The soft ticking of the clock in the office was the only sound that filled the space, aside from the gentle rustling of papers as Huo Shenzhi flipped through a file without really reading it. His thoughts were sluggish, drowned by the weight of confusion that clung to his chest like wet linen.
The door to his office swung open suddenly.
"Master Huo," his assistant called breathlessly, flustered and holding something in both hands. "The housekeeper delivered this. It's for you."
Shenzhi didn't even lift his gaze. "Leave it. I'm not hungry."
"It's from Madam Jiaxuan."
That made him pause.
The assistant walked forward and carefully placed the insulated flake container on the desk, along with a folded sticky note.
A strange emotion flickered across Shenzhi's face as he slowly picked up the note, unfolding it.
> "Eat this properly. I made it fresh. —Jiaxuan."
With a tiny heart drawn beside her name.
The handwriting was unmistakably hers—neat, graceful, and familiar.
A muscle twitched in his jaw.
She left.
She left without a word. Took their son. Again.
He had waited all night, wondering—half in dread, half in denial. Then came the silence, the coldness of the wardrobe missing none of her clothes, the untouched spot beside him in bed. He had told himself she wouldn't leave. Not again. Not without telling him.
But now, this?
She thought a neatly packed meal and a cute note would fix what she broke?
His heart began to beat faster, the kind of heartbeat that wasn't warmth but pressure—simmering disappointment coiling into anger.
He snatched his phone and dialed home.
The housekeeper picked up with an audible tremble. "Young Master…"
"Where is she?" His voice was flat, deceptively calm.
"She—she left earlier in the day. She came back with Young Master Yichen for a short while, dropped him off, packed food and essentials, then left again with the child," the woman reported, voice shaking. "She said… she would call you…"
His throat constricted.
He stared at the flake on his table again. Warm. Sealed. Carefully prepared.
With food meant for him.
His jaw clenched as the pieces of himself he'd tried to gather began to shatter all over again.
"So I'm just someone she feeds now?" he whispered bitterly.
Without another thought, Shenzhi stood abruptly, his chair sliding back noisily. He grabbed the flake—then, in one swift movement, hurled it against the far wall.
CRASH.
The container hit the white wall and exploded open. Rice, beef sauce, vegetables, and carelessly poured love splattered against the wall and floor. The rich aroma of her cooking filled the room, but it only choked him.
His assistant flinched, frozen in place.
"Clean that up," Shenzhi said, his voice low, broken at the edges.
The assistant looked at him, wide-eyed with hesitation.
Shenzhi turned away toward the window, his back straight, shoulders rigid—but the pain rolled off of him in waves.
"She said she loved me..." he muttered, as if talking to himself. "She looked me in the eye, begged for a second chance, and then left. Again."
He placed both hands on the window frame, staring out at the city that knew nothing of how his world felt like it was crumbling.
"I was stupid to think… I meant something again."
_________________
Lin Jiaxuan hadn't been home for long when the sharp clatter of hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway. One of the maids, panting lightly and eyes wide with apprehension, stepped into the foyer where Jiaxuan was unbuckling Yichen from his car seat.
"Madam—Young Madam," the girl stammered, "Master Huo… he's back. He came home early."
Jiaxuan froze.
Her fingers tightened on the strap of Yichen's baby bag. He wasn't supposed to be home for another few hours. She'd carefully timed everything—cooking, returning from the hospital, tidying the living room—because she wasn't ready to face him again. Not after everything. Not yet.
Yichen, oblivious to the growing tension in the room, leaned his head sleepily against her shoulder and mumbled, "Mama… I'm tired…"
Jiaxuan gently kissed his temple. "Let's go upstairs first," she whispered.
But before she could take another step, the unmistakable sound of firm, composed footsteps descended the staircase.
Huo Shenzhi stood at the base of the stairs in a tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his jacket in hand as if he'd just come in and was ready to leave again. His eyes found her immediately—calm, unreadable, but not cold. That, somehow, was worse. His silence, the absence of fury, made the space between them suffocating.
"You're back," she said softly.
He nodded once. "I was told my wife left the house again without informing anyone. With my son."
The way he said my son—not our son—cut deeper than anything.
Jiaxuan held her ground. "I went to see my mother. She fainted, and I didn't want to cause panic."
"I wasn't informed."
"I left a message," she whispered.
His brows arched. "To whom? The housekeeper? The guards? It's my job to worry about you, Jiaxuan. You've made it increasingly difficult."
She clenched her jaw, shifting Yichen gently in her arms. "You weren't answering your calls. You never do anymore."
