“Xiao Mo.”
Wen Yin looked at him as if at a fool, eyes flat and uncomprehending. Her tone was icily calm. “If you want to lose your mind, go to a psychiatric hospital.”
Her face was frost. The man standing before her might as well have been a stranger. She had no interest in what had happened to Xiao Mo, nor in the tangled mess between him and Wen Zhi. She had told herself long ago not to dwell on the past—yet for some reason he kept appearing in front of her, again and again, like a bad dream that refused to die. Perhaps even Xiao Mo didn’t know how he'd become so persistent. Maybe one day people would call him a ghost that couldn’t be shaken off.
“Wen—Wen Yin.” His voice dipped into something almost devout. Up close, his face looked pained. It was as if a realization had just landed on him like a cold blow.
He’d already mistaken his white moonlight before; worse, he’d treated that ideal as if it were a fake and clung to a substitute. The thought seemed to crush him now. His expression dropped into an ice-cold remorse and he fled to Wen Yin for forgiveness.
Seeing him like that—eyes hollow and pleading—even Wen Yin’s bluntness didn’t let her miss what had come before. Did he know the truth? Her gaze sharpened, probing. He looked back at her with fragile hope. Would she forgive him? Maybe—he dared to think. After all, once upon a time she had been unable to live without him. But he had also hurt her, grievously.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” he asked, voice pitched high with old longing. Memories—of being terrified and then tenderly cared for by Wen Yin—flipped through him, inflaming him anew. The woman he’d thought of day and night was standing right there. How could he not be excited?
He stepped forward two strides and reached for her arm. She slipped away without even seeming to.
“So how exactly do you expect me to explain?” Wen Yin’s voice was cold and merciless. She tore open old wounds without flinching. “When was I supposed to confess to you? When you were doting over Wen Zhi? When you stayed silent as she framed me? When you watched Wen Zhi mock and sneer at me with that same cool look?”
She listed every injustice she’d suffered in front of Wen Zhi. No one knew that sequence better than he did—because it was their indulgence and permissiveness that had made Wen Zhi bolder and crueler. With every sentence Wen Yin spoke, Xiao Mo’s face grew colder. He went pale.
Hearing his own deeds laid bare by the one he'd hurt most frightened him more than anything. The fear in him was strange and muffled—was he terrified Wen Yin would never forgive him? He lowered his head, helpless. His pride, his arrogance, collapsed in that instant.
His knees bent uncontrollably. He sank to the ground and knelt before her. “Wen Yin, the life I have—it's because of you,” he said, voice stabbing with a choke. “So…if you want it, take it.”
Wen Yin’s eyebrows didn’t even twitch at the dramatic gesture. But when he uttered that bewildering line—so drenched in melodrama—she could not stop herself from rolling her eyes. A ridiculous, old-fashioned trope flashed across her mind: the scarlet-eyed CEO, lips parting to utter a wildly possessive line—“I give you my life!” The image made her lips twitch with something like amusement, though she kept it hidden. She’d gone over every hurt and humiliation in her head, and yet, despite herself, a small smile threatened the corner of her mouth. Xiao Mo, head bowed, had no idea.
She had no intention of staying near him; being close to a fool felt contagious. She moved a step back—and then the sound of brakes cut through the rain. Heavy footsteps came down the steps.
Her eyes brightened the moment she saw the car. The cool, composed woman seemed to breathe. There was a new liveliness in her—petite and animated. Xiao Mo didn’t have to turn to know who it was. For the first time since he’d seen her, a jealous heat flared inside him. When Wen Yin had been with him, she’d never worn this vividly alive expression. She had always been careful, guarded.
“Shao Yinan!” Wen Yin’s voice softened before she realized it had.
Shao Yinan stood at the top of the steps and slowly closed the umbrella in his hand. Pale fingers, sharp and defined, contrasted with the black umbrella—hands that seemed sculpted. Wen Yin ran into his arms like something bright and new. As for Xiao Mo—let fate decide.
He couldn’t remain kneeling in front of his rival. Slowly he rose; as he straightened, a sharp pain shot through his knees and he gasped. Shao Yinan and Wen Yin exchanged a look—Shao’s expression said: Has his brain failed? Wen Yin’s blinked: Maybe.
“Mr. Xiao, are you giving your New Year greetings early?” Shao asked, with a tilt of dry amusement. Then, wrapping an arm around Wen Yin’s waist, his tone turned cool enough to show displeasure.
Seeing them together, sheltered by Shao’s presence, confirmed what Xiao Mo had feared—he’d likely dug up the truth and come to apologize. Wen Yin only snuggled further into Shao’s embrace, saying nothing. As the two of them relaxed into each other, Wen Yin felt a small, strange comfort in relying on someone else. It was nicer than she’d expected.
She added a little sting for good measure. “We won’t be seeing each other again,” she said to Xiao Mo. “For a long, long time.”
That hit him like ice. “Wen Yin, what must I do to be forgiven?” The obsession in him rose again like a beast in his chest. Seeing Wen Yin leaning on Shao stabbed at him like a blade. His eyes reddened; there was a wet film at the edge that could have been tears.
Shao tightened his arm around her waist. Wen Yin hooked her fingers through his, a small, absent gesture of possession. Then, with no warmth in her voice, she finished, “Whether it’s your life or your apologies, I don’t want either. Saying ‘we will meet no more’—that’s my way of saying I never want to see you again.”
Cold spread through Xiao Mo, deeper than he’d ever felt. Pain ripped through his chest. The only image left in his sight was Wen Yin being guided into the car by Shao. Shao glanced back slowly; his dark eyes flashed with an unmistakable chill. His whole presence emanated the calm authority of someone who held all the power—and with that presence he crushed whatever hope Xiao Mo still clung to.