When Cecilia Ye woke, it was still dark outside, rain drumming insistently against the windowpane.
Her long lashes quivered as she glanced around—the hospital room was unfamiliar, but at least she felt no pain beyond a lingering fatigue. Supporting her waist, she sat up slowly, waiting for her dizziness to subside.
Where was Zhiyé...
In an instant, memories of what had happened before she passed out came flooding back.
Where was Fu Zhiyé...
She barely remembered to put on her shoes as she rushed to the door—only to find it guarded by four men, all dressed in black from head to toe.
At her sudden appearance, one of the bodyguards bowed respectfully. "Miss, is something wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"
Cecilia Ye shook her head, panic coloring her voice. "Where’s Zhiyé? He was shot—how is he?"
Charles Chase, before leaving, had guessed she’d be anxious when she woke up, and despite his reluctance, he’d told the guards to look out for her.
One of them ducked inside to fetch her slippers, setting them gently at her feet.
She looked at him and murmured a quick thank you before slipping them on.
"Miss, President Foster is next door—he's out of danger now."
Hearing those words, Cecilia Ye felt the tension release all at once. He was safe. Thank goodness.
Without hesitation, she hurried out to the room next door, her steps quick and anxious.
Outside Fu Zhiyé’s room also stood several guards, one of whom—tall and muscular, his arm wrapped in a blood-stained bandage—was Old Third. Spotting Cecilia Ye, he bowed his head. "Madam."
With the boss's fondness for his wife, there was no way they’d let anything happen to her.
Old Third stood well over six feet, a muscular giant bowing deferentially to the petite girl barely more than five foot three—a comical sight.
He did his best to soften his intimidating features into a kindly smile, only managing to look scarier in the process.
Thankfully, Cecilia was far too worried to care. "Is Zhiyé okay? Can I see him?" she blurted out.
Old Third nodded; if the boss knew how worried she was, he’d probably power through his injuries just to reassure her.
"Madam, please don’t worry. President’s strong—a little bullet isn’t—" Catching the anxious look on her face, Old Third stopped himself and opened the door.
The lights were on inside. As Cecilia Ye entered, the door closed gently behind her.
Fu Zhiyé still wore an oxygen mask. His arm was hooked up to an IV, wires clinging to his wrist whose function she didn’t recognize. His forearm was bandaged where a cut had been stitched.
She’d never seen Fu Zhiyé so frail, stripped of his usual cold dominance—his beautiful eyes shut tight, his face drained of color.
Thinking of what had happened that day—watching Fu Zhiyé get shot, watching him collapse before her, watching blood soak his entire back—Cecilia Ye still tasted the metallic tang of fear and blood in every breath.
The scariest moment of this whole ordeal wasn't when she’d been kidnapped, or locked in that warehouse, or even when Vivian Belle had hit her—
It was when Fu Zhiyé had slumped in her arms and she’d almost lost her hold on him.
Only then did it truly hit her: Fu Zhiyé was just a man. He could be wounded. He could bleed. He could die...
He could also be hurt, regretful, make mistakes...
She stood at his bedside, unmoving, tears sliding silently onto the white blanket and blooming into small stains.
After everything they’d been through, neither of them had truly found their own hearts.
She’d always hesitated, doubting, stepping back whenever she got close.
And Fu Zhiyé, bewildered and reckless, had only known how to barge forward towards her.
They were both so hopelessly foolish.
Cecilia Ye wiped her tears away, tucked his injured hand beneath the covers, then reached to warm the hand hooked to the IV—it felt cold to the touch.
She pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat, cupping his hand to warm it in her own.
For a long time, all she could think was: Fu Zhiyé, thank you for staying alive.
The rain’s gentle whisper filled the room, lulling her.
Still tired, she drifted off at his bedside, head resting against the mattress.
In the hush of the infirmary, the monitors pulsed a steady, electronic "beep...beep...beep."
After what felt like an eternity, the man in the bed finally blinked awake. Maybe the anesthesia hadn't entirely worn off—he felt weak, but otherwise alright.
Where was Cecilia?
He tried to move his finger to press the call button, but something was weighing his hand down. Turning his head, he saw her: the petite girl dozing at his bedside.
She’d placed her hand atop his. She looked so peaceful in sleep, delicate cheeks flushed red. Thankfully the room was air-conditioned—she wasn’t cold.
Still, it couldn’t have been comfortable for her. His gaze fell on her stomach—her curled-up position made her little belly look even rounder.
Though he was reluctant to disturb her, Fu Zhiyé managed to wiggle his fingers, hoping to rouse her. Only when he tried to speak did he realize his voice was barely more than a whisper.
He drew in a shaky breath and coughed.
The girl slowly woke, feeling her hand held in his. She looked up at once, meeting his gaze.
For a moment, neither spoke. All the complicated, unspoken feelings passed between their eyes.
Cecilia suddenly forgot all the words she’d wanted to say.
Fu Zhiyé squeezed her hand gently, then frowned. His voice was hoarse. "Go sleep in the bed."
The private room had a spare, slightly smaller bed alongside his.
Cecilia Ye shook her head, worry plain in her voice. "I’m fine… Are you feeling okay? Does it hurt?"
"No. Are… you alright?"
His voice, muffled by the mask, barely carried. His eyes never left her, full of care and concern.
"I’m fine—" She instinctively laid a hand over her belly. "The baby’s doing well too."
He kept looking at her, making her flustered. "I’ll go call the doctor."
She turned to leave, but he caught her hand. "Just press the call button."
Fu Zhiyé almost laughed, but didn’t show it. Cecilia was still the same scatterbrain as ever.
Blushing, Cecilia Ye awkwardly pressed the nurse call button.
The doctor arrived quickly. Cecilia Ye stepped aside, watching anxiously as the doctor began examining Fu Zhiyé.