Morning sunlight poured into the bedroom, casting a soft glow as Feng Mian quietly stepped inside. Han Chen was at the mirror, fixing his cufflinks with that familiar calm, detached focus that never wavered. She watched him for a moment, her heart heavy with the news she carried—a fragile hope she still clung to, though she knew she shouldn't.
He glanced up, his expression indifferent, barely registering her presence. "Do you need something?" he asked, his tone as impersonal as if she were a stranger. "If you do, my secretary can handle it."
Feng Mian took a small, steadying breath. "There's something I wanted to tell you."
He barely looked at her, his hands moving to adjust his tie. "Do what you want, There's no need to consult me."
Before she could say anything else, his phone chimed. He checked the screen, and for the first time that morning, a hint of warmth softened his features. The caller was someone she knew all too well—his lawyer, his first love, the woman he still cherished like a precious relic. He answered without hesitation, his tone gentle, the distance between them now painfully clear. She turned and left the room, holding onto the last bit of pride she had.
Later, she met her friends for a day out, grateful for a brief escape. They strolled through the shopping center, laughter and conversation lightening her mood. When they reached the children's section, she found herself lingering, her hand tracing the soft, miniature clothes, imagining the tiny life growing inside her.
One of her friends noticed and teased her, "Why the interest in baby clothes, Feng Mian? Planning something?"
Feng Mian forced a smile, her heart aching. "Just curious," she replied, brushing off the question as they continued their shopping. For now, she wanted to keep the news for herself. She wanted to treasure it before anyone else knew, even if he hadn't cared to hear it.
They stopped by a café, a quaint spot where they settled in with warm drinks and quiet conversation. But the peace shattered when she caught sight of Han Chen sitting by the window. He was leaning in, listening intently to the woman across from him—the same woman from his morning call. They looked at ease, engrossed in each other's words, and Feng Mian could only watch from a distance, her heart sinking.
She excused herself quietly, leaving her friends behind as she stepped back out onto the street, inhaling deeply to keep her composure. There were moments where she could pretend, but tonight, the hurt is too fresh to ignore.
That evening, as the hours slipped by, Feng Mian waited for him in the dim quiet of their home. When he finally returned, she felt a bitter ache twist in her chest, too raw to ignore, too painful to voice.
He looked at her with that familiar unreadable expression, already distant. She stepped toward him, her movements deliberate. She reached up, letting her hand trace the collar of his shirt as she met his gaze. She wasn't seeking words or comfort, she knew neither would come. But tonight, she needed something to close the wound, something to dull the ache of all the things left unsaid between them.
She pulled him closer, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was at first tentative, a small solace she barely dared to take. Her voice was barely above a whisper, a daring edge she knew he'd recognize. "Do you even know what it's like to want someone so much you can't think straight?"
His eyes darkened, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in, drawn by the spark she knew he could never ignore. In this, he was never hesitant, never reluctant. Their marriage might be devoid of love, but his desire for her was undeniable.
As his arms circled her waist, the kiss grew hungrier, deepening as her hands slid up his shoulders, pulling him closer. He responded, and the coldness she was used to dissolved, replaced by an intense, silent urgency that only they shared.
The kiss grew more fervent, his mouth moving against hers with an intensity that left her breathless, his hands drawing her closer until there was nothing between them. She felt her heart racing as his lips traced a line along her jaw, down her neck, each kiss both soothing and igniting the ache in her chest.
They moved toward the bedroom, where he laid her down, his touch feverish, as if responding to a need neither of them could name. She closed her eyes, letting herself be swept away, letting herself believe, if only for a moment, that he was truly hers.
The night unfolded in a wordless rhythm, his hands and mouth leaving her yearning, only to pull her back, to fulfill every desire his silence never could. In the haze between breaths and kisses, she whispered words she couldn't hold back, quiet confessions he would forget by morning but that, for her, meant everything.
When it was over, she lay beside him, her heart heavy yet strangely at peace. His arm was draped over her, his breathing even, and she knew this was all she'd ever have of him. But tonight, with the echoes of his touch still lingering, it felt like enough.