Hearing the commotion, the old man turned around and glared at Fu Zhiyé.
“She went out.”
Fu Zhiyé suddenly recalled what Cecilia Ye had said that New Year's night. His voice turned cold. “Where did she go?”
The old man tapped his cane on the floor, too lazy to reply. “You don't even know where your wife went? She went abroad. She's traveling. She won't be back for a year, at least!”
Something pounded hard in his chest—twice. Fu Zhiyé let out a heavy breath. “When did she leave?”
An uneasy silence fell over the living room. Grandma Rivers sighed and said sternly, “Zhiyé, what sort of tone is that with your grandfather? Cecilia left this morning.”
“She went home first to pack her things. Why don’t you go back and check?”
Fu Zhiyé paused, realizing he'd lost control. He softened his expression and said, “Alright,” then grabbed his coat and headed out the door.
Watching his hurried figure disappear, the old man snorted. “Where was he when this could have been avoided?”
“Alright, there's no need to say more,” Grandma Rivers murmured. “Weren’t you the same when you were young...”
Their voices faded. Outside, the biting wind cut through the air; it hadn’t felt this cold when he came home.
Fu Zhiyé walked toward his car, pulling on his overcoat as he went.
“President, shall I drive you?” the chauffeur asked.
“No need.”
He turned down the driver and got in himself. With a single step on the gas, the car sped out of the old family estate.
It was rush hour—traffic everywhere, the sky gray and shrouded in mist. String after string of headlights stretched ahead, red and white, uninterrupted. He waited through two red lights, his brows knotted tightly, thin lips pressed together in growing impatience.
A third red light. He stopped, picked up his phone, and called Cecilia Ye.
Long fingers gripped the phone, knuckles pale. After a single beep, a mechanical female voice answered: “Sorry, the number you dialed is powered off...”
Fu Zhiyé set the phone down, checked the screen—yes, he’d dialed Cecilia Ye. He tried again, only for the same message to echo back at him.
Frustration welled up in his chest. Why? Was she on the plane already?
He hurled the phone onto the passenger seat. His hand clenched the steering wheel until veins bulged. He gave the wheel a hard hit, and the horn blared loudly.
Just then the light turned green, and the tiny little Q-car in front of him shot away, startled.
Soon his car pulled up at the Fu residence. Fu Zhiyé headed straight to the second floor.
No one was in the room, but on the desk sat—
Their marriage certificate, wedding photos, and... a diamond ring.
Fu Zhiyé reached out, picking up the photo of Cecilia Ye. His first reaction was anger—a deep, burning anger.
...
At Qingshui Bay, several people were helping tidy up.
In the first-floor hall stood Julian Jarvis and two burly young men. When Cecilia Ye first saw them, she couldn't help feeling startled.
The house had heating, but both men wore black tank tops. One had tattoos winding from his wrist all the way up to his neck—twisting vines and roses, which looked oddly out of place with his shaved head and massive frame.
The other was unmarked, with long hair tied into a ponytail at the back, appearing a little steadier than the bald one.
...
For a moment, Cecilia Ye wondered if some local gangsters had broken into her house, until the two men saw Julian Jarvis and respectfully greeted him.
“Boss.”
...
Cecilia Ye glanced from these two to Julian Jarvis. Frankly, they looked more like bosses than he did.
She wasn’t used to people dressed like this; it unsettled her a little. Mia Moore, holding her arm, followed Julian Jarvis closely, while the bald one winked cheekily at Mia Moore over Julian Jarvis’s shoulder.
Mia Moore shot back a funny face, then turned to Cecilia Ye and said quietly, “That’s Brother Hua and Uncle Braid. They’re fun—and they’re on our side.”
“Oh... okay.”
Julian Jarvis nodded at the two men and asked, “All done?”
“All done, boss. The coffee machine and everything you wanted arrived this morning—they're all installed.”
Brother Hua, the tattooed one, sounded serious—like a grade-schooler giving a report, speaking word by word.
Cecilia Ye noticed that Julian Jarvis, when serious, seemed like a different person. The usual smile was gone, replaced by an expressionless chill.
He waved his hand and handed Cecilia Ye's suitcase over. “Take this upstairs.”
Uncle Braid hefted the suitcase onto his shoulder and headed up the stairs. Cecilia Ye hurried after him, “Th-thank you.”
“Brother, I’ll help Cecilia get settled,” Mia Moore called out.
Upstairs, the rooms were already spotless. Uncle Braid set the suitcase down and smiled kindly at Mia Moore. “Young lady, these are the bed linens you washed at home—they’re clean.”
Mia Moore nodded. “Thank you, Uncle Braid.”
“Alright, I’ll head down now.”
Leaving the two girls to unpack, the three men went to check the house one more time.
By the time Cecilia Ye and Mia Moore came back downstairs, the two men were gone; only Julian Jarvis remained, lounging on the white sofa.
Mia Moore pulled Cecilia Ye down to sit with her and glanced at Julian Jarvis. “Bro, you really did a nice job with the place.”
On the left side of the hall was a semi-enclosed tea bar; on the right, a whole wall was lined with cabinets filled with art supplies and paints. The pigments were all arranged by shade in neat rows. Below, on the desk, sat over a dozen clear boxes stuffed with paints—ready to use, beautifully organized, a neat freak’s dream come true.
Pens, frames, canvases, even a row of easels in one corner—anyone could sit down and start painting at a moment’s notice.
Julian Jarvis only raised his brows, ignoring his sister’s praise, and looked over her head at Cecilia Ye. “Cecilia, is there anything you’re missing?”
Cecilia Ye shook her head. Everything was here, even the garden had little tables and chairs. Julian Jarvis was as attentive and thorough as ever—just like his personality.
“Julian Jarvis, thank you. It’s already perfect.”
If she’d set this all up herself, it would never have been this flawless.
“Alright, if there’s anything missing, just call me.”
“Okay, will do.”
Mia Moore waved her hand in front of her brother, pretending to pout. “You two don’t have to act like I’m not here, you know. Anyway, aren’t you hungry? I’m starving!”
Julian Jarvis checked the time; they’d been busy all afternoon. “Wanna eat out?”
“No need, I’ll cook. There’s food in the fridge and the kitchen’s ready.”
So Mia Moore and Julian Jarvis helped Cecilia Ye whip up a simple dinner.
Julian Jarvis had to go back to the city center. Before leaving, he handed her two phone numbers. “Brother Hua and Uncle Braid live nearby. If you need anything, just call them.”
“Got it.”
Julian Jarvis smiled and said warmly, “I’m off, then.”
With his hands in his pockets, his tall figure slipped quietly out the door.
Cecilia Ye watched him leave, her heart filling with a gentle warmth.
Julian Jarvis and Mia Moore had helped her so much. If it hadn’t been for them, she wouldn’t have had the courage to leave the Fu family.
The nerves and confusion she’d felt had eased, replaced with a quiet sense of peace, thanks to their company.
Since Mia Moore promised to help Cecilia Ye run the studio, the two second-floor bedrooms had been set up—one for each of them.
Late at night, lying in bed, Cecilia Ye still felt a sense of unreality.
So, leaving wasn’t as hard as she’d thought. In just one day, she’d left Fu Zhiyé.
Thinking back on all the struggle and compromise of the past few months, it all seemed like a dream now.
Maybe she’d miss him, and maybe she’d feel lonely.