Volume One, Chapter 20: When fingertips gently brushed across that patch of skin...

"Although this is a marriage by agreement," she still wanted to continue, as if something was compelling her to finish her words. She spoke each word deliberately, "I don't want to cause unnecessary misunderstandings."

The traffic light flashed red, and the car came to an abrupt halt.

Bo Xingzhou suddenly reached out and lowered the air conditioning. The atmosphere seemed to drop to its lowest point.

The cold air stopped blowing directly at Bo Xingzhou’s head, and this subtle gesture sent an inexplicable tremor through her heart.

"Fu Yuting." Bo Xingzhou called her full name, each syllable carefully weighed on his lips and tongue, "Did we ever sign an agreement?"

The light turned green, and the Rolls-Royce merged back into the flow of traffic.

Rainwater was continuously split and rejoined by the windshield wipers, reflecting the tangled thoughts swirling in Fu Yuting’s mind.

She stole a glance at Bo Xingzhou’s profile; his jawline was taut as if carved by a blade, eyelashes cast a delicate shadow across his face, and his brows were deeply furrowed.

Had she offended him with something she said?

Was it the mention of their contractual marriage?

Or should she not have explained herself?

Fu Yuting was at a loss for words, for she could never grasp his mercurial moods.

She chose silence.

Bo Xingzhou was certainly not an emperor from ages past, yet she felt as though she were walking beside a tiger.

The car soon entered the Bo family’s villa.

"Go to bed early," Bo Xingzhou's voice was low and hoarse.

Fu Yuting sat in the car for a while, watching him walk toward the villa’s main entrance.

The overhead light in the garage stretched his tall figure long and thin, almost enveloping her entirely.

She snapped out of her reverie, got out of the car, and retreated to her own room.

Two in the morning.

A stark white bolt of lightning cleaved the night sky, and Fu Yuting awoke from her dreams, hands drenched in cold sweat.

Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, the sound of droplets striking the glass like countless nails scratching. As she sat up, a sudden crash erupted from the next room, as though an entire pane of glass had shattered onto the floor.

Her heart leaped into her throat.

It was Bo Xingzhou’s bedroom.

Fu Yuting walked barefoot across the icy floor, her silk nightdress clinging to her sweat-dampened back.

The door at the end of the corridor was ajar; a flash of lightning revealed through the crack a scattering of glass shards gleaming coldly on the ground.

"Bo Xingzhou?" Her voice was swallowed by the thunder that followed.

As she pushed open the door, a strong scent of whiskey mingled with a faint trace of blood rushed toward her.

Lit intermittently by flashes of lightning, she saw Bo Xingzhou sprawled on the bed, his pajama collar gaping open, his right hand dangling over the side, droplets of blood falling steadily onto the carpet.

The solid wood desk before him was a mess.

A toppled wine glass, scattered pill bottles, and a smashed desk lamp whose shade was twisted into something grotesque.

But what stunned her most was his expression.

The face usually cold as ice was now contorted in pain, brows tightly drawn, forehead beaded with sweat, lips trembling as if arguing with some invisible foe.

Fu Yuting had never seen Bo Xingzhou like this—fragile as a lost child.

She crept closer, careful to avoid the shards of glass.

Bo Xingzhou’s right palm was turned upward, several sharp fragments still embedded in the flesh, blood staining his sleeve red. Yet he seemed oblivious to the pain, his breathing heavy and ragged.

What had happened to him?

Seeing this, Fu Yuting rushed out to find the first aid kit.

She vaguely recalled Mrs. Wang mentioning its location, somewhere near his room.

Fu Yuting tiptoed to fetch it; when she returned, she saw Bo Xingzhou’s left hand groping blindly across the desk, knocking over an empty pill bottle.

The bottle rolled across the carpet with a dull thud, its label glaringly clear in the lightning’s flash.

Clonazepam!

Why would he take that?

What kind of man was Bo Xingzhou?

A surge of bitterness welled up in Fu Yuting’s chest, impossible to wipe away.

She knelt beside him, gently lifting his injured right hand. At her touch, his muscles tensed sharply, but he did not wake.

Under the beam of her phone’s flashlight, she saw that besides the fresh wounds, his hands bore many tiny old scars—some neat straight cuts, others rough and uneven from healed tears.

Her fingertips trembled slightly. As she used the tweezers to remove the first shard, Bo Xingzhou’s breathing grew suddenly rapid.

"It’s alright," she murmured instinctively, her voice softer than the rain outside, "it’ll be over soon."

Strangely, her words seemed to have a magical effect; Bo Xingzhou’s taut body relaxed a little.

Fu Yuting continued to tend to the wound, disinfecting carefully with iodine after each piece of glass was removed. Blood kept seeping out, soaking cotton balls—she had to change them several times.

The thunder faded into the distance, but the rain grew heavier.

The sound of water drumming against the glass was like a lullaby, and Fu Yuting’s movements became ever more gentle.

When she finally wrapped the last wound with gauze, she let out a deep breath, ready to leave.

