In the dimly lit room, clothes were casually strewn across the floor, as though shed without a second thought. A silk dress lay crumpled near the foot of the bed, its delicate fabric catching the faint glow of the lamp. A jacket had slipped from the back of a chair, pooling beside a pair of shoes that had been kicked off in haste. Nothing was arranged, nothing deliberate. The disorder spoke clearly enough on its own.
The air was heavy with perfu, warm and lingering, clinging to the sheets and the curtains alike. It was a familiar scent, softened by closeness, no longer sharp but intimate, wrapping the space in a hazy sweetness that refused to dissipate.
Su Manqing sat close to Xu Minghao, her face still faintly flushed, the color lingering high on her cheeks. It was not embarrassnt so much as the afterglow of emotion, of being seen and wanted in this quiet mont. Her breathing had steadied, but there was still a softness to her expression, her gaze lowered before she looked back up at him.
Xu Minghao’s eyes held a different warmth, one edged with unmistakable satisfaction. It was not crude or careless, but relaxed, as though a desire had been fulfilled and left him at ease. He reached out absentmindedly, fingers threading through Su Manqing’s hair, twirling a strand with lazy familiarity. The gesture was unhurried, intimate in its simplicity, as if he took comfort in the feel of her there, close and real.
Neither of them spoke. The room did not demand it.
In that shared silence, surrounded by discarded clothes and lingering scent, there was a fragile tenderness. Whatever existed between them was complicated, perhaps even flawed, but in this mont, it was undeniably sincere.
Su Manqing hesitated for a mont before speaking, as though the words themselves carried weight she was not entirely ready to bear. Xu Minghao’s fingers were still idly playing with her hair, the slow, familiar motion almost lulling, but it did nothing to quiet the question that had been pressing against her chest all this while.
"Minghao," she said softly, her voice low, careful not to fracture the fragile calm of the room. She lifted her gaze to him, searching his face for sothing steady, sothing certain. "What about Jiaxin?"
His fingers paused.
The silence that followed was not abrupt, but it was noticeable, like a breath held just a second too long.
Su Manqing’s heart tightened. She did not pull away, but her body leaned subtly closer, as if proximity alone could coax honesty out of him. "You told before," she continued, choosing her words with care, "that things between you and her are already over. I just... I want to know."
She swallowed. "Are you going to divorce her?"
Xu Minghao exhaled slowly. He did not look away, but the ease in his expression softened, replaced by sothing more complicated. His hand slid from her hair to rest against her shoulder, the touch still gentle, still intimate, yet no longer careless.
"Manqing," he said at last, voice calm, almost indulgent. "It’s not as simple as signing papers."
She already knew that. Of course she did. But hearing it still stung.
"She’s busy with her coback. I’m busy too," he continued, tone asured, as though laying out sothing perfectly reasonable. "So things need the right timing. I don’t want things to beco ugly. You understand that, don’t you?"
Su Manqing nodded slowly, even as sothing hollow shifted in her chest.
"I just don’t want to be soone temporary," she said quietly. "I don’t want to keep standing in the middle."
Xu Minghao looked at her then, really looked at her, and his expression softened again. He reached out, brushing his thumb lightly against her cheek. "You’re not temporary," he said. "I wouldn’t be here if you were."
It was not a promise.
But it was not a denial either.
Su Manqing closed her eyes briefly and leaned into his touch, choosing, for now, to accept the warmth he offered instead of the certainty she wanted.
Xu Minghao leaned closer, his voice lowered, coaxing in the way he always did when he sensed her unease. He spoke of patience, of inevitability, of futures that only needed ti to fall into place. His words were gentle, practiced, wrapping around her like the lingering scent in the room.
Su Manqing listened. She always did.
She nodded at the right monts, allowed his reassurances to settle where doubts should have been chased away. She let herself be pulled back into his arms, let his warmth blur the edges of her thoughts. On the surface, it felt intimate. Familiar. Almost safe.
But deep down, she knew.
She knew that even as he held her, even as he murmured that she mattered, she was not the woman he imagined when he thought of a proper Mrs. Xu. Not the one who would stand openly by his side, introduced without hesitation. Not the one whose existence would fit neatly into his family’s expectations or his carefully maintained image.
She was desire. Comfort. An escape.
Not legitimacy.
The realization sat quietly in her chest, heavy but controlled. Su Manqing had never been foolish enough to believe that love alone was enough in their world. She understood status. Timing. Convenience. She understood that n like Xu Minghao chose their wives with the sa calculation they used for investnts.
And still, she stayed.
Because even if she was not his ideal, she was close enough to touch what belonged to Lu Jiaxin. Close enough to taste a life that was never ant to be hers. Close enough to convince herself that being second was better than being forgotten.
Xu Minghao’s hand tightened slightly around her, as if sensing her drifting thoughts, pulling her back into the present. Su Manqing lifted her face and smiled again, soft and accommodating, the way she had learned to do so well.
For now, this was enough.
Even if, sowhere in the back of her mind, she already knew the truth she refused to say aloud.
She was not the woman he would choose in the daylight.
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