As expected, when she woke up, she was still in Fu Zhiyé’s arms.
Cecilia Ye struggled a little. For some reason, even when he was asleep, his grip was just as strong—his hand at her waist hadn’t loosened in the slightest.
With a sigh, she gave up, gazing at Fu Zhiyé’s handsome face, already plotting how to broach the topic of divorce later.
The sunlight slowly crept across Fu Zhiyé’s face, softening his sharp features. He frowned slightly, then opened his eyes.
He immediately spotted her daydreaming in his embrace, utterly unaware he’d woken up.
“Why are you up so early?” His deep, alluring voice sounded right next to her ear.
Startled, Cecilia Ye looked up and met his gaze.
“Can you let go of me?” she said awkwardly, tugging at her hand.
But Fu Zhiyé showed no intention of letting her go. “When you’re asleep, you burrow into my arms. The moment you're awake, you want to kick me away, hmm?”
His voice was husky with sleep, almost like he was being coy. The idea of Fu Zhiyé being coy, though, sent a shiver down Cecilia Ye’s spine.
After all, Fu Zhiyé was always cold, proud, domineering, and severe—coy wasn’t in his vocabulary.
“I... I didn’t burrow into you. If I had, I could just sleep in the guest room tonight.”
Cecilia Ye felt a pang of discomfort—her body had long since grown used to Fu Zhiyé.
She had to admit she’d become dependent on him.
Letting out a quiet sigh, she summoned her courage: "Fu Zhiyé, could you take me to the old house? I need to get the marriage certificate from Grandpa Rivers. On second thought, I could just get a taxi myself."
She started lifting the covers to get up but was quickly pushed back down.
Fu Zhiyé frowned ever so slightly. "What’s the rush? It’s early—just go in the afternoon."
Cecilia Ye considered it. True, she shouldn’t ruin Grandpa Rivers and Grandma Rivers’s mood so early in the morning.
She fell silent, as if the previous sentence had used up all her energy.
“Fu Zhiyé, when are you... going to marry her?” Cecilia Ye’s gentle gaze softened on him, though her heart felt unbearably bitter.
“No idea. We’ll see.” He truly hadn’t thought about it. In any case, he’d only consider it after his divorce with Cecilia Ye was settled.
Thinking about her own plan, Cecilia Ye felt a sudden urge to tell Fu Zhiyé.
Maybe by then, she’d have left the Fu family and Fu Zhiyé behind.
She wondered if he’d ever seek her out—probably not.
But she hoped that, every once in a while, Fu Zhiyé would remember her, and think, Cecilia is out there doing what she loves most.
“Fu Zhiyé, someday I want to open an art studio. I’d paint every day, and at the entrance I’d plant some hibiscus flowers, just like the ones in the courtyard.”
“Mhm. Do you want to? Where would you like to open it? Have Henry Hart show you some places tomorrow.”
Cecilia Ye, obediently nestled in his embrace, made him much more patient than usual as he listened to her.
She chuckled softly. Fu Zhiyé was always like this—ready to agree, ready to help her realize her dreams. It made leaving him even harder.
But she wasn’t his one and only. If it were Vivian Belle who wanted something, Fu Zhiyé would agree too, wouldn’t he?
Yet Cecilia Ye was hopelessly ordinary—she only wanted to be the only one.
Till death do us part—isn’t that what people say?
“No, I mean someday in the future. Not anytime soon—much, much later.”
“Mhm. Whenever you want, it’s yours.”
They lay quietly together a while longer before Fu Zhiyé, in a rare display of mercy, allowed her to get up at last.
After heading downstairs for breakfast—
"I’ll drive you back. I’ll come with you."
Fu Zhiyé put on his coat and informed her, his face cold and unreadable—the look of a man not in a good mood.
Remembering how Grandpa Rivers had blown up and even struck someone last time, Cecilia Ye hesitated.
“Maybe I should just go by myself. One way or another, Grandpa Rivers’s bound to get angry.”
She bent down to put on her shoes, wispy hair falling by her ears. Glancing up at him, her delicate face looked thoroughly drained.
Fu Zhiyé found himself wanting to pull Cecilia Ye into a hug, to comfort his little wife.
But soon, Cecilia Ye would no longer be his little wife.
Winter had set in; the moment the door opened, a sharp wind poured in.
Fu Zhiyé frowned and pulled a scarf from the coat rack, wrapping it gently around Cecilia Ye’s neck.
The red fleece scarf buried her delicate chin, and the faint woodsy scent of his hands drifted to her nose. Cecilia Ye blinked.
"We’ll go together. This is something for both of us."
He reached for her small hand, and together they left the house.
Today, he drove the car Cecilia Ye usually took—a black Maybach.
His slender hands gripped the wheel, his aquiline nose and sharp profile strikingly handsome.
He reached over and fastened her seatbelt, then started the car and pulled out of the Fu residence.
The scenery slid by in reverse outside the window. Leaning against the glass, Cecilia Ye stared out in a daze.
She let her mind drift, tapped her finger gently on the window glass, and basked in the midday sunlight that lent her a touch of warmth.
"Fu Zhiyé, it’ll be New Year soon," she remarked offhandedly, just saying whatever crossed her mind. "This will be the sixth New Year I’ve spent with you."
“Mhm.”
“Funny, isn’t it? Next year, we’ll both have brand-new lives.”
Fu Zhiyé kept one hand on the wheel, the other propped against the window, two fingers pressed at his temple.
An unnamable restlessness twisted inside him, though he chalked it up to disquiet at the coming change.
They’d been married for four years.
For two years after their wedding, Fu Zhiyé had never even touched Cecilia Ye. In his mind, their divorce had always been inevitable.
Yet somewhere along the line, he’d grown used to sleeping with Cecilia Ye in his arms; whenever he caught sight of her petite, soft figure, he couldn’t help but want to hold her.
He wanted to satisfy her every whim, even though Cecilia Ye was so undemanding she’d never even asked him for anything.
Eventually, just holding her wasn’t enough.
He was selfish—he’d claimed Cecilia Ye as his own, knowing full well the divorce was only a matter of time.
Thinking about going back to their old, distant relationship after the divorce, Fu Zhiyé’s frown deepened.
A new life—what did Cecilia Ye want from this new life?
A name flashed through his mind. Could it be Julian Jarvis?
Screech! The tires skidded against the ground as he slammed the brakes.