He Run’s face turned a shade paler. He stammered, “I… I… I have money. My aunt adores me. You don’t have to worry—no one would dare bully you.”

Song Luan let out a heavy sigh in her heart. This guy was just too stubborn. Even after all that, he still refused to give up. She had no idea what kind of spell the original Song Luan had cast on him, but he was clearly too deep in to turn back now.

She yanked her hand free. At this point, she knew there was no reasoning with him. Instead, she gave a hollow, insincere smile and said, “Young Master He, I have things to do. I’ll be leaving now.”

He Run looked at her with reluctant longing, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, “Ah Luan, I… I’ll wait for you.”

Song Luan wasted no time. She turned on her heel and bolted. Thank god she could still run fast— otherwise, she’d be stuck in an endless loop of nonsense with him.

She didn’t stop until she had made it out of the garden, where she finally spotted a maid. Without hesitation, she stepped in front of the girl, blocking her path. Wearing her best don’t-mess-with-me expression, she snapped, “Where’s my husband?”

The maid looked absolutely miserable. Of all days for Third Miss to return—why did she have to run into her? Third Miss only came back once or twice a year, and every time, she was nothing short of a nightmare. The maid had seen what happened to those who displeased her before.

With a nervous finger, she pointed to the left. “Master Zhao is in your room.”

Song Luan waved a hand impatiently. “Alright, got it.”

She took a moment to straighten her clothes before heading in the direction the maid had indicated. The door was shut tight. Not a sound came from within.

Was he even inside?

Zhao Nanyu had returned before her. Shige was still asleep, undisturbed. At first, he had simply sat by the bed, but before long, he found himself standing. For the first time, he felt the urge to take a closer look at her room.

He had been here many times before, yet he had never truly looked around.

The room carried a faint, unique fragrance—one that belonged only to a young girl. A dressing table stood near the bed, a bronze mirror resting atop it. Zhao Nanyu stepped closer and pulled open a small drawer beneath the cabinet. Inside were an assortment of trinkets—delicate things meant for a young lady’s grooming. In the corner, a few handkerchiefs lay folded. He picked one up, turning it over in his hand for a closer look.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

The embroidery on these handkerchiefs was awful—the stitches uneven, the design barely recognizable. It was clear their owner’s needlework was abysmal.

Without a word, he placed them back where he found them, then settled down, pouring himself a cup of tea. He took a slow sip.

At that moment, the door swung open.

Song Luan stepped inside, her cheeks tinged pink, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. She looked straight at him and asked, “Is Shige still asleep?”

Zhao Nanyu lowered his gaze, fingers tightening around his cup. His voice was calm—too calm. “Yes.”

Then, suddenly, he lifted his head.

His dark eyes locked onto hers.

For a brief moment, Song Luan felt as though she had been caught in the gaze of something terrifying—something relentless and all-consuming.

Zhao Nanyu stood and slowly made his way to her. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. Reaching into his sleeve, he pulled out a pristine white handkerchief and, with almost exaggerated gentleness, wiped the sweat from her forehead. His tone was soft, caring.

“You’re sweating. Where did you come running from?”

A chill crawled up the back of Song Luan’s neck.

He was too gentle.

A feeling of unease settled in her chest, but she forced a dry laugh. “Maybe it’s just the heat.”

The warmth in Zhao Nanyu’s gaze faded ever so slightly. Beneath the surface, buried deep in his chest, roiled a storm of violence, jealousy, and something far darker. But his smile remained pleasant—harmless, even.

“Is that so?” His voice was light, casual. Then, with a hint of amusement, he added, “I could’ve sworn you ran here.”

Zhao Nanyu had witnessed Song Luan entangled with other men more times than he could count. Sometimes it was a noble heir, other times a young lord from a powerful family. He had always endured it, forcing himself to turn a blind eye until it became second nature.

But seeing her with He Run just now—that was different.

For the first time in a long while, anger surged in his chest. And jealousy. A violent, suffocating jealousy that made him want to rip that man apart, to claim her for himself.

Zhao Nanyu was a terrifying man. He was patient, calculated—his self-control razor-sharp. After hearing their conversation, he hadn’t stormed out in a fit of rage. No, he had simply left, soundless as a shadow.

Now, he stood there, watching her.

Watching that familiar yet unfamiliar face.

Song Luan felt the weight of his gaze, heavy and unrelenting, pinning her in place. She still had no idea he had overheard her conversation with He Run.

“It’s not like there’s anywhere to run,” she muttered, trying to ease the strange tension in the air.

Zhao Nanyu hated being lied to. Despised it.

But for now, he let it go. That wasn’t the question he truly wanted to ask. Instead, he said, almost casually, “Thirsty? Want some water?”

She hesitated for only a second.

She was thirsty—she hadn’t had a sip of water all morning, and after arguing with He Run for so long, her throat was unbearably dry.

