Cecilia Ye took a long, hot bath, finally driving away the chill from her body. After changing into comfortable loungewear, she stepped out of the bathroom, her damp hair trailing down her back.
Fu Zhiyue was leaning by the window, looking outside. The snow had stopped long ago. Dusk was falling, and the world outside was dark, with only a faint, dwindling gleam left in the sky.
The room’s light was on, casting a glow across Fu Zhiyue’s profile—so sharply defined, it was like a work of art in marble.
Cecilia Ye’s heart skipped a beat. She was carrying this man’s child. With such a weighty secret inside her, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
When Fu Zhiyue noticed she’d come out, he closed the window and grabbed the hairdryer, motioning for her to sit so he could dry her hair.
Cecilia Ye hesitated, trying to refuse, but Fu Zhiyue gently but firmly pressed her down to sit at the edge of the bed.
His fingers combed through her dark, silky hair with practiced care—something he’d done many times over the past four years.
He found it puzzling, too—he’d never been the nurturing type. Yet when it came to this timid little rabbit that was Cecilia Ye, he always found it effortless.
Maybe it was because, when she first arrived at the Fu home, she looked so pitiful.
The warm air from the dryer was soothing, but Cecilia Ye’s chest felt tight with anxiety. She’d been through too much today—from discovering Vivian Belle at the company, watching her flirt with Fu Zhiyue, to finding out she herself was pregnant.
She had no idea how to face Fu Zhiyue. She didn’t want to stay in this room, especially knowing Fu Zhiyue and Vivian Belle might have slept together right here.
There was no way she could stand being close to him.
The hairdryer stopped, and Fu Zhiyue instinctively reached out, tousling her hair. Satisfied it was nearly dry, he set the dryer aside.
“Grandpa Rivers called,” he said quietly. “He wants you to come to the company’s annual gala with me this year.”
“Okay.”
“Today—”
“I’ll sleep in the next room—”
They spoke at the same time—Cecilia Ye trying to say she’d sleep next door.
Fu Zhiyue’s cool eyes regarded her steadily, signaling her to go on.
With pale, delicate fingers clutching her sleeve, Cecilia Ye said softly, “I want to sleep in the other room tonight.”
She lowered her gaze, long lashes trembling, her heart tight with anxiety.
“Since you and Vivian Belle are together now, it isn’t right for us to go on like this, is it?” She glanced up, her voice almost pleading. “Fu Zhiyue, you like Vivian Belle. You shouldn’t be so close to me anymore. Can we just keep our distance? At least… until the divorce.”
She poured out everything she’d held in her heart—slowly, quietly—her voice a mix of sorrow, disappointment, and resolve.
Fu Zhiyue’s brows drew together as he looked deep into her eyes, his tone cold. “And what if I say no?”
Stunned, Cecilia Ye’s pale face lifted, eyes wide in disbelief. She hadn’t expected him to say that.
“Is that how you love someone? It’s supposed to be rare and serious. It shouldn’t mean spending the day with one person and the night with another. It hurts me.”
Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when she opened them, a shimmer of moisture lingered there.
Fu Zhiyue’s eyelids twitched. He narrowed his eyes, leaning in closer to her.
His face was always sharp and distant, with an aristocratic air that made him seem proud and cold no matter whom he was looking at.
“Cecilia Ye, I don’t love anyone. So nothing feels precious or serious to me.” His words cut coldly through the space between them. Fu Zhiyue paused, then let out a mirthless laugh, as if the very idea of discussing love with Cecilia Ye was absurd.
“There’s only want, or don’t want. That’s it for me.” He sounded utterly ruthless, as if he suddenly lost all interest in explanation.
He must be crazy, he thought, to have rushed back home just for the sake of explaining himself to her.
Fu Zhiyue’s eyes gleamed with a hint of malice as he leaned close, his voice a deliberate warning by her ear. “You’re sleeping here tonight. Don’t even think about running away.”
Cecilia Ye looked up at him, anger flaring in her eyes. “Fu Zhiyue, you’re too overbearing!”
She had always believed Fu Zhiyue was a man of principle—cold, perhaps, but never unreasonable. Only now did she realize: As the president of the most powerful Fu Group in the capital, why should he care about her feelings or what anyone else thought?
Of course he would do as he pleased, without a care in the world.
