After Abandoning Her, She Discovered That Her Partner Was a Paranoid - Chapter 32

Jing Feizuo curled up on one end of the sofa, a sketchbook spread across her knees, but her gaze kept drifting to the tense profile beside her.

Ever since her high fever, Wen Jin had been staying home even more, spending an unusually large amount of time by Jing Feizuo’s side. Jing Feizuo had long stopped doubting whether the Wen Group was on the verge of collapse; now she was seriously considering whether the company was about to change hands.

Fortunately, this situation didn’t last long. The unavoidable year-end workload finally caught up with the hands-off CEO.

For the past week, Wen Jin had been returning home late at night, her body still carrying the lingering chill of the winter air and the scent of coffee. Even on the rare occasions when she came home at a normal hour, she would immediately bury herself in her laptop, working without pause, even her kisses becoming hurried.

The solitude Jing Feizuo had once longed for was now abundant to an excessive degree, yet she felt an inexplicable emptiness in her heart.

Seeing Wen Jin finally close her laptop, Jing Feizuo immediately broke the office-like silence. “Is even President Wen being driven to this point by year-end reports?”

“It’s not just the reports. I also have to worry about the upcoming Wen Group Banquet.” Wen Jin rubbed her temples, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic hesitation. “The banquet… will you come with me?”

Jing Feizuo twirled her pen. “Does President Wen lack a female companion?”

Wen Jin’s voice softened. “I lack you.”

The pen clattered to the floor. Jing Feizuo bent to pick it up, using the moment to conceal her momentary wavering.

“I hate business galas,” she said, straightening up and tossing the pen to Wen Jin.

Wen Jin caught it and smiled when she felt the faint bite marks on the pen’s barrel—a habit Jing Feizuo had when sketching quickly.

“You don’t need to socialize. Just sit beside me.”

“And then?”

“Then… let me see you.” Wen Jin exhaled softly, dropped the pen, and reached out to grasp Jing Feizuo’s ankle. Her fingers gently brushed against the bone. “The year-end gala is truly a nuisance. I need you there. Just humor me.”

How despicable, Jing Feizuo thought, turning away. Through the window, she saw a firework burst across the river—the early signs of year-end celebrations.

Gazing at the reflected light on the glass, she heard herself ask, “When is it?”

The corners of Wen Jin’s lips finally curved upward as her hand slid up Jing Feizuo’s calf. “This Friday.”

Outside, the icy wind battered against the glass, while inside, the overzealous heating made Jing Feizuo’s ear tips burn.

Friday’s year-end gala arrived sooner than expected.

Jing Feizuo stood before the full-length mirror, tugging at her neckline and tapping her fingers impatiently on the vanity.

Wen Jin’s voice came from behind her: “Are you sure you want to wear this?”

Jing Feizuo gazed at herself in the mirror. Her dark crimson velvet gown clung to her figure, cinching tightly at the waist. Wen Jin stood half a step behind her, the sharp lines of her black suit accentuating her strong shoulders, the lapel pin gleaming coldly.

Jing Feizuo tilted her head. “Does it look bad?”

“You look beautiful,” Wen Jin replied, shaking her head. “But you’ve said you don’t like wearing gowns. That custom-tailored suit you had made looked much better—warmer and more comfortable than dresses and heels.”

Jing Feizuo’s shoulders slumped slightly, as if her spirit had deflated.

“I’ve always worn gowns to these kinds of banquets. Even if I don’t like it, I’m used to it,” she sighed. “You wouldn’t believe the old-fashioned types in our circles. They start pointing fingers at anything unconventional. It’s not that I care what they say, it’s just so tiresome. Less trouble is always better.”

“They’re bullying a little kid,” Wen Jin said softly, resting a hand on Jing Feizuo’s shoulder. “Isn’t Luna backing you up?”

“Teacher doesn’t attend many banquets, and I don’t want to bother her,” Jing Feizuo wrinkled her nose. “Besides, I’m almost twenty-seven—I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Most of the attendees at tonight’s banquet are much older than you. And those people in your circles? They’re all in their forties or fifties. You’re only twenty-six—you’re practically a baby!” Wen Jin countered logically, pinching Jing Feizuo’s earlobe. “Wear whatever you want. I’ll back you up.”

Jing Feizuo suddenly turned to Wen Jin, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “Have you always worn suits?”

Wen Jin shook her head.

“Only after I took full control of the Wen Group did my choice of attire automatically become the new social norm,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. “The gendered dress codes of the business world… even I couldn’t resist them too much when I first joined the company.”

She retrieved Jing Feizuo’s custom-tailored suit from the last fitting and continued, “But things are slowly changing. Evening gowns or trousers—wear whatever you want. Starting with my darling.”

Jing Feizuo readily agreed.

That evening, she stood on the terrace of the Wen Group Banquet hall, the suit’s sharp lines accentuating her slender figure. A sliver of pale wrist peeked from the cuff, adorned only with a sandalwood bracelet.

Despite Wen Jin’s repeated assurances that she wouldn’t need to socialize, Jing Feizuo still disliked such events.

At least at the opening or closing banquets of the exhibitions she used to attend, she could discuss topics her peers understood. But here, the suited and booted elites talked about the stock market, mergers and acquisitions, and political scandals, making her feel like an out-of-place intruder.

Or, to put it another way, “the intruder.”

“Bored?” Wen Jin’s voice came from behind, her warm fingers gently resting on Jing Feizuo’s waist.

