After Abandoning Her, She Discovered That Her Partner Was a Paranoid - Chapter 16

In the living room, movers were carefully transporting the old furniture.

Jing Feizuo stood with her arms crossed, watching two burly men struggle to lift the solid wood sofa that made her so uncomfortable. It was so heavy that even professional movers had to grit their teeth to budge it.

She tapped the sofa with her finger and suddenly asked, “How much did this cost?”

Wen Jin, standing beside her, held up three fingers.

Jing Feizuo raised an eyebrow. “Three hundred thousand?”

She had already guessed as high as she could. While that price would be absurd for ordinary furniture, it seemed reasonable for Wen Jin.

“Three million.”

Jing Feizuo’s expression froze for a second. Maintaining her blank stare, she turned to Wen Jin. “Is this money laundering? Or were you kidnapped, and the kidnappers said they wouldn’t release you unless you bought it?”

Wen Jin chuckled softly, faint smile lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

She reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from Jing Feizuo’s face. “I’m sorry for giving in to the kidnappers.”

Jing Feizuo scoffed softly, her gaze sweeping over the remaining furniture being moved out of the living room: the cold marble coffee table, the sharply angled display cabinet. She gestured vaguely at them. “So, the ransom for these…?”

“They’ll be transported to the villa in the suburbs,” Wen Jin interjected smoothly, signing the delivery manifest handed to her by a worker with a flourish. “Awaiting the next kidnapping victim.”

Jing Feizuo secretly exhaled in relief.

By the time the old furniture had been removed and the new pieces installed, dusk had fallen.

Wen Jin loosened her collar, watching Jing Feizuo sink into the new sofa. “Satisfied now?”

Jing Feizuo held up her thumb and forefinger, leaving a tiny gap between them. “Barely passable.”

Despite her words, facing the revitalized living room, she suddenly sat up straight, her creative urge surging. “It’s been too long since I’ve put pen to paper.”

Wen Jin frowned, understanding the implication. But glancing at the clock nearing nine, she disapproved. “It’s too late.”

Once Jing Feizuo started creating, it was common for her to sit at her easel for five or six hours straight.

But Jing Feizuo had already moved to the easel, unpacking a new set of paints. She glanced back at Wen Jin and suddenly smiled.

“Why don’t you be my model?” she suggested, waving the paints in her hand. “I promise I’ll go to bed right after I finish.”

Wen Jin hesitated, recalling the meticulously framed portraits stored in Jing Feizuo’s sketchbook—like tombstones for her past lovers.

“Are you going to put this painting in that sketchbook?”

Jing Feizuo blinked, shaking her head. “Of course not. There’s a restraining order in place for the past six months, remember?” She swiftly set up the canvas. “I’ll give it to you when it’s done.”

Wen Jin paused, the offer suddenly becoming tempting. She moved to the spot Jing Feizuo indicated, her body relaxing with her mood.

“An occasional late night is a necessary part of life,” she said.

Jing Feizuo chuckled softly and began to paint, her gaze shifting between Wen Jin and the canvas.

The subject sat on a single-seater sofa, her long legs crossed. The warm light from the floor lamp cast sharp shadows across her profile, highlighting the bridge of her nose. With her back to the floor-to-ceiling window, the blurred stars and city lights outside blurred the line between sky and earth, making her seem to recline within the cosmos itself.

Jing Feizuo’s brushstrokes were light and focused, as if she were caressing the paper with her pen. Wen Jin watched her expressions shift between frowns and moments of relaxation, the small mole at the corner of her eye dancing as she squinted.

Wen Jin suddenly asked, “What are you looking at right now?”

Jing Feizuo paused briefly.

“My model, of course. Your waist, collarbones, or eyes?” Her gaze swept unreservedly over Wen Jin’s entire body. “What do you think?”

Wen Jin’s throat tightened slightly, and she said nothing more.

Jing Feizuo switched to a finer brush, dipped it in watercolor, and began painting Wen Jin’s eyes.

This was the most challenging part of the portrait. Too sharp, and they would appear cold; too soft, and they wouldn’t resemble her. Jing Feizuo pondered, her brush tip gently blending colors on the paper, layering hues one upon another.

She suddenly remarked, “Did you know your eyes change color under different lighting?”

“Hmm?”

“Normally they’re dark brown, but now they have a hint of amber.” Her gaze lingered on Wen Jin as if appraising a work of art. “Like whiskey.”

Wen Jin chuckled. “You’re quite the observant one.”

“Professional habit,” Jing Feizuo said with a shrug, dipping her brush into the paint again. “I’ve painted many people’s eyes.”

The air suddenly went still for a moment. Jing Feizuo realized what she had said, and her brush paused slightly. She glanced up at Wen Jin, noticing that while the faint smile still lingered at the corners of her lips, her eyes had darkened slightly.

“Keep painting,” Wen Jin said softly. “I’m starting to get curious about your creative process.”

Jing Feizuo lowered her head, her brushstrokes becoming faster. She began using a palette knife to create texture on the canvas, layering paint to build up variations in light and shadow. Wen Jin’s features gradually came to life on the canvas.

After about another hour, Jing Feizuo asked, “Tired?”

Wen Jin shook her head. “This is easier than a meeting.”

