Shen Qingxue had precisely three seconds to prepare before the doors burst open.
A tall man walked in, all long legs and sunshine energy, wearing a cream-colored coat that probably cost more than her whole skincare routine. His chestnut-brown hair fell artfully over his forehead, and his eyes lit up the moment they landed on her.
"Rourou!"
Qingxue blinked. Once. Twice.
Then she smiled through the internal chaos.
"Oh no. It's a second male lead."
Baozi immediately buzzed in her ear, whispering, "Code orange! Childhood friend has appeared! I repeat—code orange! He probably has a secret crush, a sad backstory, and a puppy he named after you."
She coughed into her sleeve to muffle a laugh. "Of course he does."
"Rourou," the man said again, stepping closer with all the confidence of a second male lead who had never been rejected in his life. "You weren't replying to my messages. I thought something had happened."
Shen Qingxue scanned her memory files.
"Name?" she whispered under her breath.
"Jiang Yichen," Baozi chirped. "Qin Rourou's childhood friend. Also known as: The one she should've married instead of threatening a CEO into a hostage wedding."
"Great."
Jiang Yichen knelt beside the couch like a drama male lead with perfect kneecaps. "I heard about the divorce. Rourou, you don't have to go through this alone."
Qingxue blinked slowly.
Oh boy. Here we go.
***
Meanwhile, upstairs in the Mo family's penthouse, Mo Chen stared at his untouched coffee.
The flavor was bitter. He didn't know why he even ordered it. He never drank the stuff but today he was not in right mood.
Mo Chen's expression didn't change, but his thoughts weren't as quiet.
She didn't fight me today.
She didn't cry.
She didn't accuse Ye Wan of casting a love spell.
She even… smiled?
Something was wrong.
Mo Chen was used to his mornings starting with:
Three long texts from Qin Rourou claiming Ye Wan cursed their marriage.
One phone call threatening to buy his office building.
Two surprise gifts (once a taxidermy peacock, he still had nightmares).
But today? Silence.
Unsettling, ominous silence.
What is she planning?
His phone buzzed. The surveillance app showed someone had entered the mansion.
Jiang Yichen?
Now he understood why she ran downstairs mid conversation.
Mo Chen's jaw clenched.
Why is he back?
He stood slowly, that same cold, unreadable expression on his face. But beneath that elegant stillness was one unspoken thought.
She called him?
***
Back at the villa, downstairs, Shen Qingxue was still faking familiarity with Jiang Yichen like a champ.
"I—I'm fine, really," she said, trying to move her face muscles into something that said 'grateful, not guilty.'
Jiang Yichen held her hand like it was made of blown glass. "You're not. I know you, Rourou. You hide things behind that smile of yours. But I still remember that girl who cried when her goldfish died."
"I drowned it accidentally," she said before she could stop herself.
He smiled. "You tried to resuscitate it with a straw."
"…Did I?"
Baozi hissed, "Yes. Rourou was… very intense, even as a child."
Jiang Yichen leaned in slightly. "I'm here now. If Mo Chen won't treat you right, then I will. Always."
Shen Qingxue sighed internally.
She could already feel the love triangle energy forming in the air like smog in a xianxia drama. On paper, Jiang Yichen was the perfect solution: childhood friend, actual emotions, not emotionally constipated like Mo Chen.
But she had a mission. And the mission said: Fix Qin Rourou's mistakes. That included not rebounding into another man like a discount heroine with no self-awareness.
Before she could invent an excuse to send him away, Baozi screeched.
"WARNING. WARNING. MALE LEAD APPROACHING. CODE RED. I REPEAT: CODE RED."
The front door opened with a click.
Shen Qingxue froze. Jiang Yichen looked up.
And Mo Chen walked in.
The temperature dropped at least ten degrees.
He was still dressed in his sleek suit, dark tie loosened just enough to show off the sharp lines of his collarbone. His expression was unreadable, like a courtroom judge deciding whether you deserved a fine or public execution.
