Bo Wang reclined against the pillows, pulling her shivering frame into the solid heat of his chest. His long, elegant fingers carded through her hair with a rhythmic, hypnotic grace. Lu Zhiling buried her face in the hollow of his neck, the tip of her nose brushing against his skin, her hot, even breaths fluttering over his pulse point like the wings of a trapped moth.
It was a slow, agonizing torture. Bo Wang’s Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively; his muscles coiled with a tension that bordered on violent. After a long, suffocating silence, he let out a low, serrated curse. “Lu Zhiling… if I lose my mind and break down, your life won’t be easy either.”
The woman in his arms was oblivious to the storm she had stirred. She only burrowed deeper, her small hands seeking the furnace of his body as she drifted into a heavy, feverish sleep. Bo Wang remained a statue, pinned beneath her weight. Exhaustion eventually claimed him, but just as his eyes began to feel heavy, a pair of soft, parched lips pressed against the bare skin of his chest.
“Porridge… I want porridge…”
Bo Wang let out a ragged sigh, his eyes snapping open in the dark. Whether she was conscious or dreaming, her list of demands was endless. “What kind of porridge?” he rasped, his voice thick with a raw, nocturnal gravel.
Silence. She had slipped away again, leaving him with a riddle.
Downstairs, the atmosphere in the kitchen was equally strained. Feng Zhen sat slumped in a chair, cradling a glass of water. His face was a mask of fatigue, and his cheek—where Lu Zhiling had accidentally struck him during her delirium—throbbed with a dull ache.
“Uncle Feng, you look terrible,” Jiang Fusheng whispered, her eyes round with concern. “Should we call for the doctor?”
“I’ll rest once the Miss is stable,” Feng Zhen murmured. He stopped mid-sentence as a shadow fell across the room.
Bo Wang strode in, his face dark, radiating a lethal, predatory aura. He stopped directly in front of Feng Zhen, looming over him like a storm cloud. “What kind of porridge did Lu Zhiling eat as a child? Speak.”
Feng Zhen felt his cheek throb even harder. It was going to be a very long night.
The bedroom was a tomb of silence when Lu Zhiling finally stirred. The sterile scent of the medical monitors hit her first. She opened her eyes to see a web of wires and a soft-set needle taped to the back of her hand, though no IV fluid was currently running.
She tried to sit up, her palms pressing into the silk duvet, but her limbs felt like leaden weights. She collapsed back into the pillows, gasping for air, her mind a fractured mirror of the night’s horrors.
Gu Na was gone. The light that had momentarily illuminated her path had been snuffed out, leaving her in a darkness deeper than before.
The door creaked open. Jiang Fusheng tiptoed in, clutching a vase of fresh blossoms. When she saw Lu Zhiling’s open eyes, she nearly dropped the glass. “Zhiling! You’re awake!”
“What happened to me?” Lu Zhiling’s voice was a ghost of itself.
“You had a high fever. You almost had a Liu Chan [miscarriage]… it nearly scared the soul out of us,” Fusheng said, her voice trembling.
Miscarriage. Lu Zhiling’s hand instinctively flew to her lower abdomen. A wave of complicated grief washed over her. If the child survived, what kind of life would it have? A prisoner, just like her?
“Where is my phone?”
Fusheng handed her the device. Lu Zhiling scrolled through the news with trembling fingers. As expected, the death of Director Gu Na was the top trending topic.
“Director Gu was such a good person,” Fusheng sighed, fussing with the flowers. “The internet is in a frenzy. No one believes it was suicide. They say she was silenced because her film, Hao Men [The Wealthy and Powerful], was a direct attack on the elite families.”
Lu Zhiling watched Fusheng’s innocent, round face. “Are you scared, Fusheng?”
Fusheng paused. “Scared? Of what?”
She is too simple, Lu Zhiling thought. In this viper’s nest, innocence was a death sentence. To protect her, she had to cut the tie. “From now on, stay with the Old Lady. Don’t follow me anymore.”
“What? Why?” Fusheng dropped the vase onto the nightstand, squatting by the bed. “You’ll be all alone! Zhiling, you can’t give up now. You have to find the one who tried to kill you!”
“I don’t need anyone close to me anymore,” Lu Zhiling said, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. Every time she loved someone, they were torn away. The only way to win was to become an island. “Go.”
“Zhiling…” Fusheng’s eyes welled with tears, but the door swung open before she could plead her case.
Bo Wang entered, carrying a steaming bowl of porridge. He didn’t even look at the girl on the floor. “Get out.”
“Yes, Young Master,” Fusheng whispered, scurrying away with a bruised heart.
Lu Zhiling turned her head, her gaze meeting Bo Wang’s with an icy indifference.
“What is that look for?” Bo Wang demanded, his dark eyes narrowing.
