Cecilia Ye shook her head, stubbornly resisting. Fu Zhiyie’s brow furrowed even deeper.
"Cecilia Ye!" Fu Zhiyie's temples throbbed; he genuinely had no idea how to handle what was in front of him.
His low shout stopped Cecilia Ye mid-sentence. She felt miserable, her heart aching so badly that her body almost gave out.
The moment he yelled, Fu Zhiyie regretted it. Seeing her so fragile, he suddenly didn’t want to force her anymore.
He could wait—wait for Cecilia to forgive him, to be willing to go home with him. Wasn't that what he'd already decided?
"I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I hurt you, I disappointed you. I, Fu Zhiyie, have never loved anyone before in my life. I have no experience; I don't even know what it means to like someone. I don’t know what to do, but I really, really miss you..."
In the end, he couldn’t hold back. He stepped forward and pulled the trembling girl into his arms again.
Cecilia Ye felt as if her heart were being pounded, overcome with a suffocating pain.
Too late, Fu Zhiyie—you’re too late.
"Don’t say anything more..."
She didn’t want any of it, didn’t want to believe it anymore.
Once bitten by a snake... (meaning: she’s wary because she's been hurt before)
She wasn’t sure where the strength came from, but she shoved him away, steadying herself only by gripping the little table in the garden.
Fu Zhiyie tried to move closer, but out of nowhere, a fist slammed straight into his face. Completely unprepared, he was knocked aside.
That punch landed with full force. Shaking his head, Fu Zhiyie glared viciously at the newcomer, an uncharacteristic look of shock on his usually cold face.
Charles Chase? How could it be him?
Charles Chase, who now knew the whole story, felt like a ball of fire was burning inside his chest.
It was still early and he couldn’t sleep. He went downstairs and out the door, hoping a walk would clear his mind.
He thought of all the wrongs Cecilia had suffered since childhood, and then remembered that scene at the New Year’s party.
He’d seen it with his own eyes: how Fu Zhiyie had treated his little sister.
Lost in thought, Charles Chase found himself near Cecilia Ye’s home without even realizing it.
He saw lights on inside, pretended to be passing by, and snuck a glance through the wooden gate.
What he saw was Fu Zhiyie, that bastard, here pulling at Cecilia, refusing to let go.
Charles Chase didn’t care about anything else—he vaulted the gate and stormed in.
Blood dripped from the corner of Fu Zhiyie's mouth, turning his lips crimson. The two tall men squared off, faces taut with rage.
Cecilia Ye stood frozen, terrified, clutching her stomach and gripping the table, lips trembling.
Charles Chase took off his gold-rimmed glasses, placing them on the little table beside Cecilia Ye, his gaze sweeping over her.
"She doesn’t want to see you."
With his glasses off, Charles Chase was nothing like his usual refined self. Narrowed eyes, a trace of insolence; he looked sidewise at Fu Zhiyie.
Cecilia Ye had never seen this side of Charles Chase. The last time they met, he’d politely handed back her thermos cup.
But the man in front of her now...
Fu Zhiyie wiped the blood from his mouth with his thumb, giving Charles Chase a frosty glare.
"This has nothing to do with you."
His tone was icy, clipped. Cecilia Ye could tell he was angry—truly, furiously angry.
Even though she didn’t want to see Fu Zhiyie, she didn’t want the two men to actually fight. If anyone got hurt, she’d never forgive herself.
Fu Zhiyie’s face was blank, but inside he was growing colder. Why did it always have to be like this? First Julian Jarvis, now Charles Chase?
Charles Chase, simmering with fury, couldn’t be bothered to argue. "Get out!"
"Heh, and who do you think you are?"
That jab flared tempers even hotter. Charles Chase lunged and grabbed Fu Zhiyie’s arm, ready to toss him out with a good kick.
That first punch had taken Fu Zhiyie by surprise, but not this time. He raised his right arm to block, then swung his left in a powerful hook.
In an instant, the two of them were wrestling furiously—both over six feet tall, all long limbs and pent-up rage, fists flying.
Fu Zhiyie thought Charles Chase wanted something improper from Cecilia Ye; Charles Chase just wanted to beat this jerk to a pulp.
Neither held back—they were fighting for real, every blow meant to hurt. Flowerpots and greenery at the edge of the garden shattered under their scuffle.
Cecilia Ye trembled all over. She was terrified of fighting, terrified of seeing blood.
"Please, stop fighting! Please..."
A thin girl like her couldn’t get close to them at all. Seeing both men already bruised and battered, she clung to the back of a chair, struggling to remain upright.
"Shit," Charles Chase swore, wincing as Fu Zhiyie landed a fierce punch to his shoulder, sending a jolt of pain right through him.
He rammed his knee up, hard, into Fu Zhiyie’s stomach, making his opponent double over with pain.
Their eyes were bloodshot—they couldn’t even hear Cecilia Ye’s pleading.
Cecilia Ye was hit with a sudden wave of dizziness; even her stomach throbbed with pain. She just couldn’t hold on anymore and squatted down, clutching her belly.
"Ugh..."
It hurt so much. Thinking of the baby, tears of fear rolled down Cecilia Ye’s cheeks.
"Don’t fight anymore... please..."
Charles Chase, back turned, didn’t notice her, but Fu Zhiyie saw her collapse to the ground—and for a second, he went blank, catching a strong punch to the face.
He spat blood to the side and called out anxiously, "Cecilia!"
Shoving Charles Chase off with a grunt, Fu Zhiyie didn’t even care about his own injuries—he rushed over to Cecilia Ye.
Behind him, Charles Chase saw what happened and sprinted over as well.