After Abandoning Her, She Discovered That Her Partner Was a Paranoid - Chapter 34

Finally, Wen Jin’s gaze returned to Wen Ziqian.

Cold sweat beaded on Wen Ziqian’s forehead. “Big Sister, I—”

“The equity transfer for that subsidiary under your name will be finalized in a few days,” Wen Jin said calmly, picking up the waiter’s vest from the floor and tossing it at him. “The overseas mine needs a supervisor. Someone will pick you up at nine tomorrow morning to take you to the airport. Wear this.”

Wen Ziqian’s lips trembled, and his eyes twitched uncontrollably. “You’re exiling me? Just for this woman?!”

“Just for her.” Wen Jin swept her gaze across the room, her eyes sharp as knives. “Does anyone else have any objections?”

The entire room fell silent.

Wen Ziqian’s bravado vanished. Realizing Wen Jin wasn’t joking, his legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, clutching at her leg and sobbing, “Big Sister…”

Seeing Wen Ziqian in such a state, Jing Feizuo found it utterly amusing.

She tilted her head, deliberately entwining her arm affectionately around Wen Jin’s, and addressed the crumpled figure on the floor, her voice sweet as honey: “Little brother, she’s my big sister now. Why don’t you ask her if she prefers her sophisticated younger sister or her brainless cousin?”

Wen Ziqian wept uncontrollably, tears and snot streaming down his face.

Wen Jin couldn’t help the corners of her mouth from curving upward.

She turned to Jing Feizuo, her cold, sharp features softening suddenly. She reached out and gently stroked the torn corner of Jing Feizuo’s dress. “Does it hurt?”

Jing Feizuo smiled. “Does the dress hurt, or do I?”

“Both,” Wen Jin replied, her voice tinged with melancholy, as if she weren’t the same person who had just unleashed such carnage. “This was a dress we had custom-made together…”

A single torn garment made her heart ache as if she herself had been ripped apart.

Wen Jin sighed, helped Jing Feizuo remove the soiled and tattered dress, and draped her own suit jacket over Jing Feizuo’s shoulders.

“The Wen Group’s banquets have never dictated women’s attire,” she declared, her voice neither loud nor soft as she surveyed the room. “If anyone believes it necessary to impose dress codes on women for our events, then our collaboration with them ends here.”

“Now,” she continued, her gaze sweeping across the stunned crowd, “is there anything else that needs addressing?”

The room was frozen in fear, not a single person daring to speak.

In the silence, a woman suddenly stepped forward, pointing to a beer-bellied man trembling in the corner. “He splashed red wine on Ms. Jing.”

Wen Jin raised an eyebrow in surprise and turned to the woman. “And you are?”

The woman forced a nervous smile as she introduced herself as a project manager from a Wen Group subsidiary.

Wen Jin turned to Jing Feizuo. “Is it him?”

Jing Feizuo nodded.

Wen Jin scrutinized the beer-bellied man’s face, recognizing him as a mid-level general manager from the same company as the woman.

She smiled and addressed the woman: “Tomorrow, you’ll take his position.”

After casually making the announcement, she ignored the woman’s shock and the beer-bellied man’s ashen face. Instead, she pulled a black card from her pocket and handed it to Jing Feizuo between two fingers. “This is to compensate you for today’s emotional distress.”

Jing Feizuo took the card, twirled it between her fingertips, and chuckled softly. “President Wen is truly generous.”

Wen Jin’s suit jacket was slightly too large for Jing Feizuo. She reached out to adjust the collar, saying, “What’s mine is yours.”

The words splashed like cold water into a hot oil pan, igniting a collective gasp from the crowd.

Someone reminded her, “Director Wen, the collectible painting on the wall…”

Wen Jin looked puzzled. “What about it?”

Jing Feizuo leaned in close, whispering in her ear, “They said it’s a Wen Group collection piece worth twenty million. But I didn’t like it, so I destroyed it.”

Jing Feizuo’s breath, carrying her words, seeped through Wen Jin’s ears and into her very core, stirring an unbearable itch in her heart. With a dismissive wave of her hand, Wen Jin declared, “Wen Ziqian’s uncle’s collection is nothing but a short-sighted accumulation of trinkets. Let’s give this painting to Wen Ziqian as a farewell gift before he goes abroad.”

Having settled everything, Wen Jin nodded in satisfaction and wrapped her arm around Jing Feizuo’s waist.

“Let’s go, darling,” she murmured, lowering her head to whisper in Jing Feizuo’s ear. “When we get home, I’ll take your measurements myself and make you a new set.”

Jing Feizuo didn’t move, only complaining, “Wen Jin, attending your annual gala is exhausting.”

Wen Jin chuckled, understanding the hidden meaning in her words, and swept her up into a horizontal embrace.

