Mia Moore hugged her tightly. "Cecilia, I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed her—does this make things hard for you?"
Cecilia Ye patted her head, her eyes filled with disappointment. "Of course not. Anyway, Fu Zhiyé will always believe her. And I won't let Vivian Belle bully you."
"Hmph, she couldn’t bully me anyway."
Hearing the banter between the two girls, Julian Jarvis frowned. "You two get some sleep. I’ll call you when we arrive."
Cecilia Ye ended up at the hospital. Thankfully, the injury on her foot wasn’t a fracture—just a nasty sprain. They gave her some medicine, wrapped it in gauze, and sent her home.
Julian Jarvis offered to drive her back. Cecilia Ye said her goodbyes and headed to her room. The doctor said she needed to ice her leg, but she was exhausted. She just wiped herself off, collapsed onto her bed, and fell asleep.
She couldn’t understand it—even though it was just a sprain, her stomach hurt as well.
Fu Zhiyé took Vivian Belle back home, and when he returned, the first thing he saw was someone bundled up under the covers.
He guessed it was Julian Jarvis who had brought her home, and his expression darkened at once. When did Cecilia Ye get so reckless? It was only a ski slope—if it were somewhere else, who knows what would have happened.
He chose not to interfere and turned toward his study.
Henry Hart called right then. Work had piled up the last couple of days. There was one particularly critical meeting that Fu Zhiyé had to attend in person.
He connected to the meeting, settling in front of his computer, his stern face bathed in a cold blue light from the screen.
The meeting stretched on past dinner. When it ended, Fu Zhiyé massaged his temple.
Going downstairs, he learned Cecilia Ye hadn’t shown up for dinner.
Hah, so she has quite the temper now.
He grabbed a casual bite and returned to his room. He hadn’t even had a chance to scold her, but she decided to go on a hunger strike?
Cecilia Ye woke from her nap, holding her blanket and staring into space. The sprain throbbed with a hot, sharp pain that wouldn’t quit. At least her stomach didn’t ache as much now.
The door creaked open. She glanced at the figure in the doorway before lowering her lashes.
"Why aren’t you eating?" His voice was as cold as ever.
"Not hungry."
Cecilia Ye truly didn’t feel hungry. Besides, every step sent searing pain through her injured foot.
Fu Zhiyé’s brow creased as he looked at her pale, small face. He walked over and the bed dipped as he sat beside her. His large hand reached out, turning her shoulder toward him.
Fu Zhiyé hated being ignored like this.
Cecilia Ye was forced to face him, looking into his eyes. The happiness on her face from the past couple of days was nowhere to be seen.
But Fu Zhiyé, still angry, didn’t notice any of this. His eyes were cold as he asked, "You make a mistake and now you’re sulking?"
"Cecilia Ye, I told you—don’t touch Vivian Belle. Mia Moore is your friend; you should keep her in check."
Cecilia Ye blinked, momentarily stunned. It was one thing for Fu Zhiyé to say she was fine, but mentioning Mia Moore… If she hadn’t blocked that kick, Mia Moore would have been the one to tumble down, not her.
Her clear eyes met his, full of disbelief. Her words came out slowly. "What did we do wrong?"
Disappointment colored her face. Her voice was so soft it was almost a whisper: "So if I’m the one who gets pushed down, it doesn’t matter to you?"
Seeing that Cecilia Ye was still unrepentant, Fu Zhiyé’s tone grew even colder. His grip on her arm tightened painfully.
"Don’t talk to me about this again. Don’t let today ever happen again."
He released her and stood up by the bed, casting a shadow with his tall frame that blocked out the light. The chill in the air wrapped Cecilia Ye in gloom.
Without waiting for her response, Fu Zhiyé delivered his warning and strode off to the bathroom.
Cecilia Ye closed her eyes, forcing down the bitterness in her chest. She told herself softly: Don’t think about it. Just get through the New Year.
Hot water sprayed down in the bathroom, but Fu Zhiyé had lost all interest in a proper soak. He just stood there under the running shower.
The water soaked his hair, streaming down his sharp nose and over his toned chest—making him look both attractive and intimidating in the light.
He exhaled deeply. Yesterday they were relaxing together in the snowy hot spring; today, everything had fallen apart. The thought put him in a foul mood.
Why was it always like this? Cecilia Ye could go skiing with other men, push Vivian Belle down the slope, and end up being carried back by Julian Jarvis—all while acting pitiful as if she was the wronged one.
