Since that night, a subtle shift had begun to take root— Like quiet vines winding through the cold corners of their apartment.
Emma no longer tried to break the wall with words. Instead, she channeled her growing sense of responsibility into quiet, meticulous actions. She became a clumsy sentinel, building an invisible defense in places Gu Liang couldn't see.
She turned into the household's most attentive "quality inspector." Every batch of groceries was discreetly checked for freshness—especially fruits and vegetables. She ensured there were no traces of pesticides or spoilage. She even replaced all cleaning products with fragrance-free, pregnancy-safe brands.
One day, the cook prepared steamed fish—Gu Liang's old favorite. Emma caught a faint trace of fishiness in the air. She stopped the cook immediately.
"No fish today. Let's make something else." Her tone was calm, but firm.
The cook hesitated. "But sir used to like—"
"He can't handle the smell lately." Emma cut her off, eyes flicking to the fish. Her brow furrowed slightly. "Let's avoid seafood for now."
The cook nodded, confused but compliant.
Emma turned— And met Gu Liang's gaze from the study doorway.
He had clearly overheard. A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes— Then vanished. He said nothing. Just walked to the dining room.
But Emma noticed— When he sat down, the tension in his shoulders eased, just a little.
She began quietly improving the apartment's safety. Sharp corners were padded. Non-slip mats appeared in the bathroom. A small side table was added beside his usual seat—easy to grip when standing.
These changes were subtle. Like spring rain—gentle, invisible. Gu Liang never commented. As if it were all expected.
But Emma sensed it— The cold resistance between them was softening. Replaced by something quieter. More complex.
Beyond the home, Emma began supporting Gu Liang's work— In ways he couldn't refuse.
The Prometheus project, revived by First Heart Capital's resources, was accelerating. New research ideas brought progress— And heavier workloads.
One evening, a key video conference with the U.S. team was scheduled. Time zone differences meant it started past 9 p.m.
Gu Liang sat in the study, speaking fluent English, debating technical details with sharp precision. No trace of his pregnancy discomfort showed.
Emma stood outside the door, holding warm milk. She listened to his voice—slightly hoarse from long discussion. Her brow furrowed.
She entered quietly.
Gu Liang glanced up—questioning.
She didn't interrupt. Just placed the milk within reach. Refilled his empty water glass. Then sat on the sofa, picked up a finance magazine, and began flipping through it casually.
The U.S. team paused, curious about the movement.
Gu Liang spoke into the mic, tone flat: "My apologies, it's just my… wife."
Wife. The word was clinical. Emotionless.
But Emma's fingers paused on the page.
The meeting lasted over an hour. Emma stayed silent. Only rising to refill his water when needed.
She didn't join the conversation. Made no gestures. Just sat— A quiet, competent presence.
Her cedarwood scent, carefully subdued, filled the room gently. It formed a calming barrier— Easing the mental strain of the long meeting.
When it finally ended, Gu Liang closed his laptop. Rubbed his temples.
Then he noticed— The cold milk. And Emma, asleep on the sofa.
She leaned against the cushions, breathing softly. The magazine had slipped from her hand. Dark circles shadowed her eyes.
Gu Liang stared. The light cast complex shadows in his gaze.
He thought of her recent quiet changes. Her awkward presence tonight.
Hatred still lingered. Cold and firm.
But something beneath it— Something he couldn't name— Had begun to stir.
He stood. Picked up a thin blanket. Gently draped it over her.
Then he took the cold milk. Left the study. Closed the door softly.
As the door clicked shut, Emma opened her eyes.
No sleep. Only clarity. And a quiet tremor.
She looked at the blanket. Still warm. Still carrying the faint scent of Gu Liang's white tea.
No words had been exchanged. The distance remained.
But something— Was changing.
Her silent care Had finally earned A flicker of response.
In this marriage born of hatred, With a new life on the horizon, Could two frozen hearts Find a thread of reconciliation Through the pull of responsibility?
The answer
Still lay hidden
In the fog of what's to come.