Volume One, Chapter 33: Mrs. Bo, are you planning to take advantage of me while I sleep?

Xu Qian was seized by a surge of wild joy and envy as she watched Su Yu display the heartbroken agony of a “legitimate wife.” Yet, the next moment, she felt a wave of satisfaction.

Fu Yuting, oh Fu Yuting, who is it that he truly cares for? Who does he allow to stay by his side when wounded?

You are nothing but a plaything, discarded at will!

Neither of them made a move to disturb this “touching” scene, as if both were waiting for some confirmation of the true mistress’s status.

Just then, from the hospital bed came a faint, pained groan.

Bo Xingzhou awoke.

His thick lashes quivered before slowly lifting. Those deep, dark eyes—diluted by blood loss and the retreating haze of anesthesia—were now slightly unfocused, yet the ingrained sharpness and chill remained.

His consciousness gradually returned.

Almost instinctively, with a trace of barely concealed urgency, his gaze swept the room.

He saw first Su Yu sitting by the bed, weeping beautifully.

Then, at the door, Lu Jingyan and Xu Qian, holding things in their hands, with faces full of “concern.”

But Fu Yuting was absent.

The person he had expected to see here—the one, perhaps, he had secretly hoped to see—was nowhere to be found.

A cold wave of disappointment and inexplicable irritation surged through him, draining the last color from his face.

“Noise.”

His voice was hoarse and parched, yet it carried an irrefutable chill, freezing the very air in the room with a single word.

Su Yu’s weeping stopped abruptly. She raised her tear-stained face in shock, wounded disbelief flickering in her eyes.

He’s awake?

He saw her keeping watch…

Shouldn’t he… be moved, even a little?

Lu Jingyan and Xu Qian, startled, immediately forced even more “sincere” expressions of concern and stepped inside.

“Brother, how are you feeling?” Lu Jingyan spoke first, voice full of worry.

“President Bo, thank goodness you’re awake! We were so worried!” Xu Qian quickly echoed.

Bo Xingzhou didn’t spare them a glance, treating them as nothing but air.

He turned to Su Han, his voice flat and frigid: “Su Han, see the guests out.”

“Yes, President Bo.” Su Han stepped forward, expressionless, gesturing toward Lu Jingyan and Xu Qian. “Young Master Lu, Miss Xu, Special Assistant Su, President Bo needs rest. Please.”

Lu Jingyan and Xu Qian’s smiles instantly froze, embarrassment plain on their faces.

They hadn’t expected Bo Xingzhou to be so unfeeling, dismissing them the moment he woke up.

Lu Jingyan looked at his imperious elder brother, a trace of anger flashing in his eyes, though his face betrayed nothing.

“Brother, then rest well. We’ll visit another day…” he said with a hint of implication, pulling away the still-protesting Xu Qian as they retreated in defeat.

Su Yu hurried to her feet as well, ready to leave and preserve the last shreds of her dignity.

“You stay.”

Bo Xingzhou’s icy voice rang out again, directed unmistakably at Su Yu.

Her steps halted abruptly.

Her heart clenched in an invisible grip, only to be instantly flooded with overwhelming joy.

He was keeping her.

He had chosen to keep her alone.

After sending Lu Jingyan and Xu Qian away.

What did this mean?

It meant that, in his heart, she was still different from the rest!

His earlier coldness must have been due to the irritation and pain of waking.

Lu Jingyan and Xu Qian, hearing Bo Xingzhou’s command for Su Yu to stay, exchanged a knowing glance. Xu Qian even cast Su Yu a look tinged with envy and flattery before following Su Han out.

The door closed softly, shutting out the outside world.

Now, only Bo Xingzhou and Su Yu remained.

Su Yu gazed at Bo Xingzhou’s pale yet still breathtakingly handsome profile, at his hand swathed in thick bandages. Her heart swelled with pity and the excitement of her impending ascension.

She quickly turned, her face carefully arranged with just the right amount of worry and a blush of shy privilege, and walked back to the bedside. Her voice was gentle: “Xingzhou, how are you feeling? Does your hand hurt a lot? I…”

“Su Yu.” Bo Xingzhou’s voice cut her off, colder than before—a blade forged from ice, each word a destructive force, striking precisely at the heart of her joy.

He turned his head slowly, and in those deep eyes, there was none of the tenderness or emotion she had imagined. Only an unfathomable, chilling, scrutinizing loathing.

“Spare me your tedious tricks and tears.”

