Chapter 2: Never Before

The corners of Fu Juxing’s lips lifted ever so slightly. After a brief moment of eye contact with her, he responded with a single, indifferent word, “Oh.” He showed neither sorrow nor anger, as if listening to someone else’s story, entirely unrelated to himself. How laughable—it was her own husband, after all.

With that, the conversation ended. Lin Wanbai said nothing more, nor did Fu Juxing.

It wasn’t until the doctor called Ye Run’s name that she hurried over, paying no mind to her rightful husband’s feelings—he didn’t seem to care, anyway.

Ye Run had regained consciousness, so she was allowed to visit. He’d been beaten so badly his face was swollen beyond recognition, with every limb broken. It looked as though he wouldn’t be able to work for at least a year.

The moment Ye Run saw Lin Wanbai, he was terrified. Unable to move his hands, he shook his head frantically and mumbled, “Go away, please go, I don’t need you to visit me.”

“Are you blind? Didn’t you see clearly who I am?” She bent over, leaning in so he could see her face. “I’m your sponsor. And you say that to me?”

As she drew close, Ye Run began to cry. “I’ll return everything I owe you—just please, don’t come looking for me again…”

At that moment, a flicker of fear rose in his eyes, as if he’d seen something terrifying. Following his gaze, she saw Fu Juxing walking over, coming straight to her side, exuding an imposing presence. “Focus on recovering. That car—you deserve it.”

Lin Wanbai stared at him, unblinking, her gaze fixed. His eyes held a thin, gentle smile as he placed an arm around her shoulders, his expression tender as he asked, “Are you planning to stay here and take care of him?”

He was always so poised in public. Now, even in front of her lover, he remained perfectly composed, unruffled—a model husband indeed.

“No, no, there’s no need—she has nothing to do with me… I don’t want her to take care of me…” Ye Run refused her before Lin Wanbai could say a word.

Fu Juxing smiled. “I’ll cover your medical expenses. Just focus on getting better.”

Lin Wanbai did not embarrass him and left the hospital with him.

Halfway through the drive, she turned to him and asked quietly, “Did you do it?”

Fu Juxing didn’t move, nor did he answer.

“Why did you hit him?”

“Just because I let you be, doesn’t mean you can make a fool of me.” His tone was cool and brief.

“…Still, you shouldn’t have beaten him like that.” In truth, she wanted to ask if he did it because he cared—but her pride would not let her utter such a humbling question.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, tilting his head slightly toward her. In the dim car, his eyes seemed even darker. He retorted, “Then what should I have done?”

“Whatever you do, you can’t hit people. I never went after any of your mistresses.”

He chuckled softly. “I never used your money to buy gifts for other women.”

“So you do have a mistress.” A woman’s logic is often unexpected.

“I don’t,” he denied lightly, then asserted, “I would never do such a thing.”

Never do it? More like he’s just good at hiding.

They sat in silence. Lin Wanbai glanced at the wound on the back of his hand, then at him. His expression betrayed nothing. In truth, she didn’t need to ask—she could tell just by looking that he simply did not care.

Yet this time, she’d been too high-profile, and it had drawn the elders’ attention.

“Did my grandfather call you?”

He didn’t look at her. “He told me to treat you well.”

She knew it—if she hadn’t caused such a stir, alarming the family elders, he wouldn’t have bothered with any of this.

She turned away and fell silent.

The car circled the streets a few times before Fu Juxing spoke first, “Where are you living now?”

“Lan She Dao.”

He drove her there.

When the car stopped by the curb, Lin Wanbai was about to say goodbye when Fu Juxing got out as well.

“I’ll walk you in.”

She stopped and looked at him across the car, refusing coldly, “There’s no need—it’s just a short walk.”

He ignored her, following behind regardless.

Lin Wanbai deliberately quickened her pace, clutching her keys tightly. When she reached the door, she hurried to unlock it, hoping to keep him outside.

