Wen Zhi struggled with all her strength, but how could she possibly overpower him?
Just as Mo Tingjue pinched her cheek and was about to force a kiss on her, Wen Zhi bent her knee and drove it hard into his most vulnerable spot.
Mo Tingjue cried out in pain and doubled over—at the same instant, hurried footsteps sounded nearby.
The next second, his body flew backward.
Someone kicked him clean into the apartment. He crashed heavily onto the floor, letting out a muffled groan.
Wen Zhi turned her head.
Mo Tingyan stood at the doorway, fury surging around him like a storm. He didn't need to shout or snarl—his mere presence was enough to make one tremble.
Under normal circumstances, Mo Tingjue would never dare confront Mo Tingyan.
But alcohol had given him a reckless courage.
He staggered to his feet, glaring at Mo Tingyan with hatred, and roared,
"Mo Tingyan—Wen Zhi is mine!"
With that, he charged at him like a madman.
But he was no match at all.
Each time he rushed forward, Mo Tingyan kicked him back to the ground. When Mo Tingjue still refused to give up, Mo Tingyan pinned him down, knee pressing into his abdomen, and began raining punch after punch onto his face.
In moments, Mo Tingjue's face was bruised and swollen, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
Wen Zhi didn't want things to spiral out of control. She hurried forward, grabbed Mo Tingyan from behind, and dragged him back two steps.
"That's enough," she said firmly. "Don't let it turn into something serious."
Mo Tingjue lay sprawled on the floor, staring at the two of them in utter humiliation. Suddenly, he curled into himself and began pounding the ground, wailing in heartbreak.
The crying sounded—as if he had suffered some immense injustice.
Mo Tingyan kicked him disdainfully.
"Shut up. Get the hell out of my house."
Mo Tingjue slowly pushed himself upright, sitting there and staring up at Mo Tingyan with bloodshot eyes, accusing him bitterly.
"Mo Tingyan! With your looks, what kind of woman can't you deceive? Why did you have to steal the woman I love most? I know you hate me—but my tragic life isn't your fault! Why do you have to humiliate me like this?!"
Mo Tingyan bent down, grabbed him by the collar, and said coldly,
"You had everything. You were the one who couldn't control yourself and handed a treasure to someone else. Don't blame others for picking it up. Now—get out."
He dragged him like a dead dog to the door and threw him out.
Bang! The door slammed shut.
Mo Tingjue sat outside the door, seething with grief and rage, when his phone rang.
He glanced at it—it was his mother.
With a heart full of pain, he answered. Before he could speak, Gu Nian's angry voice burst through the line.
"Son, where are you? That damned Xu Wan didn't even go to her own son for money—she actually came back to our house! It's disgusting…"
Mo Tingjue's grip on the phone tightened.
Yes—what happened with Wen Zhi had been his fault.
But Mo Tingyan, that damned bastard, had taken advantage of the situation and stolen his woman.
Did he really think he was innocent?
No.
To him, Mo Tingyan had committed an unforgivable crime.
Mo Tingjue clenched his teeth, swearing silently:
he would take back everything that belonged to him—
even if he had to use the most despicable means.
He took a deep breath, his eyes filling with a darkness he had never known before.
"Mom, don't give that bitch any money yet. Do whatever it takes to keep her there. I'm coming back right now."
He hung up, slowly pushed himself to his feet, and stared at the closed door for a long thirty seconds.
Then, enduring the pain wracking his entire body, he turned and left.
—
Inside the apartment, after closing the door, Mo Tingyan walked back to Wen Zhi. His gaze swept her face.
"Did you get hurt just now?"
Wen Zhi shook her head. "Not really."
But when Mo Tingyan noticed a faint fingerprint mark on her jaw, his heart sank.
He pulled her closer, lifted her chin with slender fingers, and examined it carefully. His expression darkened.
"That beast did this?"
His voice turned icy. "I'll go kill him."
He turned to head for the door.
Thinking of how battered Mo Tingjue already was, Wen Zhi knew another beating might truly cost a life. She quickly grabbed Mo Tingyan's wrist and shook her head.
"Don't. He didn't get any advantage. He looks refined on the surface, but he can't fight at all. I kicked him there, and you beat him half to death. He didn't gain anything."
"He deserved it," Mo Tingyan said grimly—then paused, frowning.
"Refined?"
Wen Zhi: "..."
"I mean he pretends to be refined! Enough already. Drop it. Are you cooking tonight or not?"
Mo Tingyan raised a brow. Remembering he was still in the middle of appeasing his wife, he restrained his temper. Picking up the meat he had dropped earlier, he said calmly,
"Yes. Of course I'm cooking. I can't let my Palm Jewel go hungry."
He rubbed her cheek and headed into the kitchen.
Wen Zhi watched his back, thinking of how—from attending that wedding until now—he had been protecting her in his own way.
And she had effectively used that one reckless million to buy out thirty-five years of filial obligations.
All things considered… it was worth it.
Her last bit of displeasure melted away, and she followed him into the kitchen.
Seeing her put on an apron, clearly planning to help, Mo Tingyan's brows lifted.
Ah.
His girl was no longer angry.
His mood soared instantly.
He tossed aside the ginger in his hand, stepped closer, and placed both hands on her waist. With effortless strength, he lifted her onto the countertop and pinned her there.
Wen Zhi went speechless. "What are you doing now?"
Mo Tingyan leaned closer, the tip of his nose brushing against hers. His thin lips curved slightly.
"So… Palm Jewel likes refined men?"
Wen Zhi: "..."
"I just used a word casually! I meant he's weak. Are you done already?"
"Hm," he murmured. "Jealous. Heat's rising. Needs to be released."
Before she could object, he cupped the back of her head and captured her lips, kissing her deeply, changing angles, relentless and intense.
Until Wen Zhi completely surrendered, the two of them entwined together…
Afterward, Wen Zhi sat on the countertop, arms around his back, her head resting on his shoulder, catching her breath weakly. She couldn't help feeling a little speechless.
Why was it that every time he lifted her onto this counter, she ended up like the meat on it—at his complete mercy?
Just how many women had this former playboy been with, to be this skilled?
And thinking that…
why did her heart suddenly feel stuffy again, and a little annoyed?
After cleaning up together, they returned to the kitchen and cooked dinner side by side.
The one-million-yuan incident was officially over.
Mo Tingyan felt like he had narrowly escaped a catastrophe.
—
The next day, they went to work as usual.
When Wen Zhi entered the meeting room, everyone was huddled together, whispering excitedly.
When she walked in, the room fell silent for a moment—
then the murmuring resumed almost immediately.
Yan Duo, who sat beside her, turned around and patted her shoulder curiously.
"Is it true?"
Wen Zhi looked confused. "What is?"
Yan Duo hesitated. "You're not in that gossip group chat?"
As she spoke, she pulled out her phone and glanced at it.
"Your ex-boyfriend got dragged into the group last night… and posted a pretty nasty video…"