For a moment, nothing moved between them. Just heavy silence and unspoken pain.
Yichen, sensing the chill in the air, squirmed uncomfortably and looked up at his father with large, worried eyes. "Papa… " he murmured sleepy.
Huo Shenzhi's expression softened slightly as he looked at his son. But when his gaze returned to Jiaxuan, it hardened again.
"I'm in no mood for theatrics tonight," he said. "We'll talk when Yichen is asleep."
Then he turned and disappeared into his study, the door closing behind him with a quiet, final click.
Jiaxuan exhaled shakily, feeling the warmth of Yichen's small hands against her chest. She climbed the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last. Upstairs, she laid him gently on his bed, covered him, and ran her fingers through his soft hair.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'll make everything right. Even if I have to shatter first."
Downstairs, the clock ticked on.
And the storm between love and pride brewed quietly behind closed doors.
Jiaxuan stood in front of the mirror in their bedroom, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the pale lilac satin dress that hugged her body just right—not too revealing, but soft, feminine. The kind she remembered he used to admire on her, long before their marriage turned cold.
She had braided her hair loosely, letting strands frame her face gently, applying just enough makeup to brighten her tired features. She didn't want to look like she was trying too hard… even though she was.
Tonight's conversation wasn't going to be easy, she knew. But she had to try.
So she lit a small candle by the nightstand, sprayed the room with the soft vanilla scent he used to say reminded him of peace, and placed a tray of warm tea by the coffee table—his favorite blend.
Maybe, just maybe, a gentle environment might soothe the storm between them.
Downstairs, in the dimly lit study, Huo Shenzhi sat at his desk, fingers clenched loosely around his pen, yet the pages before him remained blank.
He wasn't working. He hadn't been working for the past hour.
Instead, he'd been staring at the soft flicker of the table lamp, thoughts spiraling.
She had gone… again.
She had taken their son… again.
And he hadn't known. Not a word. Not a call.
His jaw clenched, remembering the call he had placed home only to learn from the trembling voice of the housekeeper that Jiaxuan had left—twice—without a word to him. And when he finally got through, it was to find she'd spent the night at a hospital. Her mother had fainted. She had been scared. She had been hurting.
But she hadn't told him.
She'd told her brother. She'd told the housekeeper. She'd told the guards.
But not him.
His mind reeled with thoughts he didn't want to entertain. Am I just the man she shares a house with?
Her son's father?
An outsider with a legal bond and an open wound?
He hated how it made him feel—so insignificant in the life of the woman he still loved but couldn't understand anymore. She said she was trying. She smiled, she flirted, she even cooked for him. But she didn't trust him enough to lean on when it mattered.
Was it all a game?
Was she just playing along until something better came?
The bedroom was quiet—too quiet.
Jiaxuan had carefully placed the night lamps on, scented the air faintly with the aroma of white tea blossoms, and changed into a soft silk dress. She had brushed her hair, applied a pale tint of lip balm, and even dabbed behind her ears the cologne she remembered he once paused to inhale during gentler days.
She sat, back straight, on the edge of the bed, like a student waiting for a verdict.
Only this time, her crime was silence.
The door creaked open with an unsettling calm. Huo Shenzhi stepped inside—his tall frame cloaked in a cold shadow that stretched across the floor before he even reached her.
He looked up.
She was… beautiful.
She had dressed in a soft, elegant way that stirred something in his chest—but he didn't allow it to show on his face. He noticed the tea, the effort. The softness. But it felt like a bitter sweetness on his tongue.
"Honey," she said gently, trying to smile as she walked toward him. "You didn't eat, so I made tea. I thought we could talk."
He didn't move.
"Is this your way of avoiding me again?" he asked quietly, voice calm, but laced with an ache that made her stomach twist.
She blinked. "What?"
"My mother-in-law was in the hospital," he said, staring straight into her eyes. "And I found out after the fact. Like a stranger."
She took a step forward. "I tried to tell you, but you were—"
"You didn't try hard enough," he interrupted coldly. "Everyone else knew but me. Again."
Jiaxuan swallowed hard. "I didn't want to worry you. I—"
"No," he said firmly. "Don't protect me from worry, Jiaxuan. Protect me from irrelevance."
His words struck her like a slap.
"I'm your husband," he said, voice hoarse now, the pain finally pushing through his mask. "Or at least I used to be. But these days, I don't know who I am to you."
She rushed forward, kneeling beside his chair. "You're everything to me," she whispered.
He scoffed. "Then why do I feel like I'm watching you live a life I was never invited into?"