Ignoring her, Fu Zhiyue turned and left the room.
Dinnertime arrived, but Cecilia Ye had no appetite and even less desire to see Fu Zhiyue. Still, thinking of the baby, she forced herself to go downstairs.
The two of them ate in silence, each minding their own food. Cecilia Ye struggled with every bite—perhaps she hadn’t yet recovered from getting sick that afternoon.
At least it wasn’t morning sickness, or she’d have a hard time keeping it a secret from Fu Zhiyue.
Remembering what the doctor had said about eating for the baby, she forced herself to eat a few mouthfuls more.
She reached out to serve herself some soup—today’s was black-bone chicken and sea cucumber, clear and light, perfect for someone needing nourishment.
Fu Zhiyue noticed her small hand reaching for the ladle. Her skin was pale and soft, but today there was an ugly bruise on the back of her hand, along with a tiny pinprick.
Every time Cecilia Ye got an IV, her hand would bruise like this. Fu Zhiyue never missed these details.
He took the ladle from her hand and grasped her wrist, wordlessly waiting for an explanation.
It took a moment for Cecilia Ye to realize what was happening. Lips pursed, she quickly made up a lie.
“I had low blood sugar this afternoon, so I went to the hospital for a glucose drip.”
She pulled her hand back. Luckily, Fu Zhiyue didn’t press for more details. “You haven’t had an episode in a while…” he said lightly.
“Mm, I’m fine now.”
*
Meanwhile, at the mall, Vivian Belle was shopping with the friend she’d gone skiing with last time.
“Amy, I’m really sorry about last time. It was my fault you got bullied by those two women. And… how did you end up getting hit? Are those injuries better now?”
The woman called Amy, still in heavy makeup, clung to Vivian Belle’s arm. Batting her long false lashes, she secretly thought: Last time, that president of Fu Group left his wife behind to carry Vivian Belle off. That has to mean he cares more about Vivian Belle—she was determined to keep this connection strong.
“Zhizhi, I’d never blame you. Last time, it was all their fault—those two idiots. I’m your best friend, of course I’m going to help you,” Amy cooed sweetly.
Vivian Belle flashed her a grateful smile. After Fu Zhiyue’s foul mood today had left her feeling stifled, she called Amy out shopping to cheer up—and to splash out with Fu Zhiyue’s Black Card. She’d let Amy have a little taste, too.
“Amy, you’ve always been so good to me. After I came back, you’re the only friend I have left—everyone else has drifted away. If there’s anything you like today, I’ll buy it for you.”
Amy’s eyes gleamed. “Aiya, Zhizhi, you really are the best!”
“Oh, it’s nothing. After all, I’m using Ah Ye’s card.” Vivian Belle waved the Black Card, reveling in Amy’s envious look.
In the end, she bought Amy a bracelet—a few tens of thousands of yuan, but not enough to call her ungrateful.
Thinking of the upcoming company gala and her plans to make a stunning impression, Vivian Belle shopped at a few jewelry boutiques and ordered earrings and a necklace—all paid for with Fu Zhiyue’s money.
Naturally, her plan was to win Fu Zhiyue back with her looks. If he stayed angry at her, she stood to gain nothing.
She left the mall in excellent spirits.
*
The next morning, when Cecilia Ye woke up, Fu Zhiyue had already left for work.
She sat up a bit too quickly and was hit with a wave of dizziness, steadying herself on the bed until the world righted itself.
“Good morning, baby,” she whispered, gently stroking her belly. A bright, tender smile curved her lips.
She was still just a little girl herself, and now she was going to be a mother.
Remembering last night, she recalled falling asleep at the edge of the bed—yet somehow, when she woke in the night, she was cradled in Fu Zhiyue’s arms.
His strong hands had been wrapped around her waist—one palm resting on her belly, startling her into a moment of panic.
The baby was only a month old; her body hadn’t changed at all yet. Still, nervous, she gently moved his hand aside.
She brushed the memory away, got up to wash, and checked her phone when she returned.
One unread message—from Julian Jarvis.
[Cecilia, I’ve sold two paintings for you. The money’s already been set aside.]
[Thank you, Julian Jarvis.]
She hadn’t expected her love of painting to come in so handy, but this money would help her get by after the divorce.