She nodded. “Yeah… a little.”

Zhao Nanyu poured her a cup of water with practiced ease and handed it to her. “Here, drink.”

“Thanks.”

He watched her take a sip, then asked casually, “By the way, did your mother have a lot to say to you?”

Song Luan frowned slightly. He was talking more than usual today, and his questions felt… off. Random, yet oddly pointed. Still, she shook her head. “Not much.”

Zhao Nanyu’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Then why did it take you so long to get here?” His gaze locked onto hers, sharp and unwavering, as if he were searching for something beneath the surface. “Did you run into someone?”

For a brief second, her heart skipped a beat. Did he see something?

But no… that was impossible. The garden had been empty—only she and He Run had been there. No one else.

Right?

She wasn’t stupid—of course she wouldn’t tell him about running into He Run. Gritting her teeth, Song Luan forced herself to meet his gaze. “I didn’t see anyone.”

Lying to Zhao Nanyu was no easy feat. His eyes felt like they could strip her bare. She coughed lightly, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I just got delayed with my mother, that’s all.”

Zhao Nanyu was silent for a moment. Then, he smiled. “I see.”

His fingers curled tightly into a fist. Lying to his face? Good. So all this time, her so-called change was nothing but an act. She hadn’t changed at all.

A thousand punishments flickered through his mind. He wanted to pin her down, take her apart, press into her until she gasped for breath and beg for mercy. He wanted to shatter her legs, make her crawl to him, force her to cry and plead. He wanted to kill He Run and toss the body at her feet.

And yet, those thoughts slowly faded.

Not yet.

He understood himself better than anyone. His feelings for her were no longer what they used to be.

Jealousy. Anger. An unbearable possessiveness.

He liked seeing her teary-eyed and pitiful, her lips trembling in grievance. He liked pushing her to the edge, watching her struggle beneath him, her eyes turning red.

Zhao Nanyu grabbed her wrist—his fingers closing over the exact spot He Run had touched. He stared at it for a long time before pulling out that same white handkerchief and rubbing the area, once, twice, three times, as if wiping away filth.

Song Luan gasped. Her pale wrist had turned red from the rough treatment.

She barely had time to process it before remembering why she had come to find him in the first place. Ignoring the sting, she hurriedly said, “About what my mother said today—don’t take it to heart.”

Zhao Nanyu said calmly, “I didn’t.”

Liar!

She still remembered how his grip had nearly crushed her waist, and now he had the audacity to claim otherwise?

But there was nothing Song Luan could do to expose him. She could only play along. “Good, then.”

Zhao Nanyu didn’t ask what Concubine Lin had said to her. He already knew—persuading her to divorce him and find a better man. Even back when he despised Song Luan, the thought of divorcing her had never crossed his mind. And now?

Let her leave him and live happily with another man? Not even in her dreams.

On the bed, Shige stirred, his innocent, clear eyes fluttering open. He let out a small whimper, then, without so much as putting on his shoes, scrambled off the bed and bolted straight for the door.

He hated this room. Every time his mother brought him here, she locked him inside—alone from sunrise to sunset. He had to wait until it was dark, until his father finally came to take him away.

No one played with him. No one talked to him.

In the outer room, Song Luan blinked in surprise as the little boy charged toward her, dressed in nothing but a thin inner robe. Instinctively, she opened her arms, catching him as he flung himself at her.

Shige clung tightly to her leg, pressing his warm, flushed cheek against her but didn’t say a word.

Song Luan carefully picked him up and asked softly, “What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you even wearing shoes?”

Shige buried his head in her chest, still not uttering a word. His small hands clutched tightly onto the fabric of her shoulder, afraid that if he didn’t hold on tight enough, his mother might leave him again, locking him up in this place.

Song Luan’s collar was pulled open a bit by him, revealing a glimpse of her fair and soft chest. Zhao Nanyu glanced at it, then quickly averted his gaze, though his eyes darkened slightly.

He reached out and took Shige from her arms. The child struggled a little, but Zhao Nanyu said in a low voice, “Enough, be good.”

Zhao Nanyu’s few simple words were enough to intimidate Shige. The child obediently stayed in his father’s arms, not daring to move.

Zhao Nanyu looked up and gave her a deep glance, reminding her, “Your collar.”

Song Luan only then realized that her collar had been opened quite a bit. Blushing, she quickly adjusted her clothes, not daring to look up at him.

Zhao Nanyu, rarely in the mood to tease her, smiled with his beautiful eyes curving slightly. “Why so shy? It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

He licked his teeth, his eyes darkening with unspoken thoughts.

Want, really want.

Holding her waist, thrusting with wide, powerful motions.

=^_^=

Author has something to say: A Yu: No rush, we’ll settle this after autumn.

A Luan: Damn, I’m scared.