Lin Anqiao tugged at the corner of her mouth and gripped the handle of her suitcase tighter.
*Splash.*
The rain outside poured down in a deluge.
"I said, I want a divorce."
Her voice was calm, her face devoid of any expression. Seven years—it should have ended a long time ago. With her life nearing its end, she only wanted to do what she wished before she died. She wanted a divorce, she wanted to break free from the Fu Family, and she wanted to hold her own art exhibition.
A flicker of coldness crossed Fu Jingzhou’s eyes. He frowned, "Lin Anqiao, there should be a limit to your nonsense. You’re a mother now; why can’t you be more steady?"
"Does being a mother mean I have to sacrifice myself?" Lin Anqiao gave a cold laugh. "Once the divorce agreement is drafted, I’ll have it delivered to you."
She had sacrificed too much, yet they remained dismissive of it all.
"Mom, can you stop being so willful?" Fu Xiaochuan appeared behind her at some point, his face etched with disapproval. "You’re just engaging in petty jealousy! Why do you always target Auntie Yusu? Auntie Yusu is such a wonderful, highly educated woman; she could never hurt you! Why can’t you just tolerate her? If I could, I’d really want her as my mother!"
"Fu Xiaochuan." Fu Jingzhou frowned and cast a sidelong glance at him. "That’s enough."
Lin Anqiao suddenly laughed.
*Highly educated...*
She lowered her eyes, her voice cool, "You might not know, but I once had the opportunity to be highly educated, too."
Back then, one of her paintings had shocked the art world. A top-tier art academy abroad had admitted her with a special waiver. But then, due to a twist of fate, she fell pregnant. The school couldn't wait for her to give birth and revoked her placement.
It went to Qiao Yusu instead.
Qiao Yusu became the highly educated one, while she was trapped in the household, becoming the housewife who, in the eyes of the father and son, was "living a life of leisure."
Now, she was going to pick up her paintbrush again.
"From now on, it doesn't matter who you call mother." Lin Anqiao pulled her suitcase and stepped outside. "Do whatever you want."
Wanted freedom? She would give it to them.
Her back was lean but resilient, like bamboo in the wind. Even the heavy suitcase could not make her spine bend in the slightest.
A sudden sense of helplessness flickered in Fu Jingzhou’s heart, but he suppressed it with a frown. Lin Anqiao loved him so much—how could she really want to leave? It was nothing more than a tactic to make him coax her. But he wouldn't indulge such habits of hers.
"Lin Anqiao, enough is enough." His eyes turned cold and hard, his gaze piercing. "If you dare walk out that door today, don't you ever come back!"
Lin Anqiao’s footsteps faltered.
In previous years, there had been times when they argued and she threatened to leave. Every time he spoke harshly, she would be back within a day, weeping in the rain, begging him to let her in.
In the pouring rain, the house gates would be locked tight. She would beg him to open them, and he would only look down at her, uttering the most hurtful words imaginable: "Do you know you're wrong yet? You’ll be let back in only when you admit your mistake."
The memory of the man’s icy eyes caused a sharp, violent pain in her stomach.
Lin Anqiao let out a scoff, grabbed an umbrella, and continued walking out.
Behind her, the man’s eyes grew colder. He spoke chillingly, "The moment you step out that door, I will freeze all your cards until you admit you are wrong."
Her parents had moved abroad, and in Beijing, she didn't even own a property of her own. Without her cards, she would be left with nowhere to turn. He wanted to see just how long she could keep up this temper tantrum!
Lin Anqiao still didn't look back.
For so many years, despite the immense value she had created for the Fu Group, she had always used Fu Jingzhou’s secondary card. She loved to paint, but he had only sneered at it. He wouldn't even provide her with a studio. He had never treated her as an independent person, only as an appendage.
She stepped out of the door. Behind her, Fu Xiaochuan’s voice reached her ears clearly.
"Good riddance! It’s finally time to make room for Auntie Yusu. Dad, does this mean Auntie Yusu can move in now?"
Hearing that, Lin Anqiao let out a soft scoff and opened her umbrella.
In the final three months of her life, she had finally stepped out of the prison that was the Fu Family.
The rain outside was heavy. Even with the umbrella, the fierce wind blew the rain onto her. She was drenched, the freezing sensation seeping into her very marrow. A violent pain gripped her stomach, rolling and churning.
She couldn't even hail a taxi on the road; the pain forced her to crouch by the curb. Her brain grew dizzy.
Behind her, a piercing car horn sounded. The headlights of a Rolls-Royce pierced through the curtain of rain, shining on her. Lin Anqiao squeezed her eyes shut against the glare.
The car door opened. Footsteps approached from a distance and stopped before her. A large black umbrella shielded her from the rain.
A man’s voice, teasing yet slightly chilled, sounded from above: "Lin Anqiao, it’s been years—how have you ended up in such a miserable state?"
The familiar tone made her heart tremble. She could never forget this voice.
The wind seemed to be blocked out; she opened her eyes and saw a pair of high-end leather shoes. She looked up, her gaze tracing the man’s face inch by inch.
His peach-blossom eyes were captivating, locked onto her with a faint, mocking smile. His demonically handsome face looked even more striking through the rain.
Lin Anqiao’s pupils shrank.
It was him.
Song Hanjiang...
Seven years had passed, and his face was still just as bewitching.
"I..."
Lin Anqiao stammered, unable to form a sentence. She finally couldn't hold on any longer; her mind went black, and she fainted. Before losing consciousness, she fell into a warm embrace.
The man’s sigh, laced with a hint of heartache, echoed in her ear: "Qiaoqiao, it’s been seven years. How could you let yourself get into such a state?"
...
When she woke up again, the discomfort in her stomach had faded significantly. She was in a room; as far as her eyes could see, it was decorated in shades of gray.
"Awake?"
The man’s indifferent voice sounded. Lin Anqiao’s heart skipped a beat. She looked toward the source of the sound and saw Song Hanjiang, who had changed into loungewear and was sitting on a small sofa in the room, watching her with that faint, playful smile.
Song Hanjiang... Her parents' foster son, her brother.
Complex emotions swirled in Lin Anqiao’s heart. Her stomach pain returned, and she couldn't help but frown, whispering softly, "Brother... why are you in Beijing?"
A sense of grievance welled up, but she gritted her teeth and held it back. They had been childhood sweethearts; it would be a lie to say she hadn't had feelings for such a gentle person. But then, he had been reclaimed by his biological parents—one of the top wealthy families in the country. From that point on, their statuses were worlds apart.
And so, she had been forced to swallow the stirrings of her youth. Years later, she met Fu Jingzhou. He had saved her life, and she buried those feelings even deeper. Later, when she married Fu Jingzhou, Song Hanjiang had only sent her a message from abroad, wishing her happiness.
Song Hanjiang smiled teasingly, his voice lazy and seductive: "The Song Family is looking to expand domestically, and they sent me to scout the path."
"Thank you, Brother," Lin Anqiao whispered instinctively.
Song Hanjiang paused, poured a glass of milk, and handed it to her. He ruffled her hair in a familiar way, just like when she was a child.
Lin Anqiao felt a lump in her throat and lowered her head to take a sip of the milk. It was still warm, even a bit hot. Her stomach felt much better.
"Did you have a fight with your husband?" Song Hanjiang asked, his tone slow and deliberate, with a hint of allure. "Even if you did, leaving his wife out in the pouring rain—he’s hardly a qualified husband. I wouldn't do something like that."