But just as she was about to shut the door, Fu Juxing moved a fraction faster, gripping the doorframe with one hand. She immediately let go, but not in time—the door slammed on his hand.

It must have been heavy.

Startled, she kicked the door open. “What… What are you doing?!”

He only raised his brows slightly, showing little reaction. Releasing the doorframe, he stood outside as if nothing had happened. “Just looking around.”

“Looking at what?”

“How you live here on your own.”

Her heart beat wildly, and a flicker of annoyance crossed her face. She glanced at his right hand hanging by his side, then gritted her teeth. Finally, she stepped aside and let him in.

Lan She was an old residence, still retaining the architectural style of the Republic era, located in the most expensive part of North City. It was one of the wedding gifts her grandfather had given her.

The furnishings inside were all vintage European, understated yet luxurious.

She tossed her keys onto the cabinet, took off her shoes, and entered ahead of him.

Living alone, her place was a mess, and she wanted to tidy up a little.

Fu Juxing strolled in, quickly rubbing his right hand. He glanced around the chaotic living room, frowning almost imperceptibly. “Didn’t you bring a maid?”

“No. I like living alone.”

“It’s freedom, all right.” Truly lawless.

He stood by the sofa and surveyed the room—there was literally nowhere to sit. A pampered heiress, never lifting a finger, and now she’d turned her house into a kennel—only she could manage that.

She was truly lazy, so lazy she’d want someone to carry her to the bathroom.

He bent down and picked up a paper box from the sofa, catching sight of the contents—a stack of men’s underwear.

The other bag contained adult toys, glaringly conspicuous.

Lin Wanbai turned and saw him holding the bag. She hurried over, snatched it from him, her eyes flustered. She shot him a glance, then quickly looked away, pointing to an empty spot on the sofa. “Sit here, and don’t touch my things.”

“Alright.” He withdrew his hand and sat as instructed.

Lin Wanbai hastily tidied up, shoving the bag of adult items into the coffee table drawer. Then she sat down too. Only after sitting did she remember to offer tea. “Would you like something? Beer, juice, or just water?”

“No need to trouble yourself.”

“Oh.”

She made no effort to pour him a drink.

She noticed the swelling on his hand and, quite inexplicably, felt a pang of guilt. Frowning, she said, “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Block the door with your hand.”

“It’s nothing. As long as you’re happy.”

Her heart grew restless. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

Anger welled up in Lin Wanbai, but she didn’t want to lash out—doing so would mean she cared, and she didn’t want to care. She wanted to learn his cool indifference.

She took a deep breath, suppressing her fury.

The room fell silent, the air growing heavier.

Fu Juxing was never one to talk much with her. In three years of marriage, she was always the one to fill the silence, chattering away even if he never responded.

She liked sharing everything with him.

But now, she no longer wished to speak.

After a few minutes, Lin Wanbai couldn’t stand it any longer.

“It’s getting late.”

“When do you plan to move back?”

They spoke almost in unison.

Lin Wanbai was stunned.

Fu Juxing continued, “Is there something about home that you’re dissatisfied with?”

Three months had passed, and only now did he ask—far too late.

“No.”

“Then why did you move out?”

She fixed her gaze on him. His expression was as calm as ever, those deep black eyes utterly unruffled.

No matter what she did, even if she truly made a fool of him, he would never get angry. He would calmly accept it and carry on, perhaps even continuing to treat her as well as before.

To outsiders, he was the perfect husband—devoted, self-restrained, always remembering his wife wherever he went.

All year round, every holiday except for Tomb Sweeping Day, she received gifts—enough to flaunt on social media.

In every situation, he was always the one most considerate of his wife.

With such a husband, who wouldn’t be envious?

To everyone else, he must have truly loved her.

After living like this for so long, even she had come to believe he loved her. If not for the discovery three months ago that he’d kept someone else outside their marriage, she might have gone on in blissful ignorance.

He was still the same man he’d been three years ago; his heart had never changed. He had never loved her—not once.