He has always been like this—aloof, unreachable, towering above all.
"What do you want to say?" Ye Ranran was about to burst out in anger, but as soon as the words escaped her lips, she suppressed the fury. After years of struggle, her mask was firmly in place.
Behaving like a shrew was a taboo in their world. Especially words spoken in anger—if seized upon and magnified—it could lead to consequences far worse than rely being summoned for tea.
"I don’t understand what the Chief ans. Could you offer so guidance?" Her tone swiftly returned to calmness.
Fu Rong observed her and realized that she truly was a dedicated secretary, so competent that he almost wanted to praise her.
Is she feeling wronged? But there’s no trace of grievance in her expression. Resentful? Her gaze was as pure and tranquil as still water.
"Why don’t you question like last ti?"
The last ti, she held onto hope, thinking that by pressing him, he might concede—even if just a little.
The results ca, but they were far from what she had hoped for. Now that she had faced reality, why humiliate herself further?
"I don’t understand what the Chief is implying. I’m rely your secretary." The underlying ssage was that she had no right to question him.
He understood. Last ti, she spoke as a pursuer. Now she was telling him she no longer liked him.
Then who does she like? Jun Mochan?
Fu Rong thought of that assessnt report, and his previously sharp gaze grew even sharper—like a dagger laced with poison, ready to pierce straight to the heart.
"Don’t forget your surna is Wen."
"No need for your reminder. I’ve always kept that in mind." A faint curve appeared at the corner of her lips, her gaze was cool and serene—like sumr rain touching the earth, washing away its scorching heat.
Fu Rong’s usually cold eyes darkened like ink that had been carefully ground for hours, condensing into an expanse of pure black.
"Drive."
Ye Ranran raised the jewelry box in her hand toward him once again, saying nothing, simply gazing at him quietly.
"Take it to her yourself. She must accept it willingly."
"Alright."
Her response was quick and crisp, without the slightest hesitation. That trace of warmth that had just risen in Fu Rong’s eyes vanished instantly, like a cold front sweeping through, freezing the atmosphere.
If only she had said no, he would have imdiately retracted his words. Even if she had shown the faintest sign of weakness, he would have changed his mind.
But she didn’t. She agreed without even furrowing her brow.
He was about to scold her but caught sight of her profile, the soft curve of her face, and sohow his anger dissolved into nothingness.
"Where do you want to eat?"
Since last night’s incidents—the press conference, the arrangents, the negotiations in the hospital—he hadn’t rested for an entire night.
Everyone was exhausted, and the morning had been just as hectic.
Even machines couldn’t withstand it. Fu Rong decided to head back for so rest.
But his stomach was empty. In the flurry of work, he hadn’t noticed, but now, seated idly, hunger crept up on him.
"I don’t want to eat. You go ahead." She wasn’t without hunger; rather, she simply didn’t want to sit and share a al with him right now.
If she had decided to let go, then it was best to keep her distance. Less interaction, little by little, and perhaps he would fade from her thoughts completely.
Ye Ranran had always believed in the power of ti. To her, there were no wounds ti couldn’t heal, and no love it couldn’t erode.
Besides, the Earth is round; no one is truly indispensable to another. Even a nail driven deep into the heart, though excruciatingly painful when pulled out—
With ti, even that pain would eventually be forgotten.
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