His eyes landed on Jiang Yichen's hand on Qingxue's.
There was a pause. A full three seconds of heavy silence.
Then he spoke.
"…Interesting."
Jiang Yichen stood up. "Mo Chen."
Mo Chen didn't even look at him again. His eyes were focused solely on her.
She's smiling.
She's smiling at him.
He hated that. Rourou never smiled like that with him. She clung. She cried. She yelled. But she didn't smile softly and look away like some shy heroine in a high-school drama.
She never looked happy with me.
Qingxue felt a chill crawl up her back as Mo Chen stepped forward.
"Didn't expect you would come to check up on me." she said, trying to sound natural.
Mo Chen's voice was low. "Clearly."
Jiang Yichen crossed his arms. "I was just comforting an old friend. Something wrong with that?"
Mo Chen's gaze flicked to him. "No. But some people don't understand boundaries."
"Some people break hearts like it's business," Jiang Yichen replied coolly.
Shen Qingxue waved her hands like a referee. "Okay! Let's not do this. No chest-beating today, gentlemen."
Mo Chen's eyes returned to her.
"You look like you're doing well," he said slowly.
She nodded, keeping her tone light. "I've been doing some… self-reflection. It turns out trying to own someone through legal contracts isn't healthy."
Baozi whispered in her ear, "YES. CHARACTER GROWTH!"
Mo Chen didn't reply. Instead, he turned to leave, like he'd seen what he came to see.
"Wait," she called before she could stop herself.
He paused.
"Did you… meet Ye Wan at the party yesterday? You seemed close."
That was her fatal mistake.
His back stiffened. Slowly, he turned.
"Why does it matter to you?"
Qingxue's voice caught.
This isn't about me.
But it still hurt.
"Nothing," she said. "It's just… you looked happy."
For a moment, Mo Chen didn't say anything.
Then, quietly: "She was always kind. Never tried to control me."
A direct hit. Oof.
Jiang Yichen stepped in. "Unlike some people, you mean?"
Mo Chen gave him a look colder than tax season. "You were always too eager to take what wasn't yours."
"Maybe I just pick up what you throw away."
"OKAY!" Qingxue practically shouted. "Let's not reenact a territorial wolf fight in my living room!"
She turned to Mo Chen. "Look, I'm not trying to cause trouble. I know I hurt you. I don't expect forgiveness. I just… wanted to give you the divorce without drama."
He stared at her for a long moment.
"…That would be a first."
And with that, he left for work. Not wanting to deal with it anymore.
The door closed with a final-sounding click.
Jiang Yichen reached out again. "You okay?"
She sat down hard on the couch, stunned by how much that short conversation had drained her.
This is harder than I thought.
He doesn't trust me.
And he shouldn't.
Baozi appeared again with a soft beep.
"Host… I know that was tough. But you're doing good! Really! You didn't scream once!"
"Small victories," she muttered.
"Want your mission progress report?"
She hesitated. "Fine."
A glowing chart appeared.
Progress: 6%
Divorce Status: Pending
ML Trust Level: Dangerously Low
FL Resentment Level: Skyrocketing
Side Character Interference: MAXIMUM
Qingxue groaned. "That's not encouraging."
Baozi offered a hopeful buzz. "But look! You didn't try to kidnap anyone today!"
She flopped backward on the couch.
"I need a new plan."
Jiang Yichen sat beside her. "You do have one, right?"
She looked at him.
"Yes. I'm going to fix this. Even if it kills me."
Baozi whispered, "That's actually quite possible."
***
And far away, in a cold office under artificial lights, Mo Chen stared at the blank screen of his laptop.
He saw the image again—her smiling at Jiang Yichen like she never smiled at him.
Why does it bother me?
He didn't know.
But it did.
Deeply.
And that… was unacceptable.
***
The moment Yi Cheng's car disappeared past the villa gates, Shen Qingxue collapsed face-first onto the silk cushions like a starlet in a drama who had just discovered her fiancé was her long-lost brother.
