The elderly couple of the Bo family lived quietly in their small villa behind the main bulding . The villa was silent, draped in the soft hum of night. Lu Zhiling hugged her pillow, the quiet so different from the usual chaos of the main building, where Madam Yu and Madam Xia were still arguing over a husband. Here, it was just her—and him.
Her gaze drifted toward the wedding bed. He lay half-curled on his side, the faint glow of his phone screen painting his face in soft light. His hair fell messily over his forehead, his eyes tightly closed, yet even asleep, he exuded a power that was impossible to ignore. He hadn’t even bothered to cover himself with a blanket.
Her chest tightened. If he caught a cold… if he got sick, she would be forced to pretend she cared even more—every day, without fail. And how could she possibly run the teahouse like that?
She rose quietly and whispered, “Bo Wang… are you asleep?”
No movement. Truly asleep.
Careful not to disturb him, she stepped to the side of the bed. Her fingers brushed the blanket, feeling the warmth of his body beneath it. She bent over, pulling the cover carefully up to his waist.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.
Dark. Sharp. Penetrating. Suspicious. Hostile all of these emotions were found in that gaze.
“…!”
Her fingers tightened on the blanket seeing this , her heart hammering. As a single wrong move, and he could see through her entire pretense.
After a heartbeat, she forced herself to stay calm, tucking the blanket around him as if nothing had happened. Bo Wang’s gaze followed her, unblinking. Slowly, he extended his hand toward her.
It hovered near her neck. Just a breath closer, and he could…
But she did not flinch. She adjusted the blanket carefully, every movement deliberate, like a blind person feeling her way.
For a moment, he froze, staring at her as if trying to read her soul. Then, without a word, he turned, lying back on his side, eyes fixed on her, silently testing her courage.
Lu Zhiling exhaled, easing back to the sofa, hugging her pillow. Every muscle in her body was tense.
Her heart pounded. If he stayed like this for long, she would either be discovered—or driven insane.
Then came a low, chilling voice.
“I can’t sleep… count for me.”
“…!”
She jerked up from the sofa. There he was, sitting on the coffee table, eyes dark and cold, like a predator who had found its prey.
Her startled movement seemed to amuse him; a faint, crooked smile touched his lips.
“Aren’t you asleep?” she whispered.
“Can’t sleep. Don’t you understand?” His eyebrow lifted, sharp and mocking.
“…Sleeping pills. Don’t you have them?” She hugged her pillow tighter, forcing a small, nervous smile. “Go back to bed. I’ll count for you.”
“Come. Count.”
Before she could process, his grip found her arm, pulling her to the bedside. He pressed her shoulder down, seating her on the floor beside the bed.
“…A beast. A scoundrel,” she thought in her mind seeing his action, exasperated.
But he lay back under the blanket on the bed , lazy, commanding: “Begin.”
Her back leaned against the bed frame as she sat on the floor . She exhaled, soft and steady. “One sheep… two sheep…”
His gaze sharpened, dangerous and unreadable. “Did I ask you to count sheep?”
She swallowed, recalling Jiang Fusheng’s words: he had grown up around slaughterhouses, terrified of sheep. Her lips parted nervously, voice softening. “One… two… three…”
“…?”
Bo Wang watched silently, his dark eyes unreadable.
“Twenty-three… twenty-four…”
“…Forty-five… forty-six…”
Then he interrupted, leaning slightly on his elbow, fingers pinching her chin to force her gaze. His breath was warm, a whisper against her lips.
“What do you want from me? Status? Wealth?”
His touch tightened, leaving pale marks on her soft skin. Every word carried threat, suspicion, and desire all at once.
She placed her hand over his, earnest, gentle. “I don’t want anything… I just hope you can always be as happy as you were in your childhood drawings.”
His voice hearing her reply dropped lower, chilling: “Do you know what it feels like to be burned… to see your body reduced to nothing while your mind remains? Enduring, day after day…”
She pressed her palm to his, soft but steady. “Bo Wang, I’ve signed the private agreement. I know when I must leave.”
A sneer lifted his lips. “Human nature is greedy. Agreements don’t bind restless hearts.”
“I still have less than two years,” she murmured. “If trouble comes, you can deal with me anytime, can’t you?”
Silence. He stared at his own hands, wrapped in white gauze, fingers scratched and raw. She, brave as she was, dared only so much in his world.
“Lu Zhiling,” he finally whispered, voice low, heavy. “Remember your words. Or I’ll make sure your life is worse than a cripple’s.”
Releasing her chin, he reclined. “Keep counting.”
Her own chin tingled from his pinch, but she continued, soft, obedient: “Forty-seven… forty-eight…”
The night stretched long. Exhaustion claimed her, and her head slowly drooped against the bedside.
Bo Wang’s gaze lingered on her as she slept, hair spilling over his hand, warmth and vulnerability so close it made his chest tighten. He did not wake her, lying sleepless until the first light of dawn gazing at her .
Morning arrived. Lu Zhiling woke with sore arms, legs, and back—every joint aching as if crushed. She rubbed her arms, meeting Bo Wang’s open, red-rimmed eyes—wolfish, hunting.
Had he stayed awake all night? How long had he been watching her?
Composing herself, she carefully pulled the blanket over him and retrieved her cane, heading to the bathroom.
A soft knock echoed.
“Young Master, Young Madam, the Old Madam invites you for breakfast,” Jiang Fusheng’s voice rang from outside.
The two-story villa, surrounded by sycamore trees, sat quietly next to the Bo family mansion. Compared to the opulence of the main building, this sycamore courtyard felt serene, almost untouched.
After serving tea to the elders, Lu Zhiling sat down to eat, Bo Wang leaning back lazily beside her.
“What kept you all day? We couldn’t find you for breakfast,” the old lady Ding Yujun scolded lightly, placing a golden-brown fried egg on Lu Zhiling’s plate. “Now that you’re pregnant, you should eat more.”
“Thank you, Grandma,” Lu Zhiling replied, smiling obediently. But her heart remained distant—she knew this kindness was strictly for her pregnancy. True respect was reserved only for the future young mistress of the family.
“You’re a good girl,” Ding Yujun added casually. “By the way, I heard you’re collecting evidence to sue Feng Chao and Hua Ping?”
Nothing could be hidden from the Bo family.
“Yes,” Lu Zhiling admitted.
“I’ve already gathered and destroyed the evidence. It wasn’t serious enough for a lawsuit.”Said Ding Yujun.
She spoke slowly, as if commenting on the sycamore leaves outside. Lu Zhiling’s grip on her chopsticks tightened sharply, pain shooting through her palm wound. She felt her anger rise but suppressed it.
“I understand, Grandma,” she said quietly. She hadn’t expected even her revenge to be intercepted.
Bo Wang shot her a cold glance.
“What do you understand? That the old lady fears a scene, and that you and I might become another scandal for the Bo family?”
“Bo… Wang,” Ding Yujun scolded him, voice colder. “I do this for your good, and your child’s. Everyone thinks you married because of a pregnancy. If they knew you were drugged, how would your child stand on his own? How would he inherit the Bo family?”
A drugged heir would be gossiped forever.
Lu Zhiling realized, to her shock, that Bo Wang’s situation was far more calculated than she imagined. The old lady’s plan was deliberate: secure the family line, regardless of Bo Wang’s reputation.
But then… if Bo Wang mattered so much, why hadn’t she arranged for him to marry into an equally powerful family? She, after all, was an orphan, without backing.