Suddenly his mind jolted. Wait—why did Julian Jarvis need to carry her back? Last time, it was because she’d drunk herself unconscious. But this time, if nothing was wrong, Cecilia Ye would never have let Julian Jarvis pick her up. Could it be... she was actually hurt?
That thought made Fu Zhiyé speed up. He wiped off the water, threw on a robe, and rushed back out.
Cecilia Ye jumped at the abrupt sound of the door opening—she’d been lost in thought and hadn’t expected Fu Zhiyé to come out so quickly.
She glanced at him as he walked over, hair still dripping, hastily tying his robe—his chest mostly exposed. She lowered her gaze, suddenly self-conscious.
Fu Zhiyé stopped by the bed, voice cold: "Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?"
Cecilia Ye froze, involuntarily glancing at her foot peeking out from the covers.
Following her gaze, Fu Zhiyé lifted the blanket. Her loose pajama pants had ridden up, exposing her slim ankle wrapped in gauze. Even through the bandage, he could see the swelling—her skin red and inflamed.
Frowning, Fu Zhiyé sat down, his wide palm cradling her pale leg.
Cecilia Ye shivered, instinctively pulling her small foot away.
But his hand held firm. Tears welled up in Cecilia Ye’s eyes as she mumbled, "It hurts."
Hearing this, Fu Zhiyé released her leg and pushed her pants up higher. Her calf was mottled with bruises.
Fu Zhiyé’s gaze darkened, his tone cut like ice. "How did this happen?"
It was a kick from Vivian Belle’s friend. The thick snow boot had hit her hard enough to make her scalp go numb.
"Her friend... kicked me."
Not that it mattered—Fu Zhiyé could find out either way. She felt no need to hide it.
A flicker of anger flashed in his cold eyes. Hah—any random person thought they could lay a hand on someone of his. Clearly, they’d grown tired of living.
Cecilia Ye could see he was furious. She tugged at his sleeve, trying to brush it off: "I already took some medicine, and she got pushed down by Mia Moore too."
She only said this hoping they’d just let it go. Maybe she was being naive, thinking that Fu Zhiyé wouldn’t pursue it further—after all, it was Vivian Belle’s friend.
She stopped caring—when Fu Zhiyé did things for her, her heart softened; it was just too easy to fall for him.
It was too easy to get the wrong idea.
Fu Zhiyé’s lips curled, but the smile chilled her to the bone. "I'll handle it."
Cecilia Ye felt a surge of anger. Ha! When she was kicked, when she fell, Fu Zhiyé’s eyes saw no one but Vivian Belle. He ignored her, and now he’s angry?
"Fu Zhiyé, I said forget it." Her pale face lifted to meet his gaze, her big eyes glimmering with hurt. "Because it was Vivian Belle’s friend, you want her to pay. But what if it had been Vivian Belle herself—if she hurt me, you wouldn't do anything to her!"
She shook her head, pulling her foot from his grasp. "I don't want to lie to myself anymore. Her friend only kicked me for Vivian Belle’s sake."
Fu Zhiyé stared at Cecilia Ye, his tongue pressing against his teeth. He saw something in her eyes—a mix of disappointment and sadness.
After a long moment, he finally spoke. "There is no 'what if.'"
He turned and left the room. She heard his footsteps fading down the stairs.
Cecilia Ye let out a slow breath. Saying that had just about drained her of all her courage and strength. She curled up tightly under her blanket, hugging herself for comfort.
Just as she was drifting off, someone entered her room. Maybe it was Fu Zhiyé, but she was too tired to care.
The covers were lifted again, her ankle once more taken in a pair of cold hands.
Cecilia Ye opened her eyes to see Fu Zhiyé, holding a towel-wrapped bundle of ice and pressing it to her swollen ankle. The icy compress soothed the burning pain.
"Go to sleep if you’re tired. I’ll keep icing it for a while."
Under the light, Fu Zhiyé’s damp hair was only half-dry. He sat at the edge of the bed, one long leg bent beneath him and the other propped against the floor. His robe gaped open, revealing sun-kissed skin on his thigh. Cecilia Ye’s pale calf rested on his bent knee.
She could feel the warmth of his body traveling up her leg, unable to be dispelled even by the coldest ice.
Cecilia Ye thought: Fu Zhiyé, why do you have to be like this—giving me a slap and then a sweet? You know perfectly well, I’m the kind of girl who melts with just a little kindness...