Chapter 46: What Are You Thinking About

Ye Zehong’s shoulder bore the marks of her bite, deep impressions flecked with blood. When he showered, the wounds stung sharply as if warning him of something. Being a doctor, his compulsive tendencies took over; no matter how minor the injury, even if it would heal naturally in a few hours, he still fetched the medical kit, disinfected the wounds with iodine, and applied antibacterial ointment before he could rest.

Night had fallen.

He lifted the quilt and lay beside Lu Yao, an unspoken heaviness weighing on his heart.

Just days before, the two of them had been close and intimate in that villa.

Now, though they shared a bed, a chasm had opened between them, vast and impassable.

In her sleep, Lu Yao was tormented by a nightmare.

She dreamed she had returned to her childhood, standing on the shore as enormous waves crashed. Her mother stood atop a cliff, smiling at her. No matter how loudly she cried and screamed, her mother seemed unable to hear, and with a final glance, leapt into the endless sea.

The waves swallowed her mother in an instant.

Lu Yao stood on the edge, heartbroken, desperate to follow her mother into the depths. But just as she was about to jump, someone seized her hand, holding her back with an unyielding grip, impossible to break free from no matter how she struggled.

Ye Zehong opened his eyes and looked at Lu Yao beside him. Her expression was twisted in pain, her lips moving in silent distress, and fat tears slid slowly from the corners of her eyes, as if she were suffering a deep sorrow in her dream.

He moved closer, lifting a hand to gently stroke her back.

Again and again, each movement careful and tender, as if soothing a treasured jewel cradled in his palm.

His familiar scent gradually eased her furrowed brow. Her body, acting on instinct, nestled closer to his chest, resting her head against his heart, curling softly into his embrace like a frightened kitten.

Ye Zehong held her tightly, and some empty place within him was finally filled.

The next morning.

Lu Yao opened her eyes with difficulty, her head heavy and clouded, as though weighed down by lead, too heavy to lift.

She raised a hand to massage her aching forehead, her mouth bitter, a wave of nausea rising in her throat.

Realizing what was about to happen, she rushed to the bathroom and vomited.

This time, Lu Yao truly understood the agony of a hangover.

When she finished, she rinsed her mouth at the sink. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she saw her swollen face, puffed up like a steamed bun, and pressed her hand to her forehead in frustration.

“Drink some lemon water to clear your head.”

Ye Zehong handed her a glass of water. Seeing her frozen in place, he frowned.

“Hmm?”

Though she’d been drunk the night before, Lu Yao hadn’t blacked out. Recalling how she’d bitten him, her face flushed instantly, and her eyes darted in embarrassment to his shoulder.

She genuinely didn’t understand why she’d bitten him.

“Thank you. I’ll freshen up first, then drink it.”

Without waiting for his response, she shoved him out of the bathroom and quickly closed the door.

Standing before the mirror, she clawed at her hair in agitation.

She was losing her mind. She truly felt she was going mad.

Knock, knock, knock—

No sooner had the knocking stopped than a low voice sounded: “Hurry up. Eat your porridge and I’ll take you home.”

Her host had already issued his dismissal. Lu Yao dared not linger.

She washed up hastily, then made her way to the dining room.

Breakfast was white porridge, simmered to perfection by his own hand, served with fermented tofu.

Lu Yao took a sip; the thick, fragrant rice filled her mouth, sweet and delicious even without the side dish.

It was hard to imagine that the heir of the most eminent family could cook such exquisite porridge.

“What are you thinking about?” Ye Zehong noticed she’d taken only a sip and stopped, wondering if the porridge wasn’t to her taste.

“I was just—”

Before Lu Yao could finish, her phone rang. The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number.

Ye Zehong glanced at the screen, his expression darkening.

“That’s my father’s personal number,” he said coldly.