After Abandoning Her, She Discovered That Her Partner Was a Paranoid - Chapter 15

At 8:30 a.m., Jing Feizuo’s phone suddenly blared with an ear-splitting ringtone.

She stretched a hand out from under the covers, slapped at the phone haphazardly until the ringing stopped, and immediately retreated back into the warm cocoon, curling up like a hibernating animal.

But the silence didn’t last long. A louder, more persistent ringtone began to sound, finally forcing her to throw back the covers and stand up. Even after getting out of bed, Jing Feizuo’s head still drooped, and she had to fight the urge to collapse back onto the mattress. She yanked open the curtains, letting the winter morning light kiss her skin and chase away some of the lingering drowsiness.

She shuffled slowly into the bathroom. As warm water splashed against her face, she stared at her reflection in the mirror—the corners of her eyes still heavy with sleep, a faint red mark on her collarbone, left by Wen Jin the night before.

This was only the second day of their full-fledged cohabitation.

After their brief negotiation at the café, Wen Jin had swiftly orchestrated her move. What should have been a complex and tedious process was resolved with the speed and ease of simply picking up a piece of paper.

Now, her luggage was neatly arranged in the bedroom, her art supplies were set up in the living room’s sunniest corner, and Wen Jin had even cleared out an entire room to house her “collection,” transferring it intact.

Everything seemed just like any other day. She reached up and touched the mark on her collarbone.

Except for Wen Jin’s unusually intense desire.

After a quick brush of her teeth, she walked into the living room. The heater was on, and the soft carpet absorbed all sound. A thermos sat prominently on the coffee table. As she approached, she saw it contained perfectly warm honey yuzu tea, with a note pressed beneath the cup:

“Breakfast is ready. I won’t be back for lunch, but the housekeeper will come to prepare a meal. Don’t skip lunch.”

The handwriting was bold and strong, but the final stroke trailed into a small heart. Jing Feizuo glanced at it and couldn’t help but scoff.

The night Wen Jin had turned her suitcase upside down, that neatly preserved stack of notes had been exposed.

Wen Jin’s handwriting was undeniably beautiful. Jing Feizuo had always treasured these notes as special keepsakes.

Of course, after realizing these carefully preserved notes were actually a countdown to their breakup, Wen Jin had forbidden her from keeping them. She still wrote them, but now she was so anxious that she rushed home to collect them immediately.

Jing Feizuo crumpled the note and tossed it aside.

Since there was nothing left to collect, there was no longer any need to carefully preserve anything.

The dining room was filled with a fragrant aroma. On the table sat an exquisite breakfast: soft-boiled eggs with golden, crispy edges, fluffy and buttery croissants, and freshly squeezed orange juice still flecked with tiny bits of pulp.

Everything was exactly what Jing Feizuo used to love.

The spotless kitchen counter made it clear that whoever had used it had cleaned up meticulously.

She took a bite of a croissant, its flaky crust crumbling onto the plate, and picked up her phone to send Wen Jin a message:

“Finished breakfast. It was delicious, but your handwriting is terrible. No more notes, please.”

After sending the message, she flipped her phone face down on the table, the screen quickly going dark.

With recent matters concluded, she temporarily reverted to her lazy artist persona, uninterested in any messages that might disturb her leisurely life.

After slowly finishing breakfast, Jing Feizuo walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows of her apartment.

This was a riverside penthouse, and as she stood by the window, she gazed at the city blanketed in fresh snow on a winter morning.

The river shimmered with a cold, lead-gray light, tiny ice crystals drifting slowly with the current. The snow that had fallen overnight formed fluffy curves along the railings lining the shore. Across the river, the glass curtain walls of the Financial Center reflected the snowy landscape, softening the sharp angles that usually defined its silhouette.

On the nearby street, the morning rush hour traffic had already formed a slow-moving ribbon of red taillights. Pedestrians in thick coats hurried along the sidewalks, while she, barefoot on the heated wooden floor, felt none of the urgency or cold.

It had to be said that this luxurious mansion, worth more than she could earn in half a lifetime, was far more comfortable than her rented apartment. Jing Feizuo even felt that staying here longer might noticeably improve her eyesight.

