“Why does it hurt so much? It feels like someone beat me to a pulp.” Yan Ke’er complained helplessly, rubbing the back of her neck.
Yuan Meng’s face was as unreadable as ever—no hint of guilt. “You slept wrong?”
Yan Ke’er put a hand to her throat and tilted her head. “Doesn’t feel like a crick, though. A crick usually hurts on one side, right?” She squinted at Yuan Meng. “Did you hit me? I remember I suddenly passed out last night…”
Something about it didn’t sit right.
“Nope, you’re hallucinating,” Yuan Meng said, reaching for Yan Ke’er’s forehead.
“Not hot,” Yan Ke’er muttered. Yuan Meng’s calm, guiltless attitude reassured her; she decided she must have been mistaken. She rubbed her neck again. “It’s probably just a crick. People get weird aches sometimes.”
She’d already found an excuse and didn’t notice the faint smile in Yuan Meng’s eyes.
They packed up and prepared to head to the marriage registry to sign the divorce papers.
Yuan Meng let out a long breath. At last—this day had finally arrived. No more pretending to be a tired celebrity persona. Freedom.
Her fingers closed around the doorknob, turned it, and the small thrill of relief died when the handle stopped dead. Someone had locked the door from the outside.
She tried again. The knob didn’t budge.
“Why are you just standing there?” Yan Ke’er chattered anxiously. “Yuan Meng, that Ling Qianchen isn’t worth the trouble. Don’t let him keep you up over this.”
Tangential worry filled the room while Yuan Meng kept tugging at the knob, growing more irritated by the second. She stepped away from the door without expression, pulled out her phone, and saw a message from Chai Yanyu.
After reading it, Yuan Meng’s hand went into a fist at her side—she wanted nothing more than to march out and slap the guy. Her teeth ground together so hard they made a noise, but she didn’t let herself call him back right away. There was Yan Ke’er in the room; she couldn’t start anything reckless.
The text read: Ai Yue, I’ve locked the door. Yan Ke’er is still inside—so keep up your image and don’t give anything away. Friendly reminder: delicate girls don’t kick doors down.
Just the tone of it made her blood boil.
Yan Ke’er had been turning the knob for ages before she realized something was wrong. “The door won’t open,” she mumbled, then tried again experimentally.
“They locked it from outside. I’ll call Luo Yishan—she’ll get someone to open it,” Yuan Meng said.
She called immediately and explained. They thought it would be a quick job, but then Luo Yishan reported back with worse news: the door had been jammed from the outside—someone had stuffed something into the jamb. It would take time to clear.
Yuan Meng nearly lost it. Who would dare do such a thing? Only one name came to mind: Chai Yanyu. He’d gone too far this time.
Luo Yishan was efficient. She arranged for people to get on it right away.
“Don’t let the person who did this get away,” Yuan Meng warned.
“Pull the footage. If it’s Chai Yanyu on camera, copy it straight away—I won’t let him off,” Luo Yishan said.
Both women were certain Chai Yanyu was behind the stunt. Evidence and they’d tear him apart.
But when they went to check the surveillance, they found the cameras wiped.
Luo Yishan’s face fell. So had Yuan Meng’s. Whoever had gone after the recording had gone a step further. Chai Yanyu had crossed a line.
Just then Yuan Xingcheng—Yuan Meng’s nephew—arrived, his jaw tight with anger. He’d heard his aunt was being locked inside on a day she planned to finalize the divorce; just thinking about it made veins stand out on his forehead.
Luo Yishan gave him a sharp look. “Yan Ke’er’s in there. Don’t say anything you shouldn’t.”
He swallowed. No wonder she hadn’t come out. He spat a curse at Chai Yanyu. “Is he even human? Yuan Meng’s finally free and he pulls this stunt?”
On the surface he was defending Yuan Meng, but everyone around knew the truth: they were furious because Chai Yanyu, having lost some bet or wager, still tried to hold on to her this way.
“Chai Yanyu did this—locked us in?” Yan Ke’er picked up the thread. “What’s his angle?”
“He’s a bastard,” Yuan Xingcheng growled. “After all she’s been through, he’s doing this? He deserves a good beating…”
Yan Ke’er, like an irritable little lion, ranted on, while Yuan Xingcheng kept chiming in. The two of them traded blows of words and anger, their outrage feeding itself.
Whether Chai Yanyu sneezed at that moment was anyone’s guess.
“That won’t solve anything. I’ll try calling Ling Qianchen,” Yuan Meng said. Even though her nephew and Yan Ke’er were speaking up for her, they were so loud she could feel her temples throb. Worst of all, Chai Yanyu wasn’t here to hear their insults; shouting at him now was a waste of breath.
She dialed Ling Qianchen, but the line was busy.
“He probably isn’t avoiding the divorce—maybe he’s blocked you. I’ll try him,” Yan Ke’er said, and dialed, but his line was busy too.
Everyone present tried calling him, and everyone got the same result: the line was constantly busy.
Yuan Meng stayed silent, but inside she was furious. She wanted to beat someone senseless. She watched Yan Ke’er pacing and cursing Ling Qianchen, thinking that if he wasn’t here she could just climb out a window and save herself the theatrics of keeping up an image.
After all, she’d been knocked out once yesterday—what would another fainting spell hurt?
The thought grew bolder in her mind, and she rubbed her hands together, planning.
Yan Ke’er suddenly felt a chill at the back of her neck—her sixth sense told her someone was eyeing her.
“Ling Qianchen just doesn’t want you to sign the papers,” Yan Ke’er declared. “Yuan Meng, don’t worry—no matter what today, I’ll see you divorced.”
“Even if I have to climb a mountain of blades or walk through fire, I’ll make sure you get that divorce,” she said solemnly, eyes honest, ready to fight for her friend.