Lu Zhiling forced the mask back on—the mask of the obedient, fragile wife. She struggled to sit up, offering a faint, weary smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just weak. You… you didn’t sleep at all last night, did you?”
Bo Wang didn’t answer. He sat on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. He held out the bowl. “Eat.”
It was yam and barley porridge—soft, white, and fragrant. It was the specific, sweet comfort food of her childhood in the South. Jiangnan flavors were rare in this house.
“I’m not eating in bed,” she murmured. “I need to brush my teeth first.”
“Eat. Here,” Bo Wang commanded. His voice held a dangerous edge. “If you keep testing my patience, Lu Zhiling, I’ll make sure you don’t leave this bed for any reason—not even the bathroom. This has been simmering for two hours. Eat it while it’s at its peak.”
He had spent two hours at a stove? Lu Zhiling stared at him, stunned.
Before she could protest, he scooped a spoonful and pressed it to her lips. The warmth hit her tongue—sweet, nostalgic, and perfect. It tasted exactly like the porridge her family’s chef used to make.
“It’s delicious,” she whispered after the second bite. “Did you hire a specialist in Jiangnan cuisine?”
Bo Wang’s face darkened instantly. “I made it myself.”
Lu Zhiling blinked in genuine shock. “Your cooking… is incredible.”
The praise made Bo Wang’s brow lift with a flicker of arrogant satisfaction. He fed her the entire bowl, refusing to let her stop until she was stuffed to the point of discomfort.
As she leaned back, she handed him her phone, showing him Gu Na’s final message. “Can you help me? I need the surveillance from her villa. I’m afraid the person who killed her will erase the evidence.”
Bo Wang glanced at the screen and tossed the phone onto the nightstand like it was trash. “I’ll deal with it when I have time.”
“She was a national figure, Bo Wang. As the President of SG Entertainment, you have to provide an answer to the public—”
“Why are you so worried about a dead woman?” Bo Wang cut her off, noticing her pale face and the way she was clutching her stomach. “What’s wrong now?”
“My stomach… it hurts. I think I ate too much.”
“Who told you to eat it all?” he snapped, though he was the one who had forced her.
“I didn’t want to waste something you cooked yourself,” she whispered, burying her face in the pillow.
The room went silent. Bo Wang leaned in, his large, warm hands reaching beneath her nightgown to rest against her stomach. He began to massage her in slow, clockwise circles. The heat from his palms was a soothing balm, melting the knots in her gut.
Lu Zhiling sighed, turning into his touch, her face rubbing against his arm. “Help me,” she pleaded softly. “Get the villa under control. Please.”
Bo Wang looked down at her, a wicked, predatory smile playing on his lips. “You think a little cuddling is enough to make me move mountains for you?”
Lu Zhiling looked up, her fingertips tracing the sharp line of his lips, her eyes wide and pleading. “Help me…”
Bo Wang caught her fingertip in his teeth, nipping it with a ferocity that made her gasp. He released her only to crush his lips against hers. He kissed her like a starving wolf, his tongue invading her mouth to steal the sweetness of the porridge. His breath was heavy, his teeth grazing her delicate chin as he claimed her with an animalistic possessiveness.
“Zhiling! You’re finally—”
The door burst open. Ding Yujun stood there, her face frozen in shock at the sight of her grandson devouring his bedridden wife.
“…”
Bo Wang looked up, his eyes dark with unspent desire, his expression murderous. Lu Zhiling scrambled to hide her face in his chest, her ears burning red.
“Oh! This… Grandma didn’t mean to…” Ding Yujun stammered, backing out. “Continue! Please, continue!”
She slammed the door, only to burst back in seconds later.
“No! I forgot!” The Old Lady stood by the bed with a look of righteous indignation. “Dr. Qin said she needs An Tai [womb stabilization]. No strenuous exercise! Let her go!”
Lu Zhiling took the opportunity to slide away like a fish, pulling the covers over her head to hide from the world.
Bo Wang’s face was like thunder. “It was just a kiss, old woman.”
“A kiss leads to excitement! Excitement leads to trouble! Look at her—she almost lost the baby last night because of ‘stimulation’!” Ding Yujun crossed her arms. “I’ve decided. You two are living separately until the baby is born. Zhiling is coming back to Wutong [Phoenix Tree] Courtyard with me. I will supervise her myself.”
“You’re dreaming!” Bo Wang spat.
“Fine! Then get me the rope!” Ding Yujun shrieked toward the hallway. “Call the Old Man! We’ll hang ourselves together right here!”
Bo Wang leaned back, his posture one of lazy defiance. “Go ahead. I’ll even get you a stool to stand on.”
“You… you unfilial brat!” Ding Yujun huffed, seeing the suicide threat wasn’t working. She looked at the lump under the covers. “Zhiling, you decide. Where do you want to stay? With this monster, or with your Grandma?”