Xue Ning was smiling again.
Not much.
Not brightly.
But there were hints of it.
A curve of her lips when the nurse complimented her reading speed.
A hum under her breath when Xue Zhen visited and told her of their quiet victories back home.
Her eyes no longer dull. Her voice steadier. Her appetite returning in small, cautious bites.
She even joked once—just once—that if he slacked off too much, she'd take over the family business.
"And probably run it better," she added, trying to sound smug.
He pretended to be offended.
"Dream on."
She liked that.
He liked that she liked that.
For the first time in days, it felt like something was healing.
⸻
Later that night, as the machines beeped softly beside her, Xue Zhen remained at her bedside longer than usual.
His voice was barely audible—just a whisper into the sterile air.
"You're better," he told her sleeping form.
But his tone was almost a question.
A plea disguised as certainty.
"You're better... right?"
He needed to believe it.
Because if not, then everything he was about to do would be unforgivable.
⸻
The next morning, he stood by the window, fingers gripping the strap of his shoulder bag so tightly the leather creaked. The dawn light cast long shadows over the hospital floor. His gaze kept drifting back to the bed.
Xue Ning was sleeping peacefully.
Pillow slightly askew.
Blanket halfway kicked off like she always did when dreaming.
He tucked it back to her chin.
Smoothed a strand of hair away.
Stared at her for too long.
Then turned to the butler.
"I'll be gone just a few days," he said.
Mr. Yuwen didn't move.
"You shouldn't go," the old man said finally, voice low. "It's not the right time."
Zhen exhaled.
"She's strong now," he said.
A lie.
He hated how easily it came out.
"Besides... if I don't go back, they'll get stronger."
They.
The Third Branch.
The board faction loyal to Xue Minglan.
The ones who waited like vultures for the moment he'd soften.
Look away.
Stay too long at someone's bedside.
He wanted to stay.
But it was a luxury he couldn't afford.
⸻
Mr. Yuwen handed him the latest internal report.
Xue Liyan's name was all over it.
Efficient.
Loyal.
Subtle.
Too subtle.
Zhen's brows creased slightly as he scanned the pages. Liyan had executed every task flawlessly—almost too flawlessly. The delegation of contracts. The board vote on branch budgets. Even the pending HR reshuffle that should've been contentious... sailed through.
Is he holding it together for me? Or slowly folding it into his hand?
Zhen didn't trust paranoia.
But he trusted blind loyalty even less.
Still, he folded the report. Slipped it into his bag. Glanced one more time at the woman on the bed.
She's safe here.
Just a few days. Then I'll return.
"I'll come back before you even notice I'm gone," he whispered.
But she would.
She always did.
⸻
When Xue Ning woke up, the light filtering through the blinds was soft and foreign. Morning in a country not her own. A hospital room cleaner than it was yesterday, maybe because someone had tidied up.
Someone who always tidied up before leaving.
Her eyes opened slowly.
And she knew.
The chair beside her bed was empty.
The window slightly ajar, the curtains swaying just a bit.
Her water glass refilled.
The pillow on the visitor's couch fluffed, as if someone had rested there, then carefully erased the evidence.
No aftershave.
No paper clutter.
No quiet tapping of laptop keys.
He was gone.
She didn't panic.
She didn't cry.
She didn't call his name.
Instead, she turned her head toward the open window and listened to the breeze that carried no scent of him at all.
⸻
Mr. Yuwen entered a few minutes later, holding her chart.
He paused when he saw her awake, alert—but quiet.
"Good morning," he said gently.
She didn't respond immediately. Just kept staring out the window.
Then, without turning:
"He left early?"
A beat of silence.
"He didn't want to wake you."
She finally looked at him, eyes unreadable.
"But he knew I'd notice."
Mr. Yuwen didn't deny it.
Instead, he walked to the side table, adjusted the tray, and busied himself with things that didn't need fixing.
The silence stretched. Not cold. Not warm. Just... heavy.
"He said just a few days," the butler offered after a while. "There were matters he needed to attend to."
"Of course," Ning said flatly.
"There always are."