Cecilia Ye took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. “Whether I like it or not doesn’t seem to matter. There are many things in this world that don’t become mine just because I want them.”

“Cecilia, you deserve the best kind of love.”

Julian Jarvis smiled softly and reached into his pocket, pulling something out. “Here. For you.”

It was a silver key. At a glance, Cecilia Ye recognized it—it was another key to this house.

She looked at Julian Jarvis, hesitantly reaching out to take it, still unsure what he intended.

“I’ll be going abroad for a while. I’m leaving the house in your care. Give the key back to me when I return.”

The truth was, Julian Jarvis didn’t absolutely have to go abroad. He only wanted to get away for a while, to clear his mind.

“So sudden? How long will you be gone?”

Cecilia Ye looked up at him obediently. “You don’t need to give me the key. You can just come in whenever you’re back.”

“Just take it as a backup. I really don’t know how long I’ll be away. Alright, I’d better get going.”

Julian Jarvis stood, walked over to the tea bar, and rinsed his coffee cup. He set it gently on the rack. Crystal-clear water droplets traced down the cup, vanishing as if they’d never existed.

Cecilia Ye got up to see him off at the door. Part of her wanted to ask, ‘Julian Jarvis, is there something bothering you?’

But then she thought, if Julian Jarvis wanted to talk about it, he would have told her already.

“Alright, go on inside. It’s cold out here.”

Julian Jarvis stood in the garden, gazing at her. Cecilia Ye stood on the wooden steps under the eaves; they were nearly the same height like this.

“Julian Jarvis, thank you for… everything, these days…”

Julian Jarvis finally reached out and gently ruffled her hair. “Don’t thank me, Cecilia.”

He looked long and deeply at the petite, beautiful girl—then turned and walked away from the villa.

That familiar silhouette receded from view, leaving behind a bittersweet ache.

Julian Jarvis got into his car. Faint traces of Cecilia’s scent still lingered at his fingertips. He smiled a little and drove away from Qingshui Bay.

Maybe ten years from now, or twenty, there would only ever be one person in Cecilia’s heart—the one who’d entered her life six years before he did.

As for himself, he was just a passing breeze in her life.

The air was still chilly. Cecilia lingered in the courtyard for a while before heading back inside.

Fu Zhiyan came down the stairs. However long Cecilia had stood out there, he’d been watching her from the terrace, all that time.

He minded Julian Jarvis—a lot more than he cared to admit. But he was more bothered still by the look in Cecilia’s eyes just now, and finally went downstairs only because he worried she might get cold.

Their eyes met. Fu Zhiyan said quietly, “He’s gone?”

“Yeah.”

Silence spread between them….

“I don’t like seeing you with him.”

Fu Zhiyan frowned as he looked at her, feeling utterly defeated. All this time, neither of them had brought up the past. He knew he had to be patient and let Cecilia learn to trust him again.

But the waiting was so difficult—almost unbearable. Cecilia always seemed to keep him at a polite distance, never really letting him in, never looking at him the way she once had.

He was terrified that if he failed to win her back, Charles Chase, or maybe Julian Jarvis, would linger in her life instead.

“So what are you saying? I’m not allowed to see him anymore?”

Cecilia stared at him in disbelief. Fu Zhiyan hadn’t changed—still imposing, still unreasonable.

She was exhausted, unwilling to argue, and simply walked past him without another word.

Her wrist was caught from behind. His voice was tinged with helplessness. “Cecilia…”

“Fu Zhiyan, tell me… Can a shattered mirror ever be pieced back together?”

Her gentle question was utterly flat, void of feeling. She pulled her hand free and started upstairs.

Fu Zhiyan’s chest went hollow at her retreat. Regaining his senses, he strode forward in a few quick steps and wrapped her in his arms, helpless. “Cecilia, tell me—what do you want me to do?”

He genuinely wanted to know. What would it take for Cecilia to trust him again? Whatever it was, he’d do it—if only she would say.

Instead, he was left stumbling blindly, forever kept outside the walls of her heart. No matter how hard he tried, it seemed like he’d never find a way in again.

But in Cecilia’s ears, his words sounded as if he were just losing patience, thinking she was making a fuss over nothing.

She didn’t dare ask for anything. She had once wanted Fu Zhiyan to believe her, to stay by her side, not to leave. But in the end, Fu Zhiyan still left.

Hope had always led only to disappointment, so she no longer wished for anything from him.

She bit her lip, composing herself with effort. “You should go. There’s nothing I want you to do.”

She tried to twist free from his embrace. His hands, however, refused to let go.

Her struggles only made Fu Zhiyan more desperate to prove he belonged in her life. Uncontrollably, he bent down, cupping the back of her head, sealing her lips with his own.

In that moment, Fu Zhiyan was like a lion defending its territory, determined to keep her by his side.

“Fu Zhiyan, let me go!”

Cecilia Ye jerked in surprise, anger coloring her face as she tried to break free.

Fu Zhiyan was burning with frustration. She was standing on the stairs, and when she twisted away, her hand slapped across his face with a crack.

The blow was forceful. Fu Zhiyan’s head snapped to the side; the sound was especially sharp in the stairwell. Cecilia Ye was momentarily stunned….

“Cecilia, do you trust Julian Jarvis more than me?”

Fu Zhiyan’s eyes were bloodshot. He wiped the corner of his mouth, almost absently.

Cecilia Ye shook her head. It was unclear whether she were denying it or simply unwilling to answer.

One of them—he—was her greatest, most unspeakable love, the person branded deepest into her soul.

The other was her friend, always ready to help when she was at her lowest, someone she could not afford to lose.

How could she choose between them?

“Fu Zhiyan, I’m not a punching bag for your anger.” Furious and disappointed, she shoved him away, sniffling to keep from crying.

Her softly rounded belly bumped lightly against Fu Zhiyan’s waist. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him; he let go at once.

Cecilia Ye paused a moment, then turned and ran upstairs, shutting her bedroom door behind her.

Night crept in. Fu Zhiyan stood leaning against the stair railing for a long, long time. The stairwell lights were off; only a faint glow filtered up from below.

His sharp features were half-shadowed in the dimness, the ridges of his jaw thrown into stark relief.

He took out a cigarette, slumped against the banister. But he didn’t light it, just turned it restlessly between his fingers.

He’d always thought of himself as a rational man. Yet whenever it came to Cecilia—anything related to her—he lost all sense and reason.

He understood, painfully well, that this only pushed her away.

After a long while, he looked out at the deepening night, went upstairs, and turned on the light. He had someone send dinner over.

Cecilia’s door stayed closed. Fu Zhiyan knocked gently—twice. No answer. He pressed the latch and stepped inside.

She was curled up small on the bed, under the covers. He spoke softly as he approached, turning on the bedside lamp.

Cecilia was fast asleep, her face half-hidden by the quilt, messy hair spilling over the pillow—and another tangle trailing down almost to the floor.

She hadn’t even bothered to move closer to the wall. He crouched, gently smoothing her hair back from the edge of the bed.

Sighing, he sat by her side and reached out, softly touching her cheek. She was warm from sleep.

“Cecilia, don’t be mad… This is my fault. I’m just…afraid that I’ll mess everything up.”

“I never thought… things could get so much worse…”