Wenxi hadn't expected a welcome-home present from her stepsister so soon after leaving the hospital.
She and Jiang Beihuai had barely stepped through their front door and were directing the servants when her phone began to ring. It was Zhang Fuwen. Wenxi let it ring off once, twice, then hung up, but he wouldn't stop. Even Jiang Beihuai, curious, glanced over. "Answer it," he said.
"I don't care either way," Wenxi murmured. "He's just a leech. I don't want to deal with him."
It wasn't that she had anything to hide from her husband; she simply couldn't tolerate Zhang's sycophantic, grasping ways. The man had an instinct for climbing on whatever connection might lift him up. Still, Zhang's voice on the line slipped easily back into the tone he'd used when courting her years ago—familiar, intimate.
Wenxi hit the speaker. Jiang leaned his head against her shoulder and sipped the unfolding drama with obvious enjoyment.
"I need to make this clear to you," Zhang said, his resentment toward the Bai family bleeding into his complaint about Wenxi herself. "I don't know how your family raised your little sister—she's married and already running up big debts, then comes to me with her hand out."
Wenxi had been about to hang up again, but that changed when she heard a muffled sob through the line. It was Bai Yunxi.
"Did you hit her again?" Wenxi asked, hardening even though she disliked the girl.
Zhang's voice rose. There was the sickening slap, audible even over the call.
"Wen, let me be honest. Your sister stole from me. Today she asked me for a million, claimed she owed people money and had to pay up right away." He made the accusation with the kind of theatrical outrage he loved. "And her mother—shameless as she is. As her husband, what are you going to do about it?"
Hearing him insult her family in front of Jiang—he assumed the slap landed on Wenxi's face—and watching Jiang take it in with no expression made her feel embarrassed in a way she hadn't expected.
"I'm not obliged to act," Wenxi said simply. "She's married. She can talk to her husband. I've moved on. Don't call me about this again."
She cut the call, but Zhang had no shame. He arrived at the villa shortly after, dragging a battered Yunxi behind him, face swollen, one eye blackening. He threw her onto the floor like a sack, looked around with a smug little cluck, and said loud enough for the servants to hear, "So this is the Jiang house. No wonder—such display."
Wenxi's stomach turned. She took a step away. Red Fang, their housekeeper, hurried over and helped Yunxi onto the sofa, pity on her face.
Zhang cleared his throat and Yunxi, in a faint voice, immediately said, "Wenjie, I want to borrow some money."
Wenxi's reply was icily clinical. "After Father died, Aunt Yao gave you a substantial share of the estate, didn't she?"
She left the rest unsaid. There was no need. The implication hung in the air.
Yunxi stared past her as if searching for the floor to open and swallow her. Like a worn ragdoll she kept repeating, "Please, I really need it. Whatever you can spare."
Jiang Beihuai watched silently, arms folded, his posture cool and detached. Wenxi slammed her teacup on the table. "Red Fang, see them to the door."
She had already declined before; she wouldn't be blackmailed. Yunxi's lip split and dried blood gathered at the corner of her mouth; her left eye was a bruised moon. Yet she fixed her good eye on Jiang with fierce, animal longing. For the first time since she was old enough to regret a choice, she regretted it deeply. If she hadn't tried to manipulate him—if she hadn't let him invite her to a hotel and then sent that single message that lured him to Wenxi's room—he might have been hers from the start.
Tears of blood and humiliation streaked down Yunxi's face, and memory of Zhang's blows at dawn flared through her. Her mother—always the pressure—had forced her into a corner. Desperate, she begged her husband for a million in cash. He had answered with fists, no questions asked. Even when she curled into herself and promised to pay it back, it made no difference. If she didn't get out of that house soon, he'd beat her to death.
She swallowed whatever pride she had left and crawled to Wenxi's feet like a dog.
Wenxi recoiled, then reached out and, before she could stop herself, grabbed Yunxi's arm to pull her up. Yunxi hid the hatred in her eyes and whispered, voice threadbare, "Mom needs money. She borrows Dad's name to hustle people; if you don't help, the Bai family will lose face."
The mention of their father made Wenxi waver. Jiang, reading her like an open book, seized the moment. "We're family," he said, "but if she's asking for such a large sum, she needs to explain—why does she need so much at once?"
Zhang had been waiting for that. His temper melted into practiced contrition as he switched gears, all charm. "Actually, my mother-in-law has been in trouble for a while," he said to Jiang, voice calm. "She's been gambling and racked up a lot of debt. I'm a man of my word, but that's a bottomless pit I can't handle alone."
He said it like a neighbor discussing the weather, but the message was loud and clear: he wanted to smooth things with Jiang Beihuai and Wenxi, to make himself useful. Saving Yao Chunmei meant protecting the Bai name, and he gambled—accurately—that Wenxi wouldn't risk their father's reputation.
His intentions were obvious; anyone could see through them. In the past Wenxi might have swallowed the insult and helped to keep up appearances. Now that she knew what Yao had been up to, she had no intention of protecting a woman who'd abandoned decency.
Wenxi's voice was a knife of sarcasm. "Don't think I'm heartless. Yunxi, tell me—who does Aunt Yao owe this money to?"