Cecilia Ye’s face was ghostly pale. More than the pain in her belly, what frightened her most was fear itself.
She was terrified something might happen to the baby—
And even more afraid that the man in front of her would discover the child’s existence.
Fu Zhiyé, anxious beyond measure, tried to scoop her up into his arms, but Charles Chase barged in and shoved him aside. Their elbows collided, and they almost came to blows right then and there.
Fury burned in Fu Zhiyé’s eyes as he glared at Charles Chase. His face was blotched with bruises, his lip split, and there were fresh scratches on his forehead. He looked utterly disheveled but all the more dangerous for it.
“Get lost. This isn’t the time to waste any more.”
Cecilia Ye was genuinely afraid they’d start fighting again. She reached out and tugged at Charles Chase’s sleeve.
“Charles Chase, my stomach hurts so much… Please…”
She didn’t know why Charles Chase had shown up here tonight, nor why he and Fu Zhiyé were at each other’s throats. Maybe it was something to do with work, but she really didn’t have the energy to care. All she wanted now was to get to the hospital as fast as possible.
Naturally, Charles Chase knew she was pregnant, and panic flickered across his face as he quickly lifted her into his arms.
She was drenched in cold sweat, her whole body icy to the touch.
Seeing this, Fu Zhiyé yanked off his overcoat and, not caring that it was Charles Chase carrying her, draped it carefully over Cecilia Ye.
Cecilia Ye pressed her small hands against her belly, riding out the intermittent waves of pain.
She looked weakly towards Fu Zhiyé, tears still glimmering in her eyes, making her look even more pitiful.
“Don’t follow us.”
Even in this condition, she was resisting him. The word “us” stabbed at Fu Zhiyé sharply, the light in his eyes dimming moment by moment.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to dwell on it. He shot Charles Chase a cold glance and soothed Cecilia Ye in a gentle tone, “Alright, I won’t go to the hospital. Let him take you.”
With that reassurance, Cecilia Ye closed her eyes, refusing to meet his gaze. She leaned, trembling, against Charles Chase, struggling to bear the pain.
Her nose was filled with the faint woody scent of Fu Zhiyé’s coat. Another silent tear rolled down her cheek.
“Open the door,” Charles Chase ordered, unceremoniously. Fu Zhiyé didn’t argue. He strode to the door and swung it open.
Outside, only Fu Zhiyé’s car was parked. He fished out his keys and handed them to Charles Chase. “Take my car.”
Charles Chase took the keys and hurried over, settling Cecilia Ye into the passenger seat and buckling her in, careful not to jostle her.
“Don’t be afraid, Cecilia. We’re heading straight to the hospital.”
Cecilia Ye gave a soft moan of pain and whispered, “Go to Clearwater Bay, the private hospital… please…”
“Thank you…”
Her voice faded to a mere breath. Tears clung to her long lashes, and with a gentle flutter, she slipped into unconsciousness.
A sense of dread constricted Charles Chase’s heart. He wasted no time and sped away.
The little courtyard fell silent again. Fu Zhiyé stood in the cold night wind, eyes locked on the departing car until it turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Only then did he drag his gaze away, anxiety still written all over his battered face.
The sting of his wounds was nothing compared to the pain in his chest.
His presence did nothing but hurt and frighten Cecilia.
Realizing this, a profound bitterness welled up inside Fu Zhiyé.
His tall, upright figure stood shivering in the spring chill, dressed in nothing but a thin shirt. He was covered in bruises, the very picture of defeated misery, and yet he had no intention of leaving the courtyard.
He was worried about Cecilia and wanted to wait for her here.
But thinking of her fear and disgust toward him, Fu Zhiyé almost wished he could punch himself again.
Zara Zhao, their little dog, crept out from some shadowy corner, whimpering by his feet. Fu Zhiyé bent down and picked it up.
The pup even smelled faintly sweet, just like Cecilia, softening his heart just a little.
Closing the wooden door behind him, he cradled Zara Zhao and trudged into the night, feeling utterly spent and defeated.
…
The car screeched to a stop at the hospital entrance.
Charles Chase rushed in with Cecilia Ye in his arms. “Doctor! Doctor!” he called out anxiously.
The late hour meant the hospital was quiet. Doctors arrived immediately, nurses wheeled over a gurney, and Cecilia Ye was carefully laid down.
“She’s pregnant. Her stomach hurts.”
Charles Chase wasn’t sure what else to say, so he concisely reported the situation.
The medical staff pushed the gurney toward the emergency room. Charles Chase followed right up to the doors, but a nurse blocked his way: “Don’t worry, family members wait here.”
The nurse slipped inside, the white double doors swinging shut, and Charles Chase collapsed onto the long bench outside the emergency room.
He, too, had taken a few blows from Fu Zhiyé, and had even rolled across the ground outside. His clothes were flecked with bits of grass and dead leaves.
Compared to the last time, when he had watched indifferently as Cecilia Ye was wheeled inside, he was now a bundle of nerves.
He was still burning with anger after brawling with Fu Zhiyé—if anything, his temper was getting worse.
He noticed Fu Zhiyé’s coat left on the bench by the nurse. With a sweep of his long arm, he flung the coat to the floor and roughly kicked it aside, finally venting the rest of his frustration.
If he hadn’t come to see Cecilia tonight… who knows what might have happened?
His eyes, bloodshot, stayed glued to the emergency room doors—gone was his usual calm composure.
Who knew how long he waited. At last the red light above the door blinked off, and the doors opened. Cecilia Ye, still unconscious, was wheeled out.
Thankfully, everything was alright: both mother and child were safe.
Last time, it had been Julian Jarvisshi who brought her in—Cecilia Ye’s looks were so striking that none of the hospital staff could forget her. The doctors were all sneaking glances, curiosity written on their faces.
Dr. Zhao took in the scene with a bemused expression. Why was it a different man this time, instead of Young Master Jarvis?
He shook his head—what went on in his boss’s world was something mere mortals would never understand.
…
When Cecilia Ye awoke, it was already the next day. She felt limp and weak, but the pain in her stomach had faded to just a dull ache.
A familiar pink-and-white room greeted her—she was indeed back in the same private hospital as last time. Cecilia Ye finally let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Her little hand settled gently on her belly as she turned her head and saw Charles Chase, who was dozing on a small sofa in the room.
Memories from last night returned to her, piece by scattered piece.
Charles Chase’s gold-rimmed glasses were missing—left behind on the table in the courtyard, no doubt. There was a fresh bruise on his brow, now covered with bandages. The backs of his hands, resting in his lap, were scraped and bloodied from their earlier scuffle—
Why had they ended up fighting, anyway…?
“Cough, cough—” Cecilia Ye couldn’t suppress a cough.
The man on the sofa jolted awake. Charles Chase stood, suddenly awkward, unsure what to do with his hands.
Whenever he was nervous, his expression turned severe. At this moment, as he looked at Cecilia Ye, a rare awkwardness flickered in his eyes.
Cecilia Ye’s eyes, wide and timid, settled on him—her cheeks rosy from sleep, half her soft little face buried in the blanket.
For some reason, Charles Chase found himself picturing what she must have looked like as a child. Blood ties really were a strange thing—ever since he knew she was his sister, every part of her seemed endlessly endearing.