"Chen Jin, we need to talk."
Lin Wan had thought through the night. She knew she was in no shape to bargain, but she couldn't endure another hour of this… arrangement. The immaculate ward, the smiling nurses, even the soft weight of the blanket over her felt wrong. Behind every thoughtful detail was the face of the man who'd put her here.
What did he want? After everything, the rift between them wasn't something that could be patched. It was gunpowder—one spark away from detonation. If not for death, then at least a lifetime apart. Not this—playing at being friends, even lovers, in front of others, while secretly tearing each other to pieces. So when Chen Jin strolled in after lunch with that polite, obliging smile, she made her request.
He didn't look surprised. No sneer, no bite—just an easy interest as he sat back on the sofa, crossed one leg over the other, and said, almost cheerfully, "Alright."
He could afford to be casual. She wasn't a worthy opponent in his eyes; she knew that. She was his enemy—a defeated, cornered one. Still, even a cornered enemy could defend a sliver of ground.
"You know I hate you," she said evenly.
It wasn't a question. He glanced at her, a barely-perceptible nod. She saw it.
"And I know you hate me."
He chuckled softly, neither admitting nor denying it.
"If that's the case, we shouldn't keep doing this."
"What should we do then?"
She held his gaze, gathered her courage, and said, word by word, "We should disappear from each other's lives."
"How do we disappear?" His tone slowed; his eyes narrowed—a familiar prelude to a storm.
"I'll be transferred to the hospital in a while. I'll repay the expenses for these two days. After that, I'll stay out of your sight. From today on, you… neither of us interferes with the other's life."
He listened without interruption, checked his watch, then drawled, "Lin Wan, you really are naive. You have a concussion, not amnesia. Want me to remind you? Three days ago you became my woman. Then you tried to kill me. You think all of that gets wiped clean?"
The anger she'd forced down flared hard. "You've got the nerve to say that—if it hadn't been for you—"
"For me what?" He tossed back lazily.
She turned her face away, forcing the words out. "If you hadn't assaulted me first, I'd never have done what I did."
He rose and walked over, looking down at her with a faint, almost playful smile. "Perfect. This is a hospital. Shall we call someone to examine you? They might even find traces of me. But that still doesn't prove force. Just like me saying you tried to murder me—no proof either. Which means the truth of both matters is known only to us. And will be resolved only between us."
"You're shameless." She moved on instinct, but he caught her wrist with ease—then, outrageously, brushed a kiss across her knuckles, eyes lit with mischief. "Shameless? Beastly? Sure. You'll get to experience it all, one by one."
"Who wants your 'experience'? You're sick."
"That part," he said lightly, "you haven't seen yet."
The breath snagged in her throat. After a beat, through clenched teeth: "What do you actually want?"
"Stay with me," he said, as if stating the weather. "Until I say stop."
She stared, as though she'd misheard. How could someone say something so brazen in such a natural tone? Seconds later she snapped back, her voice rising, "I won't fall for that. I'm not playing your games. I'm transferring out now—" She reached for the phone; the motion tugged her injured leg and pain lanced up her spine. He pressed her back down with one hand, voice cutting: "Enough. You want to cripple yourself?"
She was past control. "Let go! I'd rather be crippled than live like this—"
He plucked up the receiver, set it out of reach, pinched her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. His tone hardened, deliberate: "Are you sure? I'll say it now—you won't. Run? To where? Home? Abroad? Hide in some mountain village? Everyone has something they can't abandon. Don't tell me you don't."
He leaned closer, his voice warm in her ear, the words cold: "Your friends, right? Ding Sisi, Milan? And the Wangs—the old couple you promised to look after. Walking away means leaving them too. Will you?"
A breath brushed her skin. "And tell me—if they knew you slept with me, what would they think?"
As he spoke, her eyes emptied out. Each sentence landed like a blade; her heart, already torn, opened further, bleeding out. She told herself she had nothing to lose—but she did. She had people. And that last line—like a knife slitting her clothes, leaving her exposed to the world. People would say things. They always did. And it was always harsher for women. His breath was warm; she still shivered.
He released her, straightened her. His voice turned clinical. "I'm not a good man. I don't mind being worse. Even if you don't care about any of that, don't forget what I hold—things that can change other people's fates. There's nothing I, Chen Jin, have wanted and not gotten. If I need to make a point, I won't hesitate to send certain people to prison. Try me."
He's insane, she thought, staring at the gleam of cold frenzy in his eyes. Her chest felt hollowed out, her blood going cold. She had to admit she wasn't his match. She didn't have his ruthlessness. He had long since stepped outside the rules—and learned to write them.
That was what he wanted her to understand. He looked at her white face and trembling mouth, then cupped her cheeks again. His voice softened—only the words stayed merciless. "You can't beat me. I have the leverage. I don't pretend to be a good man. Nothing binds me."
He dipped and kissed her forehead, smiling. "Accept it, Wanwan. I'm looking forward to your performance. Who knows—you might even find the game isn't so bad." He let go and walked out without a backward glance.
Lin Wan slumped against the headboard and wiped a hand over her face. No tears. Impressive, she thought bitterly. She replayed every clash since they'd met; every time, she'd been the one to break. He was right—she had no chips. No justice won, and now she'd wagered herself and lost. All those early vows felt like a joke. An egg against a boulder—what else but shattered shell?
A heavy darkness pooled in her chest. She felt like someone being buried alive, lying in a pit, watching shovelfuls of dirt rain down—covering limbs, clogging nose and mouth—until breath itself turned to grit.
She pushed a hand through her hair. No. Do not drown. Don't believe his poison. You're exhausted. You need rest. Yes—rest first.
Outside the room, Chen Jin thumbed a cigarette from its pack. It took several strikes before the lighter caught. He drew in, eyes narrowed, ready to savor the first calm breath when a sharp, small voice cut in: a nurse with a heart-shaped face, glaring at him like he were a ghost. "This is a ward. No smoking."
He exhaled a dismissive hum, didn't even lift his eyelids, and strode past. She blinked, then muttered at his retreating back, "Psychopath."
The corridor was quiet; the word carried cleanly. He nearly choked on smoke, glanced back at the slight figure, and fumed. What kind of hospital is this—VIP floor and still no sense of rank? He took two more drags. The bite scraped his throat raw. A trash can stood nearby; he crashed the cigarette out and tossed it in. Only then did he notice the flattened pack still crumpled in his left hand—two or three left inside, shrinking into the cardboard. He realized he'd been smoking more these days. He dumped the pack too.
The ride back stalled in traffic. He had a crucial meeting at 3:30. He checked his watch—3:15 already. Ahead, a line of cars with no end; behind, a tail stretching forever. Unless he grew wings, he wasn't making it.
He despised people with no sense of time. Today he'd have to despise himself. He raked a hand through his cropped hair, the bristles pricking his palm. A thought flickered. He looked back through the windshield—several blocks away, he could still see the grand facade of Lu General's outpatient building. Behind it, the inpatient tower. Behind that, a small block. Somewhere on the third floor, a room with a woman inside. A woman who'd almost killed him—and almost died by his hand. Troublesome woman. Infuriating woman. Dared to challenge him without weighing herself. After all they'd crashed through—life and death still smoking in the air—she wanted to walk away clean?
He almost laughed.
He'd always been the one to leave women. When had it become their turn to leave him?