“Almost done.” Jing Feizuo suddenly stood up, walked over to Wen Jin, and leaned down, her fingers hovering just above Wen Jin’s collarbone, her breath brushing against the side of her neck. “The shadows here are exquisite…”

Wen Jin instinctively held her breath, but she could still catch the familiar scent of jasmine emanating from Jing Feizuo. Though Jing Feizuo’s fingertips never actually touched her skin, that patch of skin inexplicably burned.

Unexpectedly, Jing Feizuo finished the last stroke much faster than usual. When she set down her brush, Wen Jin was still slightly surprised.

“So quick?”

“I’m in a good mood today,” Jing Feizuo replied, letting out a long sigh. She rotated her slightly sore wrist and turned the canvas toward Wen Jin. “Want to add a signature now?”

Wen Jin gazed at the portrait of herself.

On the paper, she seemed bathed in moonlight, seated at the boundary between light and shadow. The collar of her shirt was slightly open, her sharp features softened by the warm light, and the smile in her eyes was so tender that even Wen Jin herself had rarely seen it.

Her fingertips hovered above the canvas, hesitant to touch the still-wet paint. “Is that really how I smile?” she asked.

Jing Feizuo unconsciously twirled her brush. “Does it not look like you?” she countered, her voice lacking confidence.

While painting, she had drifted into a daze several times. The image before her wasn’t the Wen Jin sitting before her now, but rather the figure bathed in the morning light at sunrise by the sea.

That carefully chosen photograph she had intended to replicate on canvas—a photo she had studied countless times—the gaze in the eyes that seemed to pierce through the screen had unconsciously flowed onto the canvas.

Thus, the portrait of Wen Jin in their private world had once again become an exercise in collecting art.

She shifted her gaze from the painting to the real Wen Jin, studying her intently. In the latter’s pupils, Jing Feizuo’s reflection was clearly visible.

Compared to that vacation trip where nothing had happened, something was undeniably different here—no longer pure, but imbued with a focused, almost obsessive warmth, like a bonfire blazing in the dark night, too bright to ignore.

Just as she was about to speak, Wen Jin added, “Only when I’m with you.”

Jing Feizuo felt her heart begin to race.

Before she could process this sudden flutter, her phone rang. The caller ID displayed “Lin Xin” at the top of the screen.

Wen Jin also saw the name on the screen.

Her gaze instantly shifted, her jawline tightening, and her neck seemed to stretch slightly. But the moment her eyes met Jing Feizuo’s, she awkwardly reached for a water glass on the coffee table, as if trying to hide her reaction.

The change in her was too obvious, like a golden retriever caught stealing snacks from the pantry but pretending not to care.

Amused, Jing Feizuo inexplicably pressed the speakerphone button, letting Lin Xin’s voice boom through the spacious room. “Hello?”

Lin Xin’s voice crackled with her usual energy. “Guess who contacted me today? Our high school class monitor!” Her tone deflated slightly. “But after a few pleasantries, she started asking about you.”

Jing Feizuo was packing up her painting supplies, a little surprised. “Why are they asking about me?”

“It’s for the school anniversary,” Lin Xin’s voice brightened again. “They probably want to invite you back to give a speech. ‘Genius painter returns to her hometown’—your alma mater has shown remarkable restraint waiting this long to snag you! Plus, I heard the speaking fee is enough to buy that limited-edition set of pigments you were eyeing last time.”

Jing Feizuo’s eyes lit up.

Lin Xin added, “They’re also planning a class reunion after the anniversary.”

Jing Feizuo curled her lip. “I couldn’t care less about that.”

“It’ll be all familiar faces. Ms. Xu will be there too—she had heart surgery last year, so her attendance is a rare occasion,” Lin Xin persisted, unfazed by her friend’s initial rejection. “Oh, and your old class representative will be there too.”

Jing Feizuo suddenly chuckled, deliberately drawing out her words under Wen Jin’s intensifying gaze. “In that case, I might consider it. When is it?”

“Next Tuesday.”

She gasped. “That’s so soon!”

“For heaven’s sake, the anniversary is next Monday!” Lin Xin huffed over the phone. “Haven’t you been free lately? Just lounging around your mansion like a pampered house cat—living the good life, huh?”

Jing Feizuo didn’t respond to her friend’s teasing, simply giving a hurried acknowledgment before hanging up.

She suddenly felt Wen Jin’s fingertips pressing against the back of her neck, the intensifying pressure forcing her to swallow all her words.

As soon as the call ended, Wen Jin impatiently tilted Jing Feizuo’s chin upward, her jealousy radiating with alarming intensity. “Your cultural committee member?”

Jing Feizuo licked her lips. “You’re jealous of someone from years ago? I even let you listen to the entire conversation.”

Wen Jin’s tone remained measured. “That’s beside the point.”

Jing Feizuo sighed in exasperation. Before Wen Jin could make another move, she quickly confessed, “The cultural committee member is a gay guy who still owes me five thousand yuan.”

Wen Jin finally stopped what she was doing, pinching the bridge of her nose. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Jing Feizuo chuckled at her flustered expression. “I told you not to get jealous so easily…” Before she could finish, Wen Jin abruptly grabbed her waist and hoisted her onto the nearby table. The icy surface made Jing Feizuo gasp. “Again?”

“One thing at a time,” Wen Jin said, a rare hint of cunning in her voice. “This time, it’s a reward for letting me listen to your phone call.”

Jing Feizuo’s protests were drowned out by Wen Jin’s passionate kiss.