The scent of rain and sandalwood still clung to the sheets, even though the warmth beside her had long faded.
Lin Yuyan sat up slowly, the silk robe slipping from her shoulder as morning light flooded the bedroom. The night had been long—quiet, tender, but untouched. Their bodies had found closeness, but they hadn't crossed that final line.
Not yet.
She remembered the way he had held her.
How he'd tucked her into his arms like something precious. How his lips had lingered at her temple, his hand stroking her hair until she drifted into sleep.
But no kiss had turned hungry. No fingers had become impatient. They'd stayed at the edge of something deeper—hovering, resisting.
She wasn't sure whether to be relieved… or more afraid.
**
She found Luchen in the kitchen, already dressed in a slate-gray suit, tie forgotten, sleeves rolled up as he flipped through a folder.
He looked up the moment she stepped in.
"Morning," he said, voice soft, cautious.
She nodded. "You didn't sleep?"
"Not much."
She poured herself tea and sat across from him. "Work?"
"More like ghosts."
Her fingers tightened around the porcelain cup.
"You found something," she guessed.
He exhaled. "We traced part of the IP address used to send those messages. The ones you didn't tell me about."
She looked down.
"I wasn't hiding them. I just…" Her voice faltered. "I didn't want to believe it was him."
"Zhao Lemin?"
She nodded once.
He paused. "It might be. Or it might be someone using his name."
"What if it's both?"
He closed the file, set it aside.
"There's more."
Her heart thudded.
He hesitated, then pulled out a still frame from a video. Grainy. Blurry. But the figure was unmistakable.
Zhao Lemin.
Leaning against a stone railing outside a luxury resort in Macau.
And beside him—half out of frame—a man holding what looked like a flash drive.
Yuyan's eyes widened.
"This was the night before the wedding," Luchen said. "Not the day of his disappearance—the night before."
"What was he doing?"
"We're not sure. The man he met has offshore ties. A reputation for erasing debts... and people."
She set the photo down, her fingers trembling.
"I thought he was in trouble," she whispered. "But what if he… chose to leave?"
Luchen didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer, kneeling in front of her. His hands cupped hers, steadying them.
"You don't have to carry that alone."
Her eyes met his. "But you've been carrying it for months."
His jaw tightened.
"Because I thought I could protect you from it. From him."
"From what, Luchen? The truth?" Her voice cracked. "Or your part in it?"
He flinched.
But then, instead of deflecting, he nodded.
"I was there that night. Not with him, but nearby. I'd followed him. I knew something was off. But by the time I got close, he was gone. And by morning, you were mine."
She looked away, breath caught in her throat.
"You married me knowing he didn't vanish by accident."
"I married you because I couldn't bear to let you go again."
Silence fell, heavy and aching.
Yuyan stood, slowly moving to the balcony. The breeze tangled her hair. The city below sparkled like it didn't know how broken they were.
Luchen followed.
She didn't stop him.
When his arms wrapped around her from behind, she didn't lean away.
But she didn't lean in, either.
"We haven't…" she began softly, "crossed that line yet. Not because I don't want to. But because I'm still trying to understand who you are now."
"I know," he murmured. "That's why I haven't rushed."
His breath brushed the back of her neck. "I want more than your body, Yuyan. I want the part of you that stops pretending when no one's watching."
Her heart tightened.
"I don't know if I can trust what I feel yet," she whispered.
He nodded behind her. "Then I'll wait."
And he meant it.
**
That afternoon, she sat alone in her dressing room, staring at the mirror.
The reflection looking back at her didn't seem like hers anymore.
A message blinked on her phone.
Unknown number: Would you like to know why he really married you?
She froze.
Then another message arrived.
Photo attachment.
With shaking fingers, she opened it.
A photo. Clear as day.
Zhao Lemin, standing in a private villa she didn't recognize.
Holding a marriage contract—their contract.
In the background, unmistakably, stood Luchen. And beside him, a third man with his back to the camera, tall, coat-collared, imposing.
She stared at it, bile rising in her throat.
Message: Ask him what happened the night before your wedding. Not during. Before.
**
That night, she couldn't sleep.
When Luchen curled beside her in bed, wrapping her in his arms again, she let him. His touch was warm. Familiar. Almost safe.
But her eyes stayed open.
She didn't tell him about the message.
She couldn't.
Not yet.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and whispered, "You're safe."
But the word felt heavy. Uncertain.
Because the longer she stayed in his arms, the more she feared the truth might tear them apart before they ever truly began.
**
Elsewhere, in a silent corner of the city, Zhao Lemin watched the same photo on a laptop screen.
He touched her face on the screen. His voice was bitter and low.
"You never asked why I left. Only how."
Behind him, the man in the long coat stepped forward.
"She's starting to question him. It won't be long now."
Lemin's jaw clenched. "I wanted to protect her."
"But now," the man said, lighting a match, "you want her back."
The flame flickered between them.
Lemin didn't answer.
But he didn't deny it either.
---