Suddenly, she felt her wrist seized by a scorching force.

"Don’t leave me…"

Bo Xingzhou’s voice was hoarse beyond recognition, his eyes still closed, obviously trapped in a nightmare.

His fingers clamped around her wrist like iron, so tight her hand began to go numb.

Fu Yuting froze.

She looked at Bo Xingzhou’s face—now his pain was replaced by a desperate plea, his sweat-soaked hair pressed to his pale skin.

This "grim-faced king" who struck terror in the business world was now as vulnerable as a drowning man grasping for the last floating branch.

"I won’t go," Fu Yuting replied as if compelled, her other hand gently covering his.

Miraculously, his grip eased a little, but he didn’t let go.

Fu Yuting cautiously sat on the carpet by the bed, allowing him to hold her wrist.

The rain gradually softened, and only their mingled breaths filled the room.

It was unclear how much time passed before Bo Xingzhou’s breathing finally grew deep and steady.

Fu Yuting tried to slip free, but heard him utter another uneasy murmur in his sleep, his brows knitting again. She gave up, quietly lying beside him, her own consciousness fading.

When the morning sunlight filtered through the curtains,

Bo Xingzhou woke.

He found himself holding a slender wrist; following the arm, he saw Fu Yuting curled up beside him, fast asleep, her lashes casting faint shadows on her face, a strand of hair caught at the corner of her mouth.

His gaze drifted to his carefully bandaged right hand, then to the neatly organized first aid kit on the floor. An emotion long buried began to spread in his chest, growing stronger and stronger, prompting him to release her hand.

In her sleep, Fu Yuting frowned and unconsciously edged closer to the warmth, her forehead almost touching his knee.

Bo Xingzhou’s hand hovered for a moment, then lightly brushed through her hair, gently smoothing out the stray locks.

But it felt as though he had touched something forbidden, and he quickly withdrew his hand.

She must have been so frightened last night.

How could someone like him ever deserve her?

He was a man forever walking in darkness.

Fu Yuting was awakened by a slant of sunlight across her eyelids.

She instinctively curled up, the silk sheet slipping from her shoulder, carrying a scent distinct from her usual detergent—a cold trace, his scent lingering still on the pillow.

Last night's memories flooded back; she sat up abruptly.

It was true—what happened last night!

A faint red mark encircled the inside of her wrist, exactly where Bo Xingzhou had gripped her.

As her fingertips brushed the skin, memories stabbed into her mind like shards of glass.

She shook her head, rushed to the bathroom to wash her face.

Fu Yuting walked downstairs barefoot; the wooden floor was cool, the villa so quiet it felt empty, with only the gentle hum of the coffee machine from the kitchen.

She approached and found a freshly prepared breakfast waiting on the table.

The edge of the fried egg was crisp, the yolk half-set—just the way she liked it.

The toast was golden, spread thinly with blueberry jam, accompanied by a small dish of honey.

The coffee was a milky Americano, perfectly warm, its rim unmarked by any lips.

Fu Yuting stared at the breakfast in a daze.

Everything was exactly to her taste—even the coffee matched her habit.

He made it?

Impossible. How could a CEO like him ever make breakfast for her?

It must have been Mrs. Wang.

But where was he?

Jiahe Building.

Fu Yuting prepared to pack up, ready to report to the Lu Corporation in the afternoon.

Stepping into the office, her heels clicked crisply on the marble floor.

Today, she wore a sharply tailored slate-gray suit, her long hair tied low, makeup light yet refined—her whole presence radiated a cool elegance.

From the end of the corridor came a syrupy voice—

“Oh, sister’s finally here~”

Xu Qian strode over in twelve-centimeter Jimmy Choos, her tight red dress swaying with every step, lips curved in a fake smile.

Fu Yuting’s expression didn’t change; she merely nodded slightly. “I’ve said many times, don’t call me that at work.”

“I’m just worried you’ll miss the company now that you’re leaving, so I thought I’d check in on you.”

Xu Qian affectionately hooked her arm, her nails lightly grazing Fu Yuting’s skin, voice lowered in insincere regret.

“I just got promoted to vice president, all thanks to your guidance. Didn’t expect you’d be transferred out.”

Before Fu Yuting could respond, a mocking laugh sounded behind them.

“Well, Vice President Xu is so ‘considerate,’ isn’t she?”

Wen Yunzhi walked over with a stack of documents, red lips holding an unlit slim cigarette, her gaze sweeping contemptuously over Xu Qian.

“Lost the Tianyi project and still got promoted—seems Vice President Xu’s other ‘skills’ must be quite exceptional~”

She deliberately emphasized the word “skills,” her eyes pointedly flicking toward Xu Qian’s neckline.

She’d received Xu Qian’s promotion notice that morning, hadn’t had time to tell Tingting yet.

No need to guess whether Xu Qian was here to show off or "care."

Lu Jingyan really was getting more clueless by the day—what sort of people are these!

A real bitch paired with a dog—the perfect match!