he realized it.

The next morning, when Cecilia Ye woke, Fu Zhiyan’s face was right in front of her.

He was still asleep, exhausted from repeatedly wiping her down with alcohol and comforting her all night long, having only fallen asleep at daybreak.

Cecilia Ye didn’t wake him—she just stared in a daze.

She remembered everything. Last night, Fu Zhiyan hadn’t come; he’d been with Vivian Belle. The one who saved her was Henry Hart.

It was never Fu Zhiyan. She was always second to Vivian Belle.

If Henry Hart hadn’t come...

Cecilia Ye thought, she probably would’ve died in that filthy, dark, foul-smelling cold storage.

She would’ve bled out, dying in the ugliest way imaginable.

As the memories of Theodore Zane came back, she started to tremble again, recalling his greasy, disgusting hands trying to rip her clothes off.

Cecilia Ye felt so repulsed she wanted to gag.

She couldn’t hold it back. Rolling away from Fu Zhiyan, she leaned over the edge of the bed, heaving violently.

But she hadn’t eaten all day; nothing came up.

The noise woke Fu Zhiyan, who immediately became anxious, afraid she’d fall from the bed. He rushed to support her from behind.

"Cough, cough… ugh…"

Cecilia Ye was nearly limp, her wrists aching, and the bandage on her neck was stained with fresh blood.

Only after her dry heaves finally stopped did Fu Zhiyan bundle her back into his arms, rubbing her back in gentle strokes.

"It’s alright, Cecilia. Don’t be afraid."

Cecilia Ye gasped for air, shaking violently, her face ash-pale.

"Fu Zhiyan... he... he tried to take off my clothes... I was so scared."

Tears streamed down, mingling despair and terror that wrapped tightly around Cecilia Ye.

"Don’t be scared. He won’t be getting out this time, Cecilia—not ever again."

Fu Zhiyan was wracked with deep regret, wishing he’d ensured Theodore Zane rotted in jail years ago.

It was a long time before Cecilia Ye was able to calm down.

She shook her head, pushing Fu Zhiyan away. Curling up into a ball, she hugged her knees, hiding inside the thick blankets.

Fu Zhiyan assumed she simply didn’t want to be touched and didn’t push her, instead getting up and pulling on his coat.

"Is there anything you want to eat? I’ll go buy it for you."

Cecilia Ye shook her head, her voice hoarse. "Fu Zhiyan, yesterday... were you with Vivian Belle?"

She needed to ask, to know for sure.

Fu Zhiyan leaned over, resting his hands on the bedside. "Yes, I was with her."

His breath was warm on her face. Cecilia Ye blinked, "Is she alright? Was she sick?"

"Yeah, she’s in the hospital too. Hurt her stomach."

"Oh..."

Cecilia Ye wanted to ask.

Fu Zhiyan, why is it always—every single time—

Whenever she was in trouble, Vivian Belle could always find you; you were always there for her, shielding her from every storm.

Her dejected, deer-like eyes fixed on him. The oversized hospital gown made her look all the more fragile.

Fu Zhiyan frowned and said coldly, "It’s my responsibility to take care of her."

Cecilia Ye nodded, sniffing and lowering her head. "Last night... you promised to divorce me, didn’t you?"

"Yes."

No hesitation—Fu Zhiyan answered immediately, as if he’d already made up his mind long ago, but had just delayed the matter.

So why did his chest feel so suffocating?

"Alright. Just focus on getting better. I’ll get you something to eat."

Cecilia Ye nodded and said no more.

Fu Zhiyan ordered some food and took her temperature. Seeing her fever had broken, he finally relaxed.

"I’ll step out for a bit. You get some rest. There’s someone outside, so you don’t need to worry."

"Okay."

Barely audible, like a mosquito, came her reply. Cecilia Ye lay back down, exhausted.

*

Fu Zhiyan left the room and went downstairs. The night before, Vivian Belle had called him over a dozen times.

He’d been too busy caring for Cecilia Ye to answer.

The doctor had already said Vivian Belle’s wound was deep but not dangerous; as long as it didn’t reopen, she’d be fine.

Her hospital room was just one floor below.

When he opened the door, Vivian Belle was sitting propped up in bed.

This time, she didn’t rush over to cling to him. She looked at him, then turned away angrily.

"Yesterday, Cecilia was kidnapped."

He offered a flat explanation.

Vivian Belle managed a weak smile, before suddenly flying into a hysterical fit.

"So you went to find Cecilia Ye, didn’t you?! Fu Zhiyan! Didn’t you say you were going to divorce her?!"

She burst into tears, screaming in frustration.

"What am I then? I feel like a mistress! You said you’d marry me, you promised!"

"Waaah..."

She hurled the pillow to the floor.

Fu Zhiyan just stood there, watching her. The commotion quickly drew the doctor, who came in and administered a sedative.

He turned to Fu Zhiyan. "Mr. Fu, the patient can’t become too agitated, or her injury might worsen."

Fu Zhiyan nodded, waiting until Vivian Belle calmed down before speaking.

"I haven’t forgotten my promise to you, Vivian Belle. You don’t need to worry like this."

Vivian Belle shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Ah Yan. I’m just so scared. I’m afraid you’ll regret it, afraid you’ll fall for Cecilia Ye, more than that, I’m scared you’ll leave me..."

"You don’t need to worry. I keep my promises."

Vivian Belle looked up, clutching his hand. "But I’d rather you truly loved me, wouldn’t you, Ah Yan?"

Fu Zhiyan looked at her, frowning.

"Vivian Belle, I don’t love you, but I will keep my promise to you."

He pulled his hand away and tossed the tissue into the trash.

Fu Zhiyan’s father had been Old Master Fu’s only son, and his mother came from one of the most prestigious families in the capital.

The two families’ marriage was arranged—his mother married for love, but his father had only seen profit.

After marriage, his father had no shame, keeping other women outside. His mother could only cry herself to sleep, their marriage filled with nothing but arguments and forced compromises.

The cruelest part: when his father died of illness, his mother joined him in death soon after.

So, what’s the point of love? All it brings is pain and loss of dignity.

Fu Zhiyan had no interest in learning what it means to fall in love, and even less interest in wasting his life loving anyone.