After Abandoning Her, She Discovered That Her Partner Was a Paranoid - Chapter 31

“Lean on me if you’re uncomfortable,” Wen Jin murmured, her fingers gently combing through Jing Feizuo’s sweat-dampened hair.

Jing Feizuo couldn’t recall the last time someone had held her like this when she was sick—perhaps before her mother left.

The high fever blurred the edges of her memory, and she suddenly couldn’t tell if she was crying. The front of Wen Jin’s shirt was damp, but she couldn’t tell if it was from her sweat or tears.

After what felt like an eternity, Jing Feizuo’s breathing finally steadied. The fever reducer had taken effect, her temperature dropping slightly. Her brow no longer furrowed, though her lips remained pale.

Wen Jin gazed at Jing Feizuo’s sleeping face, her eyes tracing every inch of her features, even the fine downy hairs.

The woman lying in bed seemed far more fragile than usual, as if she might shatter at the slightest touch.

A strange, aching tenderness welled up in Wen Jin’s throat. She leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to Jing Feizuo’s forehead, her lips lingering against the skin for a few seconds, as if trying to channel all her unspoken prayers into that single touch.

As dawn approached, Wen Jin rose to get a glass of water.

“Don’t go,” Jing Feizuo murmured, her fingers clutching at the hem of Wen Jin’s shirt. “Mommy.”

Wen Jin froze in place.

Jing Feizuo’s fingers gripped so tightly that her knuckles turned white, like a drowning person clinging to a piece of driftwood. Her voice was barely audible, almost hallucinatory, yet it sent a violent tremor through Wen Jin’s heart.

Wen Jin sat back down on the edge of the bed, gently stroked Jing Feizuo’s brow, and whispered, “Okay.”

When Jing Feizuo woke again, the day was already bright. She found herself changed into clean pajamas, and the towel on her forehead was gone.

She touched her forehead with the back of her hand—the fever had broken.

Wen Jin wasn’t in the room.

Jing Feizuo sat up and got out of bed, her steps still a little unsteady, but her mind felt much clearer. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and she could hear faint sounds from the kitchen: the clinking of porcelain, the rush of water, and the bubbling of a clay pot lid.

She slowly made her way to the kitchen and saw Wen Jin busy at the stove, still wearing that wrinkled shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her dark hair casually pulled back.

Without turning around, Wen Jin said, “Since you’re up, sit down. Don’t stand there in the draft.”

Jing Feizuo obediently sat down, her voice still thick with nasal congestion. “How did you know I was awake?”

Wen Jin turned off the heat and ladled the porridge into a bowl in one smooth motion. “You have a way of making your presence known when you’re staring at someone.”

The bowl of porridge was pushed toward her. Jing Feizuo glanced down—thick, savory lean meat porridge, accompanied by a small dish of pickled radish.

She didn’t pick up her chopsticks. Instead, she stared at the dark circles under Wen Jin’s eyes. “You didn’t sleep all night.”

Wen Jin didn’t deny it, ladling her own portion of porridge. “It was just one night. It’s nothing for me. But the way you looked last night… you nearly scared me to death.”

A hint of lingering fear crept into Wen Jin’s voice.

Jing Feizuo seized upon that fear and crushed it. “If I scared President Wen to death, wouldn’t I become the villain of the business district?”

Wen Jin playfully flicked Jing Feizuo’s nose. “First and foremost, you’d be my villain.”

The lingering gloom of illness gradually dissipated. Jing Feizuo picked up her bowl and slowly spooned a mouthful of porridge.

She ate at a leisurely pace. By the time Wen Jin had finished, Jing Feizuo still had more than half her bowl left. The woman across from her didn’t rush her, simply picking up her tablet to check emails, occasionally glancing up.

Midway through her meal, Jing Feizuo suddenly asked, “Why did you come back early? Didn’t you already book a flight for tomorrow night?”