As long as she stayed away from the living room, with its questionable decor.

Yes, she had long been dissatisfied with the living room’s interior design.

Ebony furniture, cold-toned decorative paintings, and a meticulously symmetrical layout exuded a gloomy rigidity and dull, old-fashioned style.

During their brief cohabitation, she had managed to tolerate it, but now that the living room was to become her painting studio for the next six months, she finally snapped. Last night, in front of Wen Jin, she tore the entire space apart with her criticisms.

Wen Jin humbly accepted all her complaints and immediately addressed her concerns, promptly canceling her afternoon work to take Jing Feizuo to the furniture market to choose new pieces.

Her attitude was as deferential as if she were hosting a foreign dignitary.

After finishing her sketch of the city from above, Jing Feizuo couldn’t bring herself to paint in the lifeless atmosphere. She pulled out a jigsaw puzzle, sat cross-legged on the carpet, and began piecing it together.

It was an ultra-detailed oil painting puzzle, vibrant with color and intricate patterns—perfect for passing the time.

The doorbell rang, startling her into realizing it was already noon.

The housekeeper Wen Jin had hired moved with the swiftness of a breeze. By the time Jing Feizuo shuffled into the dining room in her slippers, four dishes and a soup were neatly arranged on the table, their rich aromas filling the air. She instinctively poked a rib with her chopsticks, the meat so tender it nearly fell off the bone.

Despite the delicious meal before her, she found herself inexplicably recalling the dinner Wen Jin had personally prepared the night before. The memory of that meal seemed just as satisfying.

Where did the busy Wen Group President learn to cook so well? Jing Feizuo wondered, chewing on her chopsticks.

After the housekeeper cleared the table and left, Jing Feizuo glanced at the half-finished puzzle, then checked her phone. There was still over an hour until their agreed departure time.

Too long. Jing Feizuo had always hated waiting, especially when she was bored.

She swiped across the screen and sent Wen Jin another message:

Are you free now? Let’s go early.

The message was marked as read instantly, and a reply came within seconds: “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Jing Feizuo raised an eyebrow.

She understood Wen Jin’s demanding work schedule. During their three months together, she had never asked Wen Jin to alter her work arrangements, just as she wouldn’t change her own plans for her.

When they made the six-month agreement two days ago, Jing Feizuo had initially resisted. This “collection” could have ended, yet she was now forced to endure a half-year “collection vacuum.”

But then, a peculiar thought had taken root in her mind. Rather than viewing it as a “vacuum,” she now saw these six months as a unique epilogue to their collection.

Of course, she didn’t believe she wouldn’t leave after half a year.

Special phases warranted special treatment. Abandoning her previous insistence on avoiding mutual compromise, she began testing Wen Jin’s boundaries.

She strolled leisurely to the walk-in closet and casually draped a camel-colored coat over her shoulders.

Even before she’d moved her luggage in yesterday, several of her clothes had already infiltrated Wen Jin’s closet. She’d noticed this long ago but hadn’t bothered to ask. Back then, she hadn’t cared, figuring it was just Wen Jin’s way—meticulous to a fault, yet restrained enough to never overstep.

Now, she realized that Wen Jin wasn’t just avoiding crossing boundaries; she was actively trying to erase the line between them.

But Jing Feizuo had already found a new game to play, one that banished even the terror of that night to the back of her mind.

As she straightened her collar in the mirror, Jing Feizuo heard movement at the door. Glancing at her phone, she saw it was five minutes earlier than their agreed-upon time.

She walked out barefoot to find Wen Jin standing in the entryway, wearing a cream-colored turtleneck sweater beneath a dark gray coat, car keys in hand.

Wen Jin’s gaze lingered on her bare feet for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. “Be careful not to catch a cold.”

Jing Feizuo shrugged dismissively. “The heating’s on, and we’re going out soon anyway.”

Wen Jin said nothing more, simply bending down to retrieve Jing Feizuo’s usual pair of ankle boots from the shoe cabinet.

“Wear these.”

Jing Feizuo stared at the neatly arranged boots for two seconds before suddenly laughing. “You’re putting in even more effort than when you were pursuing me.”