Tears welled in her eyes, her hands gently reaching for his. "Please… just give me time. I'm trying to fix what I broke."
He looked down at her.
And for the first time in a long time, he let her see it—everything he'd buried. The hurt. The longing. The distrust. The grief.
"I don't want to keep bleeding for a woman who only gives me bandages when it's convenient," he murmured.
He raised a hand. She flinched instinctively.
Not because he would ever strike her—no—
But because tonight, something in his eyes looked far more violent than fists.
Something like a storm building for years.
"You didn't tell me."
His voice was rough. Controlled.
The kind of control people have right before they break.
She hesitated. "About what?"
He scoffed—a humorless, bitter thing. "Don't do that."
"Shenzhi, please…"
"My mother-in-law—your mother—was rushed to the hospital. You left with our son. You came back, picked up some things, and left again. No call. No note. Not even a damn text. Am I a stranger to you?"
"No! I— I was going to tell you, but things happened so fast, I didn't want you to worry—"
"Oh, stop," he barked, and she flinched at the sharpness of it. "Don't act like this was to protect me. Was it your brother who needed to know more than me? The housekeeper? The damn guards?!"
He picked up the glass of water on the dresser and hurled it at the wall. It shattered with a sharp crash, glass spraying across the floor.
Jiaxuan gasped, trembling. She had never—never—seen him like this. His face was darkened with something she couldn't name. Not just anger. Pain. Deep, strangled pain.
"You keep saying you want to make this marriage work," he spat, "but you're still living like I'm nothing more than a shadow passing through your days!"
"I'm not! I'm trying, Shenzhi—I've been trying every day!"
"Then why the hell don't I feel it?!" he roared, swiping the tray of tea she had lovingly set on the nightstand. The porcelain shattered on the floor. Her heart shattered with it.
Yichen's name burned on her tongue, the instinct to protect him so strong she gasped, "The baby—what if he heard?"
"I don't care," he said coldly, chest heaving. "Maybe he should know exactly the kind of mother he has."
She staggered. "Don't you dare talk like that."
"You walked out again, Jiaxuan. And you didn't think I deserved a text. A call. Nothing."
She was crying now, the force of his fury too much. She backed toward the wall, hands shaking. "I didn't mean to shut you out…"
"But you did." He walked toward her, slowly, like the room was too hot to breathe in. "You did. Over and over again. And you're always smiling, always pretending like we're fine, like cooking or kissing my forehead makes everything go away. But do you know what I'm tired of?"
She looked up at him through watery eyes.
"I'm tired of begging my wife to love me."
Silence collapsed between them. Deafening.
Then he turned.
Walked to the wardrobe.
Yanked open the doors and threw out one of her dresses.
"Get out," he said, voice low and guttural. "I can't look at you right now. I'll hurt you with words I can't take back."
"Shenzhi…" she whispered, broken.
But he didn't turn. He sat at the edge of the bed, back to her, trembling like a man on the edge of losing everything.
"Please," he said, this time barely audible. "Leave before I hurt you"
She pressed her hands to her mouth to muffle the sobs.
Because no one had ever loved her the way Shenzhi did. And no one had ever hurt her like he just did.
And she had no one to blame but herself.
" How could you lie to me?"
The words cracked like thunder.
He reached for the desk, his hand sweeping off the pen holder with a loud crash. The pens and ceramic cup shattered on the floor. Jiaxuan stumbled back, heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"You knew exactly what you were doing, Lin Jiaxuan! You shut me out like I don't exist!"
She took a deep breath. "It wasn't like that…"
He advanced toward her. "I stayed up wondering where you were, who you were with, if you were okay—then your phone wouldn't go through. My own wife. I called and called, and nothing!"
"I was at the hospital! My mother—"
"I know!"
His fists curled. "But you didn't think I deserved to know. You told everyone else but me! Even the servants knew you were gone!"
His voice trembled. His body did too.
He turned abruptly, grabbing the tray of tea she'd made. She rushed to stop him, grasping his wrist.
"Please, Shenzhi! Stop, you're going to hurt yourself!"
In his struggle to pull away, she lost her balance and tried to hold on.
There was a split-second moment where their hands clashed and twisted.
A crack.
Not bone, but pain.
She winced, a sharp cry slipping from her lips as the tray clattered to the floor and the tea soaked through the rug.
He froze.
His eyes dropped to her hand.
Red.
Swollen.
"Jiaxuan…" he whispered, breath leaving him.
But she pulled her hand back with trembling fingers, trying to hide the pain.
