Chapter 3: The Legal Wife in the Guest Room  

“Madam, your things…” Aunt Zhang’s voice interrupted her thoughts.  

Lu Zhenzhu looked down at the pillow in her arms, embroidered with the initials of her and Gu Huai—a keepsake she had sewn with her own hands during their newlywed days. Now, she was being moved into the guest room like an unwanted guest.  

As night fell, soft laughter drifted from the master bedroom.  

Lying on the guest room bed, Lu Zhenzhu stared at the water stain on the ceiling, recalling Gu Huai’s promise: “I want to wake up to you every day from now on.”  

Now, the person by his side had changed, and even her right to sleep in the master bedroom had been stripped away.  

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand—a new post from Jiang Sesè on social media: “Finally moved into my dream room with floor-to-ceiling windows~”  

In the photo, she leaned against Gu Huai’s shoulder, the beige curtains behind them the very ones Lu Zhenzhu had picked out.  

Lu Zhenzhu’s nails dug into her palms as she stared at the room she had once painstakingly decorated—some warmth had never truly belonged to her.  

Outside, a light rain began to fall, and cold wind seeped through the guest room’s window frame.  

Downstairs, Gu Huai’s cough echoed. Her hand paused mid-air as she pulled back the blanket—she used to brew Pear Sweet Soup for him whenever he coughed.  

Instinctively, she started to rise to fetch medicine, then froze—she was no longer the one meant to care for him.  

Tears fell without warning, soaking into the pillow.  

She finally understood: some disappointments accumulated over time. No matter how bright the master bedroom’s windows were, they couldn’t illuminate the darkness in the guest room.  

And she—it was time to wake from this illusion called “marriage.”  

Before Gu Huai left the house, Lu Zhenzhu overheard him murmuring to Jiang Sesè at the doorway: “There’s bird’s nest stew in the fridge. Remember to heat it up.”  

Clutching a lawyer’s business card, she stepped outside. The spring sunlight fell on her shoulders but carried no warmth.  

Three hours later, she returned home with a drafted divorce agreement in hand. Pushing the door open, she saw Jiang Sesè lounging at the vanity, legs crossed, twirling a sandalwood comb—three of its teeth already broken.  

A memory flashed before her eyes: her mother’s frail hands combing her hair on her deathbed.  

It was the only keepsake her mother had left behind.  

“Who said you could touch my things?!” Lu Zhenzhu’s voice trembled.  

Jiang Sesè reapplied her lipstick in the mirror, answering carelessly, “Since you’re moving to the guest room anyway, I thought I’d help clear out these old things.”  

She flicked the broken comb with a fingertip. “Besides, Gu Huai said this house is mine to manage now.”  

Blind rage surged through Lu Zhenzhu, and her hand flew out before she could stop it.  

Jiang Sesè’s cheek reddened instantly. After a stunned pause, she shrieked and lunged.  

Lu Zhenzhu stumbled back—just as Gu Huai appeared in the doorway.  

Jiang Sesè immediately collapsed dramatically, clutching Lu Zhenzhu’s sleeve with Oscar-worthy theatrics. “Ah Huai, she hit me…”  

“She destroyed my comb first! It was my mother’s—” Lu Zhenzhu didn’t even finish before Gu Huai cut her off.  

“Enough,” he said coldly, glancing at the broken comb on the floor. “It’s just a comb. Was violence necessary?”  

He bent to help Jiang Sesè up, smoothing her disheveled hair. “Rest on the sofa. I’ll get you an ice pack.”  

“That was my mother’s last memento,” Lu Zhenzhu heard herself say, as if the words came from somewhere far away.

Gu Huai paused but didn’t turn around, merely picking up the cigarette case from the coffee table: “Tell Aunt Zhang to buy a new one tomorrow.”

Amidst the sound of a struck match, he finally turned to look at her: “Don’t be so willful all the time. Sesè’s health isn’t good.”

Willful?

Lu Zhenzhu stared at the flame between his fingers and suddenly laughed.

Gu Huai seemed about to say something when Jiang Sesè tugged at his sleeve: “I cut my hand…” He immediately turned to fetch the first aid kit, his footsteps urgent.

The scent of sandalwood mixed with cigarette ash drifted into her nostrils. She recalled her mother saying, “A broken comb means severed fate”—how right that was.

As her fingertips touched the cold bedsheet, she suddenly remembered the tone Gu Huai used when he said, “My wife fears the cold.” So tenderness could be a double-edged sword.

At three in the morning, Lu Zhenzhu heard movement. Opening the door, she saw Gu Huai standing outside the guest room holding her usual blanket.

“The guest room’s cold. Brought you a blanket.”

His voice was slightly hoarse.

When Gu Huai pushed the door open, Lu Zhenzhu was polishing the broken comb under moonlight.

He carried the scent of women’s perfume, his tie hanging loosely around his neck like he’d just returned from some dalliance.

“Still awake?” He reached to touch her hair, but she dodged without hesitation.

Gu Huai’s hand froze midair.

Lu Zhenzhu looked up at him, forcing an ugly smile: “What? Here to avenge Jiang Sesè since I hit her?”

Gu Huai raised an eyebrow, then suddenly chuckled. Pinching her chin, he tilted her face upward: “Still throwing tantrums? I came to coax you.”

Before she could struggle, he pressed her against the headboard and kissed her.

His fingers dug into her waist with punishing force, yet softened abruptly when she bit his lower lip.

“Having the comb repaired urgently,” he whispered by her ear. “You’ll get it tomorrow—”

Lu Zhenzhu’s pushing stopped.

But the next moment, she heard his cutting words.

“Zhenzhu,” he murmured against her lips, “stop making trouble. Go apologize to Sesè.”

Tears fell unexpectedly. Lu Zhenzhu tasted their saltiness.

She remembered how he’d coaxed her like this after their wedding, saying “my bride must be the most obedient.” Now obedience meant swallowing all grievances to accommodate another woman’s tears.

“Her eyes are swollen from crying.” Gu Huai’s tongue traced her tear tracks while his hand slipped under her nightgown to grip her waist. “You don’t want to make things difficult for me, do you?”

Lu Zhenzhu stared at the shadows beneath his lashes.

Parting her lips not to yield but to sink her teeth into his tongue—blood flooded their mouths as he groaned, yet didn’t push her away.

“Does it hurt?” she panted, nails digging into his nape.

Gu Huai licked his bleeding lip and laughed, shaking her chin like teasing a temperamental cat.

“Be good,” he dragged her hand to his chest, “apologize, and I’ll stay with you tonight.”

The moon outside hid half its face behind clouds. Seeing the amusement in his eyes, Lu Zhenzhu suddenly found it laughable.

His coaxing had always been conditional charity.

Releasing her grip, she let his tie slip through her fingers and whispered: “Fine.”

Gu Huai seemed satisfied. He lowered his head to place a kiss on her forehead, then picked up the broken comb from the bedside table as he stood. “Have Aunt Zhang make bird’s nest soup tomorrow. Don’t throw a tantrum over such trivial matters again.”  

“Sleep now.” His palm gently patted her back, as if comforting a wounded child.  

Lu Zhenzhu buried her face in his chest, listening to his heartbeat mingled with the distant vibration of a phone.  

When Jiang Sesè’s message notification popped up, she felt his body suddenly tense.  

“Ah Huai, my stomach hurts…” The voice message carried a suppressed sob, piercingly clear in the silent night.  

Gu Huai’s fingers stilled in her hair, unmoving for a long moment.