Wen Jin looked up at her, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Because now I only have six months left.”

Jing Feizuo didn’t reply. Instead, she deliberately stepped on Wen Jin’s polished leather shoes to leverage herself into the boots. Wen Jin stood perfectly still, not even a flicker of annoyance crossing her face.

On the way to the furniture store, Jing Feizuo leaned lazily against the passenger seat, her fingertips tapping lightly against the car window’s edge in rhythm with the music.

Wen Jin drove smoothly, the black car gliding through the winter afternoon sunlight like a sleek, dark fish.

“Tired?” Wen Jin glanced at her. “Should I turn off the music?”

“No,” Jing Feizuo yawned, a hint of physiological tears welling in the corner of her eye. “I was just wondering how you managed to condense a whole day’s work into a single morning.”

Wen Jin smiled. “Delegation to my assistant.”

Jing Feizuo remained unconvinced. “You certainly have it easy as the Wen Group President. Don’t end up giving the whole company to your assistant.”

Wen Jin shrugged, turning the steering wheel to navigate a curve. “If I were giving it to anyone, it would be you.”

Jing Feizuo laughed. “I couldn’t possibly accept.”

The car pulled into the mall’s underground parking garage. Wen Jin switched off the engine and leaned over to unbuckle Jing Feizuo’s seatbelt.

Her movements were natural, but when her fingers brushed against the fabric below Jing Feizuo’s collarbone, she paused subtly, as if restraining herself. Jing Feizuo noticed but pretended not to, her gaze drifting elsewhere.

The furniture city was spacious and brightly lit, warm-toned lights bathing the various showroom displays, from minimalist Nordic designs to retro-industrial styles, a dazzling array of options.

Jing Feizuo strolled leisurely through the aisles, her hands tucked into the pockets of her camel-colored coat, Wen Jin following half a step behind like her shadow.

She suddenly stopped before a sofa, her fingers tracing the soft fabric. “What do you think of this one?” she asked.

“If you like it, buy it,” Wen Jin replied.

“You’re being too agreeable,” Jing Feizuo tilted her head, studying Wen Jin. “Are you always this easy to negotiate with, President Wen?”

Wen Jin shook her head. “When it comes to you, I never had a negotiating position to begin with.”

Jing Feizuo pressed her lips together, wanting to retort with a reminder of their “six-month” negotiation. But for some reason, the words caught in her throat and she swallowed them back.

She chuckled softly and turned to walk toward another section.

In the lighting area, her gaze was drawn to a uniquely shaped pendant lamp. The lampshade was handcrafted from blown glass, resembling a flower on the verge of blooming. The specially treated glass cast delicate, dappled patterns of light across the floor.

She reached out to touch the lampshade, the glass cool and smooth against her fingertips. “This is beautiful,” she murmured.

Wen Jin stood beside her, her gaze fixed on Jing Feizuo’s profile. The clean, sharp lines from her nose to the corner of her lips reminded Wen Jin of the bold strokes in Jing Feizuo’s paintings. Her voice dropped a notch lower than usual: “Buy it.”

Jing Feizuo turned to look at her, a sudden smile spreading across her face. “Do you realize you sound like a brainless, gold-digging sugar daddy right now?”

Wen Jin chuckled. “Then how about considering being my kept woman?”

“No thanks,” Jing Feizuo replied lightly. “Selling my art is enough. I don’t sell myself.”

Wen Jin said nothing more, simply gesturing to the shop assistant to prepare the bill.

As they reached the latter half of their shopping trip, Jing Feizuo’s enthusiasm visibly waned. She had never enjoyed prolonged shopping, and furniture stores, in particular, tended to grow tedious quickly. She yawned, her steps slowing.

Wen Jin, walking beside her, asked, “Tired?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jing Feizuo replied lazily. “But we’ve bought everything we need. We can go home now.”

Wen Jin loved hearing her say “go home,” especially now that the phrase referred to the place they shared.

She nodded, casually taking the sample booklets Jing Feizuo had been holding.