Even though Jing Feizuo had subtly hinted at this herself, now that she was actually in Wen Jin’s arms, the tips of her ears began to burn with awkward heat.

Wen Jin, on the other hand, wished she could immortalize this moment in her autobiography, ensuring its enduring fame for generations to come.

If she ever wrote an autobiography, that is.

Wen Jin gently tightened her grip, making Jing Feizuo more comfortable, while delivering a final warning: “You’ve all witnessed quite a spectacle. Feel free to continue enjoying the food and drinks, but I trust none of this will be shared beyond these walls. Otherwise…”

She laughed, leaving the threat unspoken.

The banquet hall doors slammed shut behind them, plunging the room into a deathly silence.

On the ride home, Jing Feizuo gazed out the window at the blur of neon lights. The city’s glow flickered across her face, alternating between bright and dim. She turned her head and caught her reflection in the glass, noticing the upward curve of her lips.

I’m actually smiling.

The realization startled her.

Wen Jin sat beside her, carefully folding Jing Feizuo’s tattered jacket. The car’s interior was dimly lit, with only the streetlights illuminating Wen Jin’s profile. Her head was bowed, her expression focused and serene, as if she weren’t the same woman who had effortlessly silenced the entire banquet hall moments earlier.

As the car rounded a corner, the streetlights grew brighter. Jing Feizuo noticed a stain on the hem of her shirt. The red wine had dried, leaving a dark crimson stain, wrinkled and clinging to the expensive fabric.

Wen Jin suddenly spoke, her voice low, “Are you cold?”

Jing Feizuo realized she had been unconsciously rubbing her arms. She lowered her hand and shook her head. “President Wen looked very handsome today.”

“I’m sorry,” Wen Jin said, her voice heavy. “Wen Ziqian has been letting his ambition run wild for some time now. I just never imagined he would…”

“Be this brainless,” Jing Feizuo finished. “What a waste of a privileged upbringing.”

Wen Jin said earnestly, “I’m sorry you had to endure that.”

“Actually, I didn’t suffer any real hardship,” Jing Feizuo said, leaning against the car window. Now that she was away from the banquet hall’s chaos, her mood had calmed. “Those people didn’t get the better of me. And thanks to you, I even got to see them apologize. It was quite amusing.”

A moment of silence settled in the car.

Jing Feizuo found herself feeling conflicted and absurd. Just moments ago, she had reveled in the thrill of Wen Jin’s revenge, even playing along with the performance. Now, she was belatedly struck by a sense of fear.

Still, she continued, “You really didn’t have to do all that.”

Wen Jin turned to her. “You didn’t like it?”

“I did, but I was wondering…” She paused. “What if you get tired of this someday? How will they treat me then?”

Wen Jin remained silent for a long time, as if racking her brain to dispel Jing Feizuo’s doubts.

In the end, she could only say, “That day will never come.”

The words sounded too glib, and Jing Feizuo suddenly felt like laughing. She glanced out the window at the passing luxury brand billboards, the sapphire necklace around the model’s neck glittering under the spotlight.

“Last month, this brand was promoting a different ‘timeless classic’—not that necklace.” She pointed. “Guess how long this new product will last?”

Wen Jin suddenly reached out and gripped Jing Feizuo’s wrist. Her palm was scorching hot, almost burning Jing Feizuo’s skin. “Darling, trust me.”

Jing Feizuo lowered her gaze to their intertwined hands.

Wen Jin’s fingers were long and strong, the knuckles distinct—a pair of hands that seemed to command everything. Yet now, those hands were gently encircling her wrist, as if handling a fragile piece of porcelain.

How absurd. The most dangerous person appeared the most gentle.

“I believe you,” Jing Feizuo said, lifting her head and flashing Wen Jin a perfect smile. “I was just saying.”

Wen Jin stared at her, her gaze so intense it made Jing Feizuo uneasy. Finally, she released her hand and leaned back in her seat. “Get some rest. We’re almost home.”

Jing Feizuo nodded and closed her eyes.

In the darkness, she heard her own heartbeat, rapid and heavy, like a caged bird desperately trying to break free.

The fear had never felt so vivid.

Not the fear that Wen Jin would tire of her, but the terror of becoming addicted and losing herself.

Addicted to the feeling of being cherished, lost in the illusion of being eternally loved—and by someone who wielded absolute power, leaving her utterly defenseless against their eventual boredom.

The car slowed to a stop. Jing Feizuo opened her eyes and found Wen Jin watching her, her expression deep and unreadable.

“We’re here,” Wen Jin said.

Jing Feizuo opened the car door. The red wine stain on her hem stood out starkly under the streetlights, almost blindingly bright—a glaring warning sign.