After Abandoning Her, She Discovered That Her Partner Was a Paranoid - Chapter 13

As Jing Feizuo’s hand rested on the doorknob, an inexplicable chill suddenly crept up from the soles of her feet.

The moment she stepped inside, she immediately sensed something was wrong.

Wen Jin’s perfume still lingered in the air of her apartment, mingled with a faint jasmine scent. The familiar aroma, usually comforting, now made her tense.

Jing Feizuo instinctively rushed to the room where she kept her collection. Her sharp eyes noticed that one of the boxes had been moved by half an inch, its corner no longer aligned with the vertical line she had deliberately marked.

Worse, the notebook that had been on the table was gone.

Someone had been here, rifling through her secrets. And in the world, only one person was capable of such an act.

Jing Feizuo whirled around, her bag knocking over a decorative item nearby. The sound of the object crashing to the floor echoed like a gunshot in the silent apartment.

Her breath quickened, her mind screaming at her to leave—now, immediately, instantly.

“Just back and already leaving?”

Wen Jin’s voice drifted from the shadows of the living room, making Jing Feizuo’s heart nearly stop. The cold light from the window illuminated half of Wen Jin’s face, the other half shrouded in darkness. A smile she had never seen before curved her lips.

“Wen Jin?” Jing Feizuo forced her usual surprised expression, though her voice betrayed a slight tremor. “What are you doing here?”

Wen Jin approached slowly, her footsteps on the wooden floor sounding like the ticking of a countdown.

“I was wondering,” Wen Jin stopped just a step away from Jing Feizuo, reaching out to caress her cheek, her thumb gently stroking her cheekbone, “just how much my darling has been hiding from me.”

Her touch remained warm and gentle, yet it sent a chill through Jing Feizuo’s entire body.

“I don’t understand…”

“Shh.” Wen Jin pressed a finger to Jing Feizuo’s lips, her other hand producing the black notebook from behind her back.

Jing Feizuo’s pupils constricted.

It was over. All her carefully planned breakup strategies crumbled in that instant. Her mind raced for escape routes, but her body remained frozen, pinned by the mad, clear light in Wen Jin’s eyes.

“I can explain,” she swallowed hard. “It’s just research material.”

Wen Jin’s laughter cut her off, a brittle, broken sound.

“Still trying to lie your way out of this?”

She suddenly grabbed Jing Feizuo’s wrist and dragged her to the sofa, pointing at the “file” that belonged to her.

“Your ‘creative material’ is truly… unique.” Wen Jin’s voice began to tremble, the carefully maintained mask of composure cracking.

“You know what’s most ridiculous? I could have overlooked your ex-girlfriends, forgiven your notebook, forgiven your sketchbook. But what I can’t forgive is that those things I thought were symbols of our love were actually just steps in your specimen-making process.

“That day we watched the sunrise, I thought we’d be together forever. But you never intended to truly be with me from the start. Every time you hugged me, did you ever fully embrace me with your whole heart?”

The sight of Wen Jin before her suddenly reminded Jing Feizuo of Shen Zhiyi, who had once screamed and sobbed at her one night.

That day, Shen Zhiyi had discovered the sketchbook and mistakenly believed she was merely Jing Feizuo’s artistic subject. At the time, Jing Feizuo had managed to calmly explain herself and soothe Shen Zhiyi’s emotions.

But now, watching Wen Jin’s emotions spill over like a broken dam, Jing Feizuo realized the situation was far more serious than she had anticipated.

This time, Wen Jin had uncovered everything. The emotion brewing within her wasn’t just ordinary anger, but something far more dangerous. Her eyes burned with a feeling Jing Feizuo had never seen before—not hatred, not jealousy, but a desperate, unwavering obsession.

“Wen Jin, listen to me,” Jing Feizuo said, reaching out to touch Wen Jin’s face, trying to soothe her with the softest tone she could muster.

But Wen Jin didn’t let her finish. She leaned in, pinning Jing Feizuo against the sofa, her hands braced on either side of her body, trapping her in a confined space.

“Do you know,” Wen Jin’s breath, carrying a salty, bitter tang, brushed against Jing Feizuo’s face, “I had a gift prepared for you today. I bought a villa in Switzerland and even had your studio replicated there, exactly as it is.”