Wen Jin replied casually, “The contract was signed ahead of schedule. I missed you terribly.”

Jing Feizuo stirred her porridge with her spoon, her hand movements concealing her unease. “Changing your flight at the last minute must have been expensive. Was it worth it?”

The tablet screen, which had been idle for some time, dimmed simultaneously with the light in Wen Jin’s eyes.

The change fee was nothing to her, everyone knew that.

Pretending not to understand Jing Feizuo’s hidden meaning, she set down her tablet and looked at her calmly. “You’re running a fever of 40 degrees Celsius, and you’re asking me if it’s worth it?”

Jing Feizuo laughed deliberately, feigning nonchalance. “Even President Wen has her moments of impatience.”

“And how many times have I been impatient with you?” Wen Jin smiled, then cut straight to the point. “Darling, after all this probing, what are you afraid of?”

Jing Feizuo froze for a moment, then lowered her head, staring at the empty bowl in front of her without a word.

Wen Jin continued, her voice as alluring as her gaze, impossible to resist. “I want you to never be afraid of bothering me, and never be afraid of… relying on me.”

Jing Feizuo jerked her head up, suddenly losing her appetite. She pushed the bowl away and stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

Wen Jin immediately rose to steady her, but Jing Feizuo sidestepped her, tossing over her shoulder, “I’m going to take a shower,” before striding toward the bathroom.

Wen Jin didn’t stop her, only calling after her, “I’ll adjust the water temperature for you. Don’t lock the door while you’re in there. And don’t wash your hair.”

Jing Feizuo paused, her footsteps faltering, but she didn’t turn around.

As the hot water cascaded over her, she pressed her forehead against the cool tiles, fragmented memories resurfacing. She recalled vaguely grabbing Wen Jin’s sleeve last night, refusing to let her leave.

A pang of regret tightened her brow.

She didn’t understand why she had clung to Wen Jin. At that moment, Wen Jin had seemed like the only real thing she could grasp.

This instinctive dependence was more terrifying than any contract. She wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at her pale reflection.

“Snap out of it,” she muttered to herself, her voice fading like the steam rising from the mirror, as if hypnotizing herself. “What’s recorded is what truly can’t be lost.”

When she emerged from the bathroom, the dining table had been cleared.

Wen Jin had changed out of the clothes she’d worn home yesterday and was now standing by the window, speaking softly into her phone. She ended the call abruptly when she saw Jing Feizuo.

The tips of Jing Feizuo’s hair were still damp.

Wen Jin’s brow furrowed involuntarily. “Did you wash your hair?”

“No, just a little water,” Jing Feizuo said, having already composed herself. She casually wiped her hair with a towel. “Was that about work?”

“Mm-hmm,” Wen Jin replied absently, walking over to Jing Feizuo and touching her forehead. Feeling the slightly cool touch, with no signs of a fever, she felt a little relieved.

“Wait here,” Wen Jin said. “I’ll get the hairdryer.”

Jing Feizuo slowly shook her head.

Wen Jin wasn’t wearing casual loungewear; she looked like she was about to go out.

“It’s just a little damp. It’s fine. You go ahead and take care of your business.”

Wen Jin paused, turned to face Jing Feizuo, and said, “I’m worried about you like this. Let me help you. It’ll be quick.”

But Jing Feizuo shook her head again, even gently pushing Wen Jin’s arm away with a soft, weak gesture that clearly conveyed her refusal. “Really, it’s okay. I can manage.”

Wen Jin stood rooted to the spot, a mix of heartache and the bitterness of rejection flooding her heart.

She wanted to insist, but the resolute look in Jing Feizuo’s eyes made it impossible to push further.

“Alright,” Wen Jin finally said, picking up her coat. “The sheets have been changed. Get some more sleep. I’ve asked Auntie to bring lunch. I’ll be back before three.”

Jing Feizuo replied, “You’re the one who needs to sleep.”