Jing Feizuo didn’t turn around, merely curling her lips into a lazy smile. “President Wen has finally deigned to tear herself away from that den of old foxes?”

Wen Jin chuckled softly, her breath brushing against Jing Feizuo’s ear. “Yes, I’ve finally managed to extricate myself from that den of old foxes.”

Jing Feizuo suddenly remembered something. “That painting in the lobby…”

Before she could finish, Wen Jin’s phone rang, interrupting her.

Wen Jin answered, and her assistant’s urgent voice came through the line: “There’s a problem with the overseas case. The director suddenly changed his mind and is demanding renegotiations.”

Wen Jin’s hand tightened around Jing Feizuo’s waist.

Jing Feizuo tilted her head to look at Wen Jin, silently asking, “What’s wrong?”

Wen Jin held the phone away slightly. “There’s been a setback with a project, but my assistant will handle it. Don’t worry.”

Though Wen Jin spoke softly, the sharp-eared assistant on the other end still caught her words.

The assistant nearly burst into tears, his voice rising in a panicked shriek: “Director Wen! How am I supposed to handle this? You really need to come here!”

The voice booming from the phone was so loud that Jing Feizuo could hear it clearly even without the speakerphone on.

She couldn’t help but laugh, asking Wen Jin, “What’s the value of this project?”

Wen Jin mentally subtracted and divided the figures. “Around a billion yuan, I think.”

“Then why aren’t you rushing over there?” Jing Feizuo’s lips twitched. “Can you really make your assistant take the blame if you mess it up?”

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Wait for me.” After a moment’s hesitation, Wen Jin finally released her, lightly tracing her palm with her fingertip. “Don’t let them provoke you.”

Before turning to leave, she gestured to the surrounding waiters, signaling them to take good care of Jing Feizuo.

Jing Feizuo watched Wen Jin’s retreating figure, amused and exasperated by her excessive caution. The Wen Group Banquet wasn’t some dragon’s lair; who would randomly provoke her here?

Five minutes later, Jing Feizuo realized she was wrong.

No sooner had Wen Jin left than she entered the banquet hall and immediately felt numerous hostile gazes upon her.

The most blatant malice came from a young man standing beside the champagne tower, surrounded by a group of fawning sycophants.

He wore a custom-tailored suit identical to Wen Jin’s, but lacked her sharp, commanding presence, instead resembling an insurance salesman.

“So, this must be the renowned Painter Jing?” The man approached, swirling his wine glass with a fake smile. “My cousin’s tastes have become increasingly… unique lately.”

A few deliberately suppressed chuckles rippled through the crowd.

Jing Feizuo narrowed her eyes.

She had heard about this man from Lin Xin—Wen Ziqian, the son of Wen Jin’s uncle. When Wen Jin purged the Wen Group years ago, he was still a child. For some reason, Wen Jin took pity on him and spared him from the purge, even leaving him a subsidiary to play with.

Over the years, Wen Ziqian had styled himself as the “Wen Group’s heir apparent.” Since Wen Jin showed no signs of marrying or having children, the social circle readily flattered him with the title “Little President Wen.” His competence was modest, but his reputation loomed large.

“Ms. Jing’s attire tonight is certainly… distinctive,” he drawled, deliberately raising his voice and dragging out his words, his gaze sweeping over her. “Has the Wen Group Banquet become so casual that guests are now permitted to wear office attire?”

“Perhaps it’s an artist’s characteristic frugality?” A woman beside Wen Ziqian covered her mouth with a light laugh. “After all, a suit can be worn repeatedly, unlike a formal gown, which one would be embarrassed to wear twice.”

“Or,” a shifty-eyed man chimed in, his gaze flippant, “does she think wearing a suit puts her on equal footing with Director Wen?”

“Oh, come now,” Wen Ziqian feigned mediation, his smile growing more malicious. Lowering his voice just enough to ensure everyone nearby could hear, he added, “After all, not everyone is born knowing how to be a proper decorative vase.”

Just as Jing Feizuo was about to retort, someone bumped into her from behind, and a cold liquid began to trickle down her coat.

“Oh, my apologies,” a beer-bellied man stood behind her, holding an empty wine glass, but his face showed no remorse. “An artist shouldn’t mind such trivialities, right? Director Wen will buy you something better anyway.”

Jing Feizuo glanced up and saw a waiter nearby, hesitating to intervene.

They recognized Wen Ziqian and were unsure whether to interfere in what seemed like “Wen family matters.”

Jing Feizuo slowly turned to face Wen Ziqian, deliberately smoothing her sleeves. Her voice betrayed no emotion as she said, “Your tie today is quite striking. It resembles a noose.”

Instead of anger, Wen Ziqian chuckled softly and strolled toward her, his fingers casually brushing her waist. He lowered his voice to a level only they could hear. “I actually admire you. Why not wait until my cousin tires of you… and come to me instead?”

Jing Feizuo’s gaze lingered on Wen Ziqian’s face before she suddenly smiled.

“You’re right,” she drawled, “I’m not very good at following the rules.”

She reached out and took a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray, swirling it gently.

“For example, right now—”

In the next instant, the entire glass of wine splashed across Wen Ziqian’s face with a whoosh. The dark red liquid streamed down his forehead, soaking the meticulously ironed collar of his shirt.

“Should I apologize? Or perhaps…” Jing Feizuo tilted her head, her tone innocent as she lightly brushed nonexistent dust from her suit sleeve. She smiled faintly. “Should I charge the Wen family a fee for disciplining your mongrel relatives?”