Her voice grew softer, more dangerous. “I was planning our future like a fool, and you…”

Jing Feizuo suddenly saw the glistening tears in Wen Jin’s eyes.

Wen Jin was crying.

The ever-composed Wen Jin, the Wen Jin who struck fear into the hearts of her business rivals, was now staring at her with eyes on the verge of collapse.

A sharp pain pierced Jing Feizuo’s chest. This wasn’t the reaction she had planned for, not any of the outcomes she had envisioned. She opened her mouth to speak, but Wen Jin’s sudden kiss silenced her.

This kiss was unlike any they had shared before.

Rough, desperate, and tinged with the metallic taste of bl00d.

Wen Jin’s teeth bit into Jing Feizuo’s lower lip, her hand gripping the back of Jing Feizuo’s head as if trying to fuse them into one through the kiss. When they finally broke apart, both were panting heavily, a thin strand of bl00d connecting their lips.

“Darling, I hate you,” Wen Jin whispered, her voice fractured as she pressed her forehead against Jing Feizuo’s. “I hate you for making me like this. I’ve never… never…”

Suddenly, Jing Feizuo understood something that made her scalp tingle with dread.

In her mind, only three months had passed—a period easily cut short, allowing for a clean break.

But Wen Jin’s investment was far deeper and more absolute than she had imagined.

This was more terrifying than any threat, because it meant Wen Jin might never let her go.

“Wen Jin,” she pleaded, making one last desperate attempt to break free, “we both need to calm down.”

Wen Jin suddenly smiled, a smile that froze Jing Feizuo’s expression.

Slowly, she withdrew a syringe from her suit pocket, the liquid inside refracting an eerie light.

“No, darling,” Wen Jin murmured, her voice as soft as a lover’s whisper. “You need to sleep. When we wake up, we’ll be in Switzerland. It’s very quiet there, perfect for… starting over.”

Jing Feizuo finally panicked completely.

She shoved Wen Jin away and lunged for the door, only to be easily dragged back.

Wen Jin’s arm clamped around her waist like an iron band, the syringe drawing closer.

Jing Feizuo struggled frantically, her fingernails leaving bloody streaks on Wen Jin’s arm, but she couldn’t budge her even an inch.

“Please…” Jing Feizuo felt genuine terror for the first time, her voice breaking into a sob. “Don’t do this…”

Wen Jin’s movements suddenly froze.

She stared at the tears streaming down Jing Feizuo’s face, her expression cracking. The syringe slipped from her fingers, rolling across the floor.

Releasing her grip, Wen Jin cupped Jing Feizuo’s face with trembling hands, her fingertips brushing away the warm tears.

“You’re really scared,” Wen Jin murmured, as if struck by a sudden realization, as if she had discovered some shocking truth.

“You’ve never… never truly been afraid of anything before.” Her gaze began to drift. “Oh God, what have I done…”

Before Jing Feizuo could react to this sudden shift, Wen Jin’s knees slammed heavily against the floor.

The woman who had always been so elegant and composed was now kneeling before her, her shoulders shaking violently, emitting a terrifying sound somewhere between hysterical laughter and choked sobs.

Jing Feizuo stood rooted to the spot, a strange emotion swelling in her chest. She should flee now, run without looking back. But her feet felt like they had taken root, and her eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from Wen Jin’s collapsing figure.

Her fingertips trembled slightly as she slowly crouched down, her hand hesitating before gently touching Wen Jin’s hair.

“Wen Jin…” Jing Feizuo whispered.

Wen Jin jerked her head up, her eyes bloodshot, unshed tears clinging to her lashes. She looked like a wounded wild animal, both fierce and vulnerable.

“Why aren’t you leaving?” she asked hoarsely, her fingers clenching Jing Feizuo’s hem before loosening as if afraid of hurting her. “Aren’t you scared anymore?”

Jing Feizuo’s throat tightened, as if icy fingers were pressing against it. The words she wanted to speak felt like a sodden wad of cotton, heavy and stuck in her chest.

Finally, she managed to say, “But this is my home.”

Wen Jin suddenly seemed to lose all her strength, the overwhelming emotion rising to her throat. Yet all that escaped her body was a bitter laugh. “You’re right. I’m the one who should leave.”

She struggled to her feet and walked toward the door. This time, Jing Feizuo didn’t say another word.