Wen Jin kissed Jing Feizuo’s forehead and smiled. “I’ll come back and sleep with you.”

Jing Feizuo’s voice softened. “Go get to work.”

Only after confirming Wen Jin had left did Jing Feizuo release the tension she had been holding onto, taking a deep breath.

She ignored the slightly damp ends of her hair and wandered around the room.

Wen Jin’s suitcase still stood by the entrance, unpacked.

The dark circles under Wen Jin’s eyes kept replaying in Jing Feizuo’s mind. She sighed and opened the suitcase.

The contents were neatly arranged. After tossing the laundry into the washing machine, the small suitcase was more than half empty.

At the bottom lay a file folder, likely containing project documents. Jing Feizuo picked it up, intending to put it away.

The study door was ajar.

In truth, Jing Feizuo rarely entered this room. Even after moving in, the apartment had been completely open to her, with the only locked room being her own “collection room”—the key to which remained solely in her possession.

She always felt this study was different, Wen Jin’s completely private space, and she had no interest in intruding.

But today was clearly different.

She entered the study. Wen Jin’s desk was meticulously organized, with only a computer, essential documents, and writing utensils. Behind it, a full wall of bookshelves housed a diverse collection, neatly categorized and filling every shelf.

She casually pulled open a drawer and found it contained phone and computer cables. After closing it, Jing Feizuo instinctively reached for the next drawer but couldn’t open it.

The drawer was locked.

Jing Feizuo stared at the tiny metal keyhole, her heart inexplicably quickening. She suddenly felt a surge of curiosity about what Wen Jin might be keeping locked inside.

But the feeling passed in an instant. She set down what she was holding and turned to leave when she noticed the corner of another file folder peeking out from the bottom shelf. The kraft paper cover was blank, but the folder was unusually thick.

Compelled by an inexplicable impulse, Jing Feizuo pulled it out and was shocked to discover it contained her medical records.

From her acute gastritis six months ago to last month’s physical exam report, even the emergency room bill from that nighttime brawl was included, all arranged in chronological order.

Each diagnostic report had a sticky note attached, bearing Wen Jin’s sharp, precise handwriting:

Stomach pain. Doctor’s orders: Avoid cold foods.

Allergy test results archived.

Jing Feizuo’s fingertips trembled slightly as she flipped through the documents.

Suddenly, she heard a faint noise behind her and whirled around to see Wen Jin standing in the doorway, car keys in hand. The two women locked eyes across the study.

Wen Jin’s gaze fell on the documents in Jing Feizuo’s hand, her expression utterly impassive. “I forgot to bring the USB drive I needed,” she explained.

“President Wen, even you can be so careless?” Jing Feizuo retorted.

“Perhaps because I didn’t sleep well last night,” Wen Jin replied, still managing a smile. “Did I startle you?”

“So, is this your hobby?” Jing Feizuo didn’t answer, instead holding up the medical records. “Collecting my health data?”

“Didn’t you already suspect as much?” Wen Jin stepped closer until only a palm’s width separated them. “Darling, you can call me a control freak, but you can’t deny that I only want to take better care of you.”

Jing Feizuo closed her eyes, the recent overthinking making her head spin.

Yes, she had suspected it all along. But guessing was one thing; actually seeing her private information existing in someone else’s space was an entirely different matter.

She rubbed her temples. “Besides my medical records, did you…”

“Nothing else,” Wen Jin interrupted. “I know what you dislike. I haven’t crossed any other boundaries.”

Jing Feizuo wanted to laugh, but her eyes grew hot first.

She grabbed Wen Jin’s tie, forcing her to lower her head. “Do you know? Sometimes I really wish you weren’t so…”

“Restrained?” Wen Jin finished her sentence, covering her trembling hand with her own. “I wish that too.”

“No,” Jing Feizuo murmured into Wen Jin’s embrace, her voice still slightly nasal from her recent illness. “I mean… hateful.”