Cecilia Ye was caught off guard as she lurched forward, only to be snatched back by a strong hand.

Startled, she turned to look at Fu Zhiyé, her heart pounding in her chest.

Fu Zhiyé's face was stormy, the tight line of his jaw betraying his simmering anger. His voice was tinged with barely concealed fury. "A new life? Cecilia Ye, what kind of life are you hoping for?"

He gripped her chin, then—one-handed—unclipped his seatbelt with a sharp click, leaning in close.

"These four years with me—have you really been so unhappy?"

Cecilia Ye had no idea what had gotten into Fu Zhiyé all of a sudden.

She instinctively shook her head, unable to help herself as she heard his questions.

Fu Zhiyé, you don’t understand. It’s not just these four years. From the very first day I arrived at the Fu family’s house—these six years have been the happiest of my life. I know all too well: nothing in my future will ever match these six years.

They were so close. In the cramped car, their breaths mingled thickly.

One looked furious; the other, like a startled fawn.

"Fu Zhiyé," Cecilia Ye spoke quietly, her voice even, though only she knew how much it hurt, "I don’t know what my new life will be like. But I know yours: you’ll marry the woman you love, and finally be happy together."

Fu Zhiyé’s grip on her chin tightened, his eyes dark with some unreadable thought.

To be honest, his days with Cecilia Ye had been better than he'd expected. He’d never even imagined what life would be if he married Vivian Belle.

Cecilia Ye’s lashes fluttered, long and curled like tiny brushes. The red scarf she wore made her pale face stand out even more.

Out of nowhere, Fu Zhiyé imagined: If Cecilia Ye divorced, there would be plenty of young men after her—handsome, talented, maybe even passionate about painting, perfectly matched with her.

Four years of marriage—a mere drop in the bucket of her long life.

She would move on, find someone new who truly loved her, and get married again, fall asleep in another man's embrace.

Someone else would see her shy looks, her sleepy face, her playful pout, her tipsy giggles—even the way she looked fresh from the shower.

This thought set Fu Zhiyé’s insides ablaze with jealous anger. If such a man existed, he wouldn’t rest until the guy’s legs were broken.

Just the idea of Cecilia Ye belonging to someone else was torture—a burning pain in his chest.

He didn’t even realize how selfish and unreasonable his feelings were. When there was something Fu Zhiyé wanted, he’d never known how to let go.

He lowered his head, capturing her delicate lips in a hungry kiss, one hand locking around the back of her head in fierce possession.

Cecilia Ye gasped in shock, immediately trying to push Fu Zhiyé away. Her small hands pressed against his firm chest, but he didn’t budge an inch.

Her attempts to escape only irritated Fu Zhiyé further. The space between their seats felt like an obstacle he urgently needed to erase.

His hand slid down, unclipping Cecilia Ye’s seatbelt.

Without warning, he snaked his arm around her waist, lifting her from the passenger seat and settling her on his lap.

Cecilia Ye was lost in his fervent kisses, clueless as to why her words had made him angry.

Breathless, she struggled for air, her lower back bumping painfully against the steering wheel. She squeaked, but Fu Zhiyé’s hand swiftly cushioned her back.

Then the seat reclined suddenly, leaving her with nothing to brace against, her petite body collapsing against Fu Zhiyé’s chest.

"Mmm... Fu Zhiyé... Please, let me go..."

Her plea was quickly swallowed up by another demanding kiss. Cecilia Ye’s body grew weak, her only support Fu Zhiyé’s broad shoulders.

Not until her lips were numb did Fu Zhiyé finally release her. Looking down, he smirked at the girl sprawled on his chest, then lazily touched his own lips in satisfaction.

Cecilia Ye’s face was beet red, her hands pressed shyly against his chest, trying to sit up, but the hand at her waist wouldn’t release her.

The car was parked by the roadside, and remembering how many cars just drove by, Cecilia Ye burned with embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to disappear.

"Fu Zhiyé, please... just let me go," she stammered, her eyes misty. Weren’t they supposed to be picking up the household registration book from Grandfather’s house to get divorced today? Why was Fu Zhiyé doing this?

Did he find it funny, seeing her so helpless?

Her small hands braced against his chest as she looked down at him with aggrieved eyes.

Fu Zhiyé’s expression was cold, but his earlier iciness had softened. After all these years together, Cecilia Ye could faintly sense that his mood had actually improved.

His lips curled, just a little, as he grabbed her fluttering hands and said coldly, "Cecilia, you’re right. It’s almost New Year. Would it really be suitable to tell Grandpa Rivers about the divorce now?"

Cecilia Ye froze. He was right—if they divorced now, Grandpa Rivers and Grandma Rivers’s New Year would be ruined.

Besides, if they divorced... where would she spend the holidays this year?

She fell into confused silence, her delicate brows knit in worry.

"But..."

"No buts. Let’s wait until after the New Year."

And sure enough, after thinking it through, Cecilia Ye nodded, her cheeks flushing as she murmured, "Then... then let me go."

"Fu Zhiyé, let me go," she repeated, uncomfortable, her whole body feeling awkward at the dependence his embrace forced on her.

"Kiss me and I’ll let you go," he bargained.

Cecilia Ye stared, certain she’d misheard. She gazed blankly at Fu Zhiyé.

Even if they weren’t divorced today, it was only a matter of time—how could they keep doing things so intimate? Though, deep down, she wanted to.

Her eyes lingered on Fu Zhiyé’s lips—cold and thin in appearance, yet always so soft and hot when they kissed.

Cecilia Ye swallowed, turning her head toward the window. "Fu Zhiyé, this isn’t right."

But instead of words, she just felt his hand grasp her chin, turning her face back toward him, and then—she was robbed of breath by another forceful kiss.

By the time Fu Zhiyé finally let go, Cecilia Ye’s eyes were brimming with tears—part hurt, part from the force of his affection.

She sniffled softly, fists balled as she weakly punched his shoulder. "You’re bullying me, Fu Zhiyé."

"Hit me a few more times if you like." Fu Zhiyé’s cheeky reply left Cecilia Ye at a total loss.

At last, apparently satisfied with his mischief, Fu Zhiyé carried Cecilia Ye back to the passenger seat, switched on the engine, and drove back to the Fu residence.

Cecilia Ye resolved to ignore Fu Zhiyé for the rest of the day. As soon as they got home, she hid herself away in her art studio.