When Cecilia Ye woke, night had already fallen. The small lamp by the bed was on.

She sat up, staring blankly out the window; the air no longer held Fu Zhiyé’s scent.

On the table, a copy of The Little Mermaid lay open, the page faintly smelling of ink. On it, the little mermaid was finally held in the prince’s arms, just as she wished...

Cecilia Ye reached out to gently touch her barely-there belly, whispering in her heart: Baby, look—Daddy’s reading your book...

She got up from bed, feeling a little more clear-headed, and left the room. She had no idea when Fu Zhiyé had left, but the lights on both floors remained on.

On the dining table were several dishes kept warm in insulated boxes.

Cecilia Ye knew at a glance that they were made by Aunt Whitney.

A small sticky note was attached to the box: 'Eat up, dear. If it gets cold, just heat it in the microwave.'

The familiar, firm handwriting was clearly Fu Zhiyé’s.

She opened the boxes: soft white rice, tangy-sweet borscht, stir-fried beef with yam, and stuffed shrimp with lotus root—all of her favorites. Her heart softened.

She could never bring herself to resist this side of Fu Zhiyé...

The food was still warm. She sat at the table, taking small bites.

It had been ages since she’d eaten Aunt Whitney’s cooking. She drank a lot of the sour borscht, and even managed to eat half a bowl of rice.

'Boom—'

Thunder rumbled outside, the next instant lit by lightning.

She put her dishes into the sink and washed them, her eyes flicking restlessly to the window, watching the weather outside.

By the time she finished tidying up, the rain had begun to pour.

It was only early spring, but now rain drummed steadily, chilling the air.

Cecilia Ye hesitated for a long time before finally walking to the window. Pulling the pale violet curtains aside, she spotted a familiar figure down below.

Blinking, her pearly teeth biting nervously on her lip, she thought, Is Fu Zhiyé an idiot? It’s pouring and he doesn’t even hide in the car.

Rain chilled him to the bone, yet Fu Zhiyé seemed unaware. His heart was full of tangled thoughts—Henry Hart’s phone call, the news about Ye Jing.

There was little doubt now: Cecilia was Ye Jing’s daughter. As for Ye Jing herself, she’d recently been taken to the capital by Charles Chase, gravely ill.

That was Cecilia’s mother. His Cecilia had already suffered so much; she shouldn’t have to endure any more bad news.

Fu Zhiyé had immediately arranged for specialists to help. If not for Charles Chase, perhaps Ye Jing would have... In that moment, Fu Zhiyé’s view of Charles Chase shifted completely.

Looking back, he felt relieved he hadn’t made things difficult for Charles Chase at the company. Still, everything needed to be confirmed.

Lost in thought, he didn’t even notice the rain begin to fall, only realizing when drops ran into his eyes and he shivered, finally preparing to head back to his car.

As he looked up, he saw a small figure standing by the wooden gate, holding an umbrella.

Something thudded in his chest—a rush of joy swept over him. Was Cecilia worried about him?

In the misty rain beneath the street lamps, Cecilia Ye stood petite and delicate with her umbrella. Even though part of her wanted to ignore Fu Zhiyé, somehow her feet had brought her downstairs, only coming to her senses as she opened the wooden door and saw him beside the car.

She hesitated at the threshold, conflicted.

Like a little snail poking out her feelers, she caught sight of him, then shrank back timidly.

After that flicker of delight, Fu Zhiyé’s face quickly filled with worry. He tossed away his cigarette and strode over.

In such heavy rain, on such a cold night, and with her still unwell, how could she be standing outside?

His cool hand took her umbrella, and with a sweep of his coat, wrapped her in his still-dry arms.

'Why did you come down? Are you still feeling sick after waking up?'

Enveloped in his warm embrace, Cecilia Ye’s mind went completely blank, all thoughts wiped away.

Those deep, ink-black eyes seemed to hold the moon and stars. Cecilia Ye got lost in them, murmuring, 'Why aren’t you going back?'

Hearing her speak, Fu Zhiyé visibly relaxed, brushing rain from her face. 'It was thundering—I worried you’d be scared.'

His voice still sounded cold, but the concern in his words was unmistakable.

'It’s too cold. Let’s get you inside.'

The umbrella shielded Cecilia Ye while Fu Zhiyé stood dripping, his coat almost soaked through, yet he seemed not to mind.

Cecilia Ye didn’t protest, and together they went back into the house.

'Here, take the umbrella and go home. Don’t stay here…'

Only two small lights were lit on the first floor, casting a dim, oil-paint scented glow through the air as they stood in the foyer.

'I’m not going home. I’ll stay in the car. Cecilia, don’t take away my last bit of right to be near you.'

He smiled a little, but there was no warmth in his eyes—just stubbornness.

'Besides, Grandpa Rivers won’t let me return, and I can’t go to the company. So I have nowhere else to go.'

He sounded so pitiful. Of course, Fu Zhiyé had a selfish motive—he knew that his Cecilia was soft-hearted, that she’d never reject him completely.

And sure enough, Cecilia Ye’s eyes widened. 'Why won’t Grandpa Rivers let you go home? Did you upset him again?'

'No,' Fu Zhiyé actually laughed, knowing she always thought he got in trouble with Grandpa Rivers. 'It’s because I lost the girl who loved me most. I have to find her before I can go home.'

Cecilia Ye could picture Grandpa Rivers being angry enough to do exactly that. She’d been hiding from Fu Zhiyé this whole time and hadn’t dared call to check in, but now it seemed she should. And then, hearing him call her “the girl who loved me most,” her face suddenly turned bright red.

'You—couldn’t you go stay at a hotel?'

'No need. If you won’t let me too close, at least don’t drive me somewhere I can’t see you.'

His low voice, thick with rain and longing, left Cecilia Ye unable to say no.

Silence stretched between them until Cecilia Ye finally said, 'You can stay here for a few days, then. There’s an attic upstairs.'

'In a couple of days, I’ll call Grandpa Rivers and he won’t be mad at you anymore.'

Under Fu Zhiyé’s burning gaze, Cecilia Ye’s face grew even hotter. She turned and started up the stairs, then hesitated and looked back over her shoulder.

'The attic’s small, but… the other room on the second floor is Yaoyao’s, so it’s not convenient…'

Her voice trailed off, because as she turned around, she saw that Fu Zhiyé’s eyes seemed to glisten with tears, rimmed in red.

'Fu Zhiyé…'

At a loss, Cecilia Ye called his name softly…

Fu Zhiyé gazed at her—this small figure in soft white pajamas, her brow furrowed, a tiny mole on her nose quivering with each breath. He knew his Cecilia was so kind, so good.

After all this time, she was finally letting him draw closer…

In the endless darkness, Fu Zhiyé finally saw a glimmer of light.

How could he have been such an idiot in the past? How could he have ever hurt her?

Eyes burning, Fu Zhiyé suddenly wrapped his arms tightly around her. She stood on the second step of the stairs, making her almost as tall as him.

He pressed his rain-damp face into the crook of her neck. Cecilia Ye only felt his warm breath on her skin, and then a few hot tears—nothing like the rain—fell onto her neck.

She realized what they were. In that instant, her heart seized tight.

All these years, not once had she ever seen Fu Zhiyé cry…