By the time they left the furniture store, dusk had fallen, and the city’s neon lights began to flicker on, like stars scattered across the earth. Wen Jin placed their purchases in the trunk and turned to open the car door for Jing Feizuo.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” Wen Jin asked.

Jing Feizuo climbed into the car, squinting thoughtfully. “I’d like some of your noodles.”

Wen Jin paused, a hint of a smile flickering in her eyes. “Alright.”

The car glided into the night, Jing Feizuo leaning against the window, watching the neon lights blur past.

This was only the second day of their six-month arrangement, and things were already proving far more intriguing than she had imagined.

Wen Jin’s apartment kitchen was spacious, with lush green pothos plants cascading from the central island. Their heart-shaped leaves unfurled under the warm light, their glossy surfaces gleaming like glazed porcelain. Jing Feizuo traced the leaves with her fingertip, watching them tremble gently.

Still avoiding the newly renovated living room, she leaned against the island, watching Wen Jin retrieve ingredients from the refrigerator. “Didn’t you say you were making noodles?”

Wen Jin rolled up her shirt sleeves, revealing a sharply defined forearm. “I’m afraid you’re hungry. I’ll fry an egg first.”

“Another fried egg?” Jing Feizuo asked.

“You said it’s your favorite,” Wen Jin explained.

The oil in the pan shimmered with heat, hissing softly as the egg slid in. Jing Feizuo leaned closer, inhaling the fragrant aroma of browned butter.

This wasn’t the first time she’d eaten Wen Jin’s cooking, but only now did she notice how practiced and professional Wen Jin looked wielding the spatula.

She suddenly remembered her earlier suspicion. “You didn’t used to work in a restaurant, did you?”

Wen Jin’s voice mingled with the sizzle of the oil.

“When I was studying abroad, I used to sneak into my favorite Chinese restaurant and learn by watching,” she replied, gently flipping the perfectly cooked soft-boiled egg with a spatula. “All for the sake of my stomach.”

Jing Feizuo raised an eyebrow.

She couldn’t picture Wen Jin wearing an apron and cooking in a kitchen, any more than she could imagine a sheathed military saber being used to slice fruit.

A pang of resentment struck her. “I studied abroad for much longer than you did. How come I never learned to cook?”

As the noodles hit the boiling water, a cloud of steam billowed up. Jing Feizuo’s gaze followed the rising vapor to the range hood. She heard Wen Jin say, “Because you never lacked a ‘chef’ around you.”

Jing Feizuo froze for a moment before realizing Wen Jin was referring to her exes.

“But now I only want what you make.”

She couldn’t tell whether Wen Jin felt more indignant or pleased at that moment. But she saw Wen Jin turn around and brush her hand against Jing Feizuo’s cheek.

The warm fingertip lingered for a moment. Just as Jing Feizuo braced herself for the next move, Wen Jin simply scraped something off her skin. Only then did Jing Feizuo remember the paint she’d smudged on her face earlier while testing colors.

She let Wen Jin’s finger linger for two seconds before tilting her head away. “Your noodles are going to burn.”

As the dishwasher hummed, Jing Feizuo was already curled up on the beanbag sofa, flipping through an art book. Wen Jin approached with two glasses of whiskey, ice spheres bobbing in the amber liquid.

“The chandelier we bought today will be delivered tomorrow. The rest of the furniture will arrive the day after,” Wen Jin said, placing the glasses on the small coffee table. “Should we celebrate the living room’s rebirth?”

Jing Feizuo gave a casual reply, turning the page. Suddenly, she felt the sofa dip. Wen Jin had sat down beside her feet, her fingers brushing against Jing Feizuo’s bare ankle.

“Your feet are so cold.”

Wen Jin’s palm was warm, and the touch made Jing Feizuo’s toes curl involuntarily. Picasso’s paintings suddenly lost their appeal. She tossed the book aside and nudged Wen Jin’s thigh with her foot. “President Wen, such attentive service?”

Wen Jin’s grip tightened on her ankle, her voice deepening. “There’s even more attentive service to come.”

Smiling, Jing Feizuo withdrew her foot and took a sip of whiskey. The cold liquid slid down her throat, leaving a burning aftertaste. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights shimmered like a shattered galaxy.