"Gone," she groaned into the sofa. "My last remaining ally. My human golden retriever. Off to the airport. And here I am. Trapped in Yandere Mansion with zero exit strategy and a male lead who'd rather floss with barbed wire than speak to me."
Baozi beeped sympathetically, offering a pink glittery tissue.
"No thanks," Qingxue muttered. "I want to marinate in my own tragic aura."
But her tragic aura was interrupted—rudely—by a sudden jolt of pain in her stomach. She winced, placing a hand over her lower ribs. Not sharp. Not unbearable. Just a slow, growing ache. She pressed her lips together, ignoring the light dizziness that followed.
"Okay… ow," she whispered, straightening with effort. "That's new."
Baozi floated closer, nervously blinking. "Uh-oh. Warning. Host's body is showing early signs of systemic internal failure. You're overdrawn on health points."
"Baozi. What have I told you about using gamer terms on my actual organs."
"Sorry! But technically, Qin Rourou was already in critical health before you arrived. You just… didn't notice because you were too busy cursing at wedding portraits and plotting against Ye Wan."
"Oh, I noticed," Qingxue said, rubbing her temple. "I just filed it under 'too tragic to deal with before lunch.'"
She sat back, trying to calm her breathing. It didn't help that her chest now felt heavy, like someone had parked an emotional support elephant there.
Baozi projected a small hologram of her vitals. Glowing red. Blinking fast. Not great.
"You need rest. Like, actual bed rest. No emotional strain. No revenge plots. No—"
"I said I'll handle it," Qingxue interrupted, shooing the screen away. "We have bigger problems. Like Mo Chen going off to meet his moonbeam ex-girlfriend in some romantic cafe while I rot in this mansion of rejected Pinterest boards."
"But… Host—"
"We're going."
Baozi gasped. "You're going to crash the meeting?!"
"No," she said, standing slowly, hand still on her side. "I'm going to gracefully descend upon it like a misunderstood heiress in a melodrama. There's a difference."
___
(Mo Chen's POV)
Mo Chen had no expectations when he walked into the rooftop café.
He didn't come here for nostalgia. He didn't even believe in nostalgia. Emotions were inefficient. His life was numbers, contracts, mergers, and results.
But when Ye Wan called him earlier that day in her soft, barely-there voice and asked to "catch up," something tugged. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was curiosity.
Or maybe, as Yi Cheng had not at all subtly accused him, it was because he couldn't stand not knowing what she thought of his marriage.
Their table was quiet. Ye Wan sipped her rose tea and smiled like she'd never been hurt. Like she didn't remember being pushed out of the industry by the Mo family's sudden blacklist. Like she didn't know who his wife was.
"You look good," she said softly, her voice like snow falling on calligraphy paper.
Mo Chen gave a polite nod. "So do you."
Liar, he thought. She looked pale. Smaller than before. Distant. Like something about her was still stuck in that past moment—the day he broke up with her in a text.
"I just wanted to see you again," Ye Wan said, lowering her lashes. "To say that… I don't blame you. For anything."
That got a reaction out of him. His fingers clenched slightly around his cup. He didn't reply.
Ye Wan reached across the table, just enough to graze his sleeve. "You were always kind to me, Mo Chen. Even when the world wasn't."
He stared at her hand. Then, almost involuntarily, his mind conjured the image of another hand—one with painted nails and diamond rings—slapping divorce papers onto his desk like a threat.
Qin Rourou.
God, he couldn't escape her even when she wasn't around. She haunted every corner of his life like a perfume stain—loud, cloying, and expensive.
But…
Lately, she hadn't been quite the same.
That morning, she hadn't screamed. She hadn't demanded anything. She had just stood in his doorway in pajamas and pink slippers, looking smaller than usual. And when she'd said, "I'm trying," it had sounded… real.
He shook it off.
Ye Wan was speaking again. Something about her new job. About how she forgave him. How maybe they could still…
That's when the elevator doors dinged. And descended an entire novella.