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“Snap!”
The laptop slammed shut with the force of a guillotine. Chen Shu Yin threw herself onto it, arms crossed, pressing down on both sides. The cold electronic device chilled her wrists, freezing her body temperature and heartbeat.
“Why did you stop watching?”
A voice behind her spoke with amusement, watching her trembling back.
Her thin knit dress tightened against her torso due to her forward motion, accentuating her delicate waist. His hand rested on his thigh as he asked, “Do you remember now?”
Chen Shu Yin turned around, her hips rubbing against the fabric of his dress pants by a few centimeters—though she remained completely unaware of it.
She examined his expression from top to bottom, her gaze calm. She watched the entire scene play out without any embarrassment or discomfort, as if she were merely an outsider observing a film rather than someone involved in the events captured by the surveillance footage.
Was this the psychological resilience of an actress?
Or had he already watched this footage so many times that he was simply waiting for her to step into the trap?
“You did this on purpose?” Chen Shu Yin buried her face in her arms in frustration, her voice muffled and embarrassed.
Pei Yu, in a leisurely tone, replied, “Why would you say that?”
Chen Shu Yin remained in her position, turning her head to glare at him. “You deliberately set me up, recorded this edited surveillance footage while I was not fully conscious, and now you want to use it to blackmail me?”
Pei Yu reached around her waist and effortlessly pulled her up, pressing her against his chest. His lips and chin brushed against the back of her small, flushed ear. “I adjusted the playback speed right in front of you, second by second. And now you want to twist the truth and make yourself look innocent?”
Chen Shu Yin had miscalculated. Faced with undeniable evidence, she had no argument to make.
After a few seconds, she muttered hesitantly, “There must be some misunderstanding. Don’t you think it’s strange?”
She decided to throw caution to the wind and use his own words against him. “I dislike you so much—why would I suddenly propose to you? Maybe I was the one who set you up.”
Pei Yu’s eyes flickered slightly, and his voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if he were sharing a secret. “So… you’re admitting it?”
“I—” Chen Shu Yin caught the subtle shift in his tone and hesitated. She quickly sat up, scrambling to explain, “I’m just suggesting a hypothesis! Just a hypothetical scenario!”
During the ten minutes she spent on his lap, she had not stayed still for even a single second. Pei Yu’s thigh muscles were tense, his jaw clenched, and his Adam’s apple moved heavily as he swallowed.
Letting out a sharp breath, he suddenly lifted her like a rabbit and set her down on the chair beside him.
Satisfied, she finally left his lap. “So, from your perspective, this is the best answer you can give?”
His legs were firm and uncomfortable to sit on. Now, with her legs slightly numb, she tugged her skirt down and huffed, “Well, I can’t think of any reason to marry someone I don’t like and don’t get along with.”
“And you—if I wasn’t in my right mind, were you not either?” Chen Shu Yin turned back, finding more logical inconsistencies.
She had only kissed him once and said a few words that even a dog wouldn’t believe, yet Pei Yu had taken the bait so easily?
She muttered to herself, “You could’ve just treated me like you used to—mocking me, belittling me, saying I wasn’t worthy, looking down on me, calling me delusional—”
Her words were abruptly cut off when Pei Yu’s gaze darkened. “When have I ever treated you that way? When have I ever said those things?”
His expression was too pained, too sincere.
For a brief moment, Chen Shu Yin’s mind went blank. It took her over ten seconds to regain her thoughts before she finally responded, “Oh, I was just making an inference based on the way you’ve acted over the past seven years.”
“Well, if you never said those things, then you never said them,” she muttered. “Why act all pitiful?”
Pei Yu suddenly spoke with an air of quiet wisdom. “People change.”
“Who? You or me?” Chen Shu Yin declared confidently, “I haven’t changed at all in seven years. Are you saying your feelings for me changed over the past three?”
Pei Yu remained silent.
Not denying it was an admission. Not explaining it was a confession. Not covering it up was practically a public announcement!
Chen Shu Yin felt a chill crawl up her spine, like a venomous snake slithering along her back, its cold, sticky touch sending shivers through her bones.
Her eyes widened in shock, pupils dilating as she turned to face him directly. “You—don’t tell me you secretly… fell for me?”
Pei Yu’s dark pupils gleamed brighter at that moment, fixed on her face, scrutinizing every microexpression.
The large office was eerily silent, like a deserted island.
Even the faintest shuffle of her movements seemed unbearably loud.
She gripped the armrest of her chair as if trying to suppress the noise—and the terrifying truth that was about to erupt.
Minutes passed, the silence stretching endlessly. Pei Yu’s gaze dimmed, his expression unreadable. Then he chuckled softly, almost mockingly.
He controlled his tone carefully, suppressing any cracks in his voice. With an indifferent expression, he asked, “Do you think that’s possible?”
Chen Shu Yin felt like she had just ridden a roller coaster—soaring high, only to plummet back to the ground.
She clutched her chest, as if shielding herself from a near heart attack. “Thank god. You scared me half to death. Can you not talk like you’re setting off landmines? I almost got blown up.”
“If anyone should feel deceived, it’s me,” Pei Yu countered. “You started this. You should take responsibility.”
“Haven’t I done enough?” Chen Shu Yin pointed at herself, incredulous. “I married you, I—slept with you!”
“So, I was the one who benefited?” Pei Yu abruptly stood, grabbed her arm, and pulled her up. “Chen Shu Yin, is this all the responsibility you have?”
Chen Shu Yin tilted her chin up, confused by his sudden intensity.
“Can’t figure it out?” Pei Yu pushed her toward the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be clever? If you don’t get it, go back and think it through.”
“Are you insane? First, you dragged me here, and now you’re kicking me out. You think just because you have a desk, you can act like a CEO? Summoning and dismissing people as you please?” she shot back. “Delusional.”
Pei Yu laughed mockingly. “You’re right.”
That night, at 11:30 PM, the city—devoid of nightlife—gradually fell into slumber.
Only Liu Yi Ran’s residence remained as lively as a marketplace.
A chaotic mix of sounds echoed through the building—the arguments over a mahjong game on the first floor, a high school English audio lesson on the second, the screeching of a violin on the third, passionate moans from the fifth, and the despairing wails from the fourth, where Liu Yi Ran herself lived.
As Liu Yi Ran scrolled through her messages, a thought crossed her mind.
Was Pei Yu planning to make an announcement at tomorrow’s event?