Fu Zhiyie held out his hand, revealing the ring on his fourth finger. The bruises at his knuckles were still visible—remnants from the punch he’d thrown at the wall just a couple of days ago.
"First of all, Cecilia is not my ex-wife. Second, when we were in Qingshui Bay, it was because I was pursuing her."
Though the reporters had come prepared, someone still gasped quietly.
Rumors had always painted Fu Zhiyie as gentle and doting toward his young wife, Cecilia Ye, but he had never publicly discussed their relationship before. And ever since Vivian Belle returned to the country, their marriage was said to have fractured.
"President Foster, is it true what people are saying online about Vivian Belle orchestrating a scam?"
"Yes."
"And did your feelings for Vivian Belle disappear because of this deception? Are you just angry now?" The young female reporter's question was sharp.
Fu Zhiyie shot her a frosty glance. "I never had feelings for her—just a promise. Since it turned out to be a scam, that promise doesn’t stand anymore."
"But while you’d made that promise to someone else, why did you marry Miss Ye?"
Henry Hart frowned, ready to intervene.
Fu Zhiyie spoke up. "I didn’t know before. Now that I do... It’s because I like her, wanted to keep her by my side—my own."
"Don’t you think that’s... wrong of you?"
His cold, intense eyes fixed on her, and the reporter faltered despite herself.
"It is wrong. That’s why I’m trying to change."
Everyone was caught off guard by Fu Zhiyie’s brutal honesty.
Absurd as it sounded—why was it that, when he said it, people just believed him anyway? Wasn’t this supposed to be a press conference, not a love confession?
He didn’t seem to care what attacks might come his way.
...
Questions kept coming thick and fast for the next fifteen minutes.
"So, are you trying to reconcile with Miss Ye now?" The final minute, the first female reporter asked again.
Fu Zhiyie looked directly into the camera, now more earnest than before. "No. But I’ll wait for her to forgive me, no matter how long it takes."
With that, the clock ran out. Fu Zhiyie stood, straightened his suit, and walked out of the hall.
"Sorry, time’s up. Today’s press conference is over. Once again: for anyone spreading false statements, the Fu Group will issue legal action and pursue every untruthful claim."
Henry Hart nodded politely and left as well.
...
In the city hospital, Charles Chase watched the televised conference in the corridor, expression hard to read.
A few days ago, the specialists sent to the hospital had been arranged by Fu Zhiyie. Charles Chase knew then that Fu Zhiyie had found out about Cecilia’s background.
Ye Jing’s surgery was scheduled for the next few days; she’d begged Charles Chase not to tell Cecilia unless the operation was successful.
Honestly, he would have done the same even if she hadn’t asked. If Cecilia had just discovered who her birth mother was only to immediately receive news that she was critically ill, it would crush her. It’d be far too cruel.
The doctor said that as long as there was no severe rejection after Ye Jing’s kidney transplant, there shouldn’t be any imminent danger.
But if anything went wrong, that secret would die with him—better Cecilia keep on thinking she only ever had him as a brother.
Watching Fu Zhiyie’s press conference, Charles Chase scoffed.
Hah! All talk and no substance. My little sister is not getting together with you. Not if I have anything to say about it!
Blissfully unaware that his behavior was exactly that of an overprotective brother, Charles Chase drove off for Qingshui Bay.
...
The conference had barely ended before Su Ai’s post on Weibo exploded—messages flooded in, scolding her, while a user named An Xiaoke went on a tirade.
Many defended Cecilia Ye, describing what a good person she was and how much she cared for her art students.
Rain started to hammer down again, loud enough to wake the sleeping person.
Cecilia was alone in her hospital room—Fu Zhiyie hadn’t returned yet. She groggily sat up.
Her phone by the bed rang. It was Mia Moore.
"Cecilia, are you okay? Did Fu Zhiyie actually come to see you?"
"Did he bully you again? Are you in the studio? I’ll come over this afternoon."
Mia Moore had just left her office—no way was she letting anyone cover her classes. No chance.
"No, Yaoyao. You just take care of your work—I'm fine."
Cecilia Ye could hardly help laughing at the onslaught of questions, quickly soothing her fired-up friend.
"It’s too much! He took advantage while I wasn’t around!"
"Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me."
With much patient reassurance, Cecilia Ye finally calmed Mia Moore down. She didn’t want her coming to the hospital and fretting for days.
"Okay. It’s almost the weekend, just two more days. I’ll come see you then."
"Okay."
After hanging up, Cecilia rested a while. Rain still pattered steadily outside—as it had for two days now, with no sign of letting up.
Feeling a little bored, she wished she were at home, so she could read picture books and tell her baby stories.
She pulled back the blanket and, through the soft pink-and-white striped hospital gown, patted her belly. She could have sworn her little one had grown again.
When Fu Zhiyie walked in, this was what he saw: Cecilia propped up in bed, the blanket loosened at her waist.
Her belly made a gentle bump under her gown—he didn’t need to touch it to know it was warm and soft.
Their child.
Her delicate face was all gentleness, inky hair brushing her cheek, long lashes casting fragile shadows beneath the lamplight. She looked like she was talking to the baby.
Thinking she was still resting, Fu Zhiyie entered quietly. Since she didn’t notice him, he simply leaned against the wall, watching her. Suddenly, his heart felt oddly tender, as if a kitten’s tail had brushed against it.
After murmuring to the baby, Cecilia Ye looked up—and met Fu Zhiyie's gaze. She jumped slightly, her wide eyes blinking, startled like a little rabbit.
A bit flustered, she hurried to pull the blanket over her belly. For a moment, Fu Zhiyie found her so adorable his heart ached—and yet, he couldn’t help feeling a pang of disappointment.
Did Cecilia not want him to see their baby?
"Are you hungry? Want something to eat?"
He glanced at his watch—it was already past two.
"Not really." She’d been eating plain food these past two days—less nausea—but with so much time spent in the hospital, she never really felt hungry.
"Alright, then we’ll eat later."
Fu Zhiyie was quick to accept her wishes; whatever she wanted was fine by him.
He walked over and set his laptop on the desk, ready to deal with some work.
Cecilia watched him, unable to hide her concern for his injured hand. They were in a hospital, after all—why wouldn’t he get it treated? She’d noticed yesterday but had held her tongue.
"Fu Zhiyie..."
He turned. "What is it?"
Her finger pointed to the bruises on his hand. Fu Zhiyie followed her gaze, a faint smile breaking through his normally stern features.
"It's nothing. Almost healed."
"Make way."
A commotion sounded outside.
Charles Chase had rushed over to Cecilia’s art studio in Qingshui Bay but, not finding her there, discovered she was at the hospital instead.
Damn it, nothing good ever happens when Fu Zhiyie’s involved—always ends with Cecilia in the hospital.
Storming in, Charles Chase was immediately blocked by the bodyguards.