“My injury—its cause and who’s responsible for it—you know better than anyone.” His gaze was sharp as a knife, as if to peel away her elaborate disguise.

Su Yu felt as if struck by lightning, her blood freezing in her veins.

He… he knew?!

How could he know?!

Terror gripped her in an instant.

For the first time, true killing intent flared in his icy eyes—a fire so cold it could freeze the soul.

“This is a warning.”

“Next time, I’ll make sure you and everyone you care about follow you to hell.”

Each word struck her heart like a sledgehammer encased in ice.

Her legs buckled. She collapsed onto the carpet with a thud, her carefully styled hair falling into disarray, her face a mask of terror and despair. She forgot to cry, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Bo Xingzhou didn’t spare her another glance, as if she were nothing but detestable refuse.

Weary, he closed his eyes, pain and weakness from blood loss washing over him again.

With a wave of his hand, Su Han appeared and dragged Su Yu’s wretched figure out.

Outside, dusk was falling.

At the end of the corridor, the elevator chimed open.

Fu Yuting, still shrouded in an aura of cold determination, approached the ward step by step, her face exhausted but her eyes calm.

Inside the VIP ward, all was silent save for the steady, faint beeping of the heart monitor—the ticking of time’s passage.

Bo Xingzhou lay with his eyes closed, pallor veiling his sharp features in fragile silk, thick lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

Fu Yuting slipped silently into the room, her movements so light it was as if she feared disturbing something delicate.

He looked more peaceful in sleep than she ever remembered him.

Handsome, too.

The thought startled her, and she found it a bit absurd.

Handsome?

When had she started caring about that?

Was it because he’d been wounded saving her?

Her gaze traced the lines of his sleeping face, from the straight brow to the defined jaw.

Then, without warning, his closed eyes snapped open.

Their eyes met directly.

“Ah!”

Fu Yuting was so startled by the sudden “caught in the act” that she nearly jumped out of her skin.

She jerked upright, instinctively taking a step back, her cheeks flushing furiously all the way to her ears.

Mortification washed over her; she wished the earth would swallow her whole.

What on earth had she just been doing…

Staring at a man until she lost herself…

And got caught in the act?!

Bo Xingzhou, watching her flustered, red-faced panic, felt the last traces of drowsiness fade, replaced by a faint, almost imperceptible amusement.

He moved his dry lips, his voice hoarse and low, tinged with lazy teasing: “Is Mrs. Bo planning to take advantage of me while I sleep?”

Boom.

Fu Yuting felt heat rush to the crown of her head, her face so hot it could fry an egg.

Take advantage of him? She was only checking his injuries!

“What nonsense are you spouting!” she snapped, both embarrassed and flustered, her voice rising, betraying her indignation. “Who would take advantage of you? Dream on!”

Bo Xingzhou said nothing, simply watching her with a hint of laughter in his deep eyes.

He tried to move his injured left hand, perhaps to reach for the water, but pain twisted his brow and a stifled groan escaped him, sweat instantly beading at his temple.

That sound and sudden grimace doused Fu Yuting’s embarrassment like a pail of cold water.

“Don’t move!” Her words burst out instinctively, sharper and more urgent than she realized.

“Who told you to use that hand?!” She glared at him, her worry undisguised, tinged with a flash of anger—as if he’d done something unforgivable.

“The doctor said the wound went through the metacarpal! No strain! Do you want to cripple your hand?!” Her words fired rapidly, each one landing beside his ear.

Bo Xingzhou looked up at her.

She was so close he could see the clear anxiety in her eyes, and the anger born of fear.

He didn’t explain, nor did he try to withdraw his hand. He just gazed at her, the complicated undercurrents in his eyes settling into something almost docile… vulnerable, even.

And, perhaps, a trace of satisfaction.

“Thirsty,” he rasped.

Her intended scolding caught in her throat.

Instead of tending to his needs immediately, she first drew a tissue and, with awkward yet extraordinary gentleness, wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

Only then did she lean in, pour fresh hot water, test its temperature with her hand, and carefully support his nape with one hand while steadying the cup with the other, tipping it to his lips.

“Drink slowly,” she murmured, her voice softer than she realized.

Bo Xingzhou obediently parted his lips.

Warm water trickled into his parched mouth, soothing his burning throat.

He drank slowly, his lashes lowered—not watching the cup, but instead never moving his gaze from her face, so close now.

This time, being injured…

Wasn’t so bad, after all.