"I'm fine," she said, voice breaking. "Just like you wanted. I'll be fine. You can hate me again tomorrow if it helps you sleep."
"Don't—" he started, but she was already stepping back.
"You think I'm pretending. You think everything I do now is fake," she said, tears slipping silently. "But I cook for you. I smile for you. I lay awake hoping you'll just look at me once the way you used to… I'm trying to fix what I broke. But you won't even let me."
He looked down, chest heaving.
"You slept beside me, but you were never with me," he whispered.
Her lips parted, but the words wouldn't come.
"You left me long before you ever walked out. You chose him. You threw me away like I was a phase."
"I didn't love him," she cried, heart split open. "I was confused. But now—now I love you, Shenzhi!"
He turned away, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. Then he stormed to her side of the closet. Pulled out a suitcase. Threw it open. Began flinging random pieces of clothing inside.
"Leave."
She blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. I can't— I won't do this tonight." His voice cracked. "If I let you stay, I'll say things I'll regret."
"Shenzhi, please—"
"I said get out!"
He grabbed her arm again, this time gently, but forcefully enough to pull her to the door. When she didn't resist, he let her go, shoving the suitcase toward her.
"I need to sleep," he muttered. "I can't breathe in this room anymore."
He slammed the door in her face.
She stood outside, the cold air hitting her body, her injured hand shaking, her heart aching like a wound that would never heal. She slowly sank to the floor, back against the wall, knees to her chest.
She bit her lip to stop the sobs.
Behind the door, he sat on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands, fists pressed to his eyes to stop .
The house was cloaked in silence, broken only by the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant tick of the antique hallway clock. Jiaxuan tiptoed barefoot into the kitchen, her breath shaky, her soul aching. Her eyes were still wet, but she had stopped sobbing hours ago. What was the point?
She opened the cabinet, pulling out a glass with trembling fingers, and filled it at the sink. Her throat was dry—parched like her spirit—but even as the water touched her lips, her hands shook so much she had to set the glass down.
She heard a sharp gasp behind her.
"Madam?"
The voice belonged to Aunt Mei, the senior housekeeper who had worked in the Huo family for nearly two decades. The older woman had been lingering in the hallway, too restless to sleep after the loud shattering noises from upstairs. She had tried to pretend it was none of her business—until she saw Jiaxuan now.
"M-Madam, your eyes… and your hand… it's bleeding!" Aunt Mei rushed forward, heart pounding. "What happened?"
Jiaxuan instinctively pulled her hand back, concealing the injury. "It's nothing," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Just a misunderstanding. Please… don't tell anyone. Especially not his family."
"But Madam, you're hurt—"
"Please," Jiaxuan said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Help me disinfect it. That's all."
Aunt Mei swallowed her concern and nodded. Wordlessly, she brought over the first-aid kit and pulled Jiaxuan to the kitchen stool. Gently, she cleaned the gash on her palm, wincing every time Jiaxuan hissed in pain but said nothing. The wound wasn't deep, but it was raw—angry, much like her heart.
"People say words don't leave bruises," Aunt Mei said softly, dabbing antiseptic. "But they do, don't they?"
Jiaxuan didn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on a far corner of the kitchen—on nothing and everything at once.
After bandaging the hand, Aunt Mei placed her own wrinkled fingers over Jiaxuan's. "You're not alone, you know. Not everyone in this house is blind."
Still, Jiaxuan smiled politely, even gratefully, but said nothing more. She stood slowly, whispered, "Thank you," and turned toward the stairs.
The climb to the second floor felt endless. Each step echoed like thunder in her ears, mocking her with every thud. She passed their bedroom—paused for a second outside the closed door, her hand grazing the knob—and then moved on.
She opened Yichen's door.
The moonlight spilling through the curtains cast a soft glow over the child's bed. He was sleeping, his tiny hands curled beneath his chin, his lashes trembling slightly like he was dreaming of something big and innocent. Jiaxuan's chest tightened.
He was her light. Her anchor. Her reason.
Quietly, she padded across the room, careful not to wake him. She climbed into the other side of the bed, the mattress shifting gently beneath her weight.
And then she just laid there—on her side, facing him—watching him breathe. She reached out, careful not to wake him, and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
"Mommy's here," she whispered into the silence, voice cracking. "Mommy's sorry."
For everything.
She pulled the blanket up over both of them and finally allowed herself to close her eyes. But even as sleep came to claim her, the pain in her chest refused to ease. The sting in her hand pulsed with every beat of her broken heart.
Downstairs, Aunt Mei stared at the bandages in her hand and whispered a silent prayer.