Fu Zhiyé gently patted her hair. “The doctor said, you can’t let your emotions get out of control like this.”
The little bunny looked up, her eyes red and swollen. “Just let me cry for a bit.”
Wiping her eyes with a tissue, the usually stern man softened his tone. “All right, but when your time’s up, you need to rest.”
She hadn’t napped at noon and was truly a bit drowsy. Fu Zhiyé tucked her in, and, looking up again, found that she’d already cried herself to sleep.
He leaned down and lightly brushed the redness beneath her eyes.
They stayed in the hospital for two more days. Finally, the sky cleared up, and gentle sunlight slanted through the window.
With her health improving, Dr. Zhao finally agreed to let Cecilia go home to recover.
“You’ll still need plenty of rest at home. Try not to get up too much, eat nutritious meals…” Dr. Zhao rattled off a long list of instructions before finally letting her leave.
Fu Zhiyé bent down and, before Cecilia could protest, scooped her up in his arms to carry her out.
“Put me down. I can walk by myself.”
“The doctor said, not too much walking.”
Fu Zhiyé had discovered long ago that the phrase “the doctor said” was Cecilia’s greatest weakness—just like kids who are terrified of “the teacher said.” Whenever she heard it, she always did as she was told.
As they passed, nurses and doctors kept throwing glances their way, and Cecilia’s face flushed bright red.
“If you’re feeling shy, just hide your face,” Fu Zhiyé, for once, offered a gentle reminder.
Cecilia Ye buried her face in embarrassment—she knew perfectly well she could walk on her own.
Their car left the hospital, heading toward Qingshui Bay. As the scenery slipped past the window, Cecilia watched it all with a growing heaviness in her heart.
Things between her and Fu Zhiyé were still murky and uncertain. Every time he got closer, she just wanted to pull away.
She genuinely didn’t know how to handle this.
Before she could sort it out, the car stopped and Fu Zhiyé helped her out.
The moment she stepped out, someone suddenly rushed up to her, only to be blocked by the bodyguards.
“Ms. Ye! Ms. Ye, please, I was wrong! I shouldn’t have posted those photos online!”
Cecilia jumped in fright and, blinking, recognized Su Ai.
“You…”
Su Ai looked utterly disheveled—her normally perfectly done hair was a mess, her face bare without makeup. The girl who usually loved to look pretty now stood there shouting, completely ignoring her appearance.
There was a reporter from that day standing nearby. “Mr. Fu! Mr. Fu, we know we were wrong! You can’t be so ruthless—Xiao Ai’s parents are gone, and we only have this one house in Qingshui Bay left. Please, don’t do this!”
The beady-eyed reporter craned his neck, pleading with Fu Zhiyé while the bodyguards held him back.
Cecilia seemed to understand what was happening and turned toward Fu Zhiyé.
He lifted his sharply defined chin, his eyes icy cold as he looked at them.
“If I’m not mistaken, your family’s company has already gone bankrupt. The Qingshui Bay house should’ve been repossessed by the bank last November—you’re just squatting here. As for the Art Academy, I merely informed the board about a student’s conduct.”
“No, Ms. Ye, I was wrong! Please, don’t let the school expel me!”
Realizing that Fu Zhiyé had only done this because of Cecilia Ye, Su Ai sobbed desperately.
She’d fought tooth and nail to get into the Art Academy, using all sorts of connections. Only one year left till graduation, and if she got expelled now, all her efforts would go to waste.
Cecilia took a small step back, her delicate brows furrowed tight. This was her first time being begged like this, and the feeling was indescribable—a mix of helplessness and pity.
But, remembering the baby she almost lost, she had no desire to forgive. She gritted her teeth.
“Xiao Ai, I always thought people who loved to paint were pure-hearted, but what you did really hurt me. I can’t help you.”
Her voice was quiet but firm. The struggle in her eyes did not escape Fu Zhiyé’s attention.
Strong hands drew her closer. Fu Zhiyé waved his hand at the bodyguards. “I don’t want to see them here again.”
The two were dragged away by the bodyguards, and Fu Zhiyé led Cecilia back inside.
The house, supposedly empty, was lit up. When Cecilia opened the door, she saw Julian Jarvis standing behind the kitchen counter, brewing coffee.
He wore a pale taupe sweater with the sleeves casually rolled. Under the lights, his tousled hair seemed tinged with brown, and his slender fingers cradled a coffee cup while the whole room filled with that rich aroma.
“I was just about to finish this coffee and give you a call. Hope you don’t mind me letting myself in.”
She smiled, delighted to see him, and shook her head. “Of course not. What brings you here today?”
She hadn’t seen Julian Jarvis since the art studio’s opening day. In her heart, Julian Jarvis—like Yao Yao—was one of her closest, most trusted friends.
Julian Jarvis had taken a few days to sort through his feelings. After accompanying Cecilia to the hospital, he realized how deeply unsettled he’d been—his emotions a tangled web.
His care and affection for Cecilia had never come from nowhere. He liked her—liked her laughter, liked watching her paint.
He’d known countless women, but none like Cecilia—someone who had suffered so much, and yet remained kind to everyone she met.
But Julian Jarvis had his own pride. He knew Cecilia hadn’t let go of Fu Zhiyé, and he refused to force what could never be his.
So he took some time, pulling himself out of that mess of emotions.
Before Julian Jarvis could answer, Fu Zhiyé walked in from outside. The two men’s gazes met for a moment before Julian Jarvis looked away.
Cecilia glanced at him, remembering how the two did not get along.
“Fu Zhiyé, um, I need to talk to Julian Jarvis alone for a bit.”
The man standing there looked distinctly unwilling, but after holding back for a second, he simply said nothing and headed upstairs.
Once he was gone, Julian Jarvis patted the sofa, inviting her to sit. Spotting her pale face, he couldn’t help but ask, concern evident in his tone.
“Are you feeling better?”
He’d heard from Dr. Zhao about her hospital stay and knew Fu Zhiyé had been at her side, which was why he hadn’t come himself.
Cecilia nodded, placing a hand over her gently rounded belly. “Much better now.”
“You two—have you made up?”
He jerked his chin toward the stairs, taking a sip of coffee to disguise the complex emotions in his eyes.
“No, it’s just…” Cecilia sighed. “If not for him, I might have lost the baby. I don’t know… My heart’s a mess.”
“I want to believe otherwise, but…”
Her long lashes trembled. Confusion and helplessness filled her eyes. Only in front of Julian Jarvis and Mia Moore did she let herself be so vulnerable, speak her heart’s truth.
They’d already seen her at her worst—what did anything else matter now?
Julian Jarvis reached out, wanting to ruffle her hair, but hesitated. Instead, his hand landed gently on her shoulder.
“You still like him, don’t you?”
His voice was soft, tinged with resignation, as if speaking to both her and himself.
The girl in front of him didn’t belong to him. Her heart, her very self, belonged to another man.