Three years.
The person who had shared the same marriage certificate with her for three years.
Now lay beside her, his breath audible, within reach. His body warmth passed over to her—warm, real, not the elusive sensation from dreams she once had.
But he didn’t know who she was.
Last night, there was no trace of recognition in his eyes, only the murky desire fueled by drugs.
He had dragged her in, pressed her against the wall, torn open her gown, entangled with her—from beginning to end, he never knew the person beneath him was his wife.
Gu Ziyao’s nose stung.
Something was gathering in her eyes, hot and swollen, about to overflow.
She bit her lower lip, holding it back with all her might.
Don’t cry.
What good would crying do? Wake him up, let him see her crying, and then what? Would he recognize her? And after recognizing her, would he say “I’m sorry” or “What are you doing here”?
Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her at all.
In his life, she probably didn’t even count as a passerby.
At least passersby had a chance encounter. But she was likely just a name, a photograph, a signature on a legal document.
Gu Ziyao took a deep breath and slowly moved his hand away from her waist.
Shen Junyan’s fingers twitched, as if searching for something. His fingertips brushed against the bedsheet twice before stopping.
Gu Ziyao held her breath, waited a few seconds to confirm he hadn’t woken up, then cautiously shifted toward the edge of the bed.
Her body ached terribly; every inch she moved felt like her bones were creaking.
The soreness in her waist was especially noticeable, as if it had been bent in half. There were also a few bruises on her inner thighs, left from his grip the night before.
Clenching her teeth, she slowly sat up from the bed.
The moment her feet touched the carpet, she looked down at herself—the zipper on the back of her gown was completely torn, the fabric slipping from her shoulders to her waist, exposing large patches of skin. There were red finger marks on her shoulders and faint kiss marks below her collarbone.
Gu Ziyao closed her eyes, not daring to look any longer.
She bent down and found her clutch on the carpet. The clutch was still open, and her lipstick had rolled out, landing near the foot of the bed. She picked it up, stuffed it back inside, and found the little black blazer.
The blazer wasn’t damaged, just creased in a few places. She shook it out, draped it over her shoulders, covering the torn part of her back.
Then she stood up and walked toward the door.
Halfway there, she stopped.
She turned back to look at the person on the bed.
Shen Junyan remained in the same position—lying on his side, facing her direction, his arm resting where she had slept, fingers slightly spread. His brow furrowed lightly, as if he were dreaming of something unpleasant, but soon relaxed again.
He lay there quietly, like an exquisite sculpture.
Gu Ziyao stood a few steps away, watching him for a long time.
Her lips moved, silently uttering two words.
Then she turned and walked quickly toward the door.
As her hand touched the doorknob, her fingers trembled. She twisted it twice before it opened, the lock making a soft “click” that echoed clearly in the quiet room.
She glanced back one last time.
Shen Junyan didn’t wake.
She pulled the door open and walked out.
The corridor was empty, the carpet swallowing all sound of her footsteps. Head bowed, she hurried toward the elevator, her fingers repeatedly pressing the call button as if something were chasing her.
The elevator doors opened.
She stepped inside, leaning against the wall as she watched the doors slowly close.
The elevator began its descent, floor numbers ticking down one by one. 18, 17, 16, 15…
Gu Ziyao lifted her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror—hair disheveled, eyes rimmed red, lips slightly swollen. Beneath her black blazer, the zipper of her dress was torn open in a long gash.
She looked as wretched as a refugee who had just escaped.
The elevator reached the underground parking garage.
The doors opened, letting in a gust of cold air that made her shiver. Hugging her arms tightly, she walked quickly toward her car—a white Audi parked in spot B-032.
She pressed the key fob. The lights flashed twice, and the locks clicked open.
Gu Ziyao pulled open the driver’s door, got in, and shut it behind her.
The moment the door closed, the outside world was sealed away. The dim garage lights, distant footsteps, the hum of ventilation pipes—all were locked outside.
Inside the car, it was quiet.
Only the sound of her own breathing—rapid, ragged, trembling with suppressed emotion.
Gu Ziyao gripped the steering wheel, resting her forehead against it as she closed her eyes.
Her shoulders shook.
Her whole body shook.
Not from the cold, but because the emotions she had held back all night finally found an outlet, bursting forth like a breached dam, flooding all her reason and pretense.
She remembered the two words Shen Junyan had spoken last night.
She hadn’t heard them clearly, but her body remembered.
Remembered the warmth of his lips against her earlobe, the tremor in his voice, the rhythm of his breath as he uttered those two words.
What had he said?
Her name?
Or someone else’s?
Gu Ziyao bit her lower lip, hard, until it turned pale, until she tasted blood.
She told herself to stop thinking.
Whatever he had said, it didn’t matter anymore. She was leaving this place, forgetting everything about last night, just as she had tried to forget him over the past three years.
But could she forget?
She lifted her head and glanced at her face in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were red, a single tear still clinging to her lashes. She wiped it away, took a deep breath, then pulled a tissue from the box to dab at the small cut on the corner of her mouth.
Then she started the car.
The sound of the engine echoed in the quiet garage. She shifted into reverse, released the brake, and the car slowly backed out.
The backup camera lit up, showing the view behind—an empty parking space, gray concrete pillars, a fire hydrant on the wall.
Gu Ziyao turned the wheel, swinging the car around to face the exit.
She pressed the accelerator, and the car pulled out of the spot, heading toward the exit.
Gu Ziyao didn’t go straight home.
She drove to a roadside parking spot on another street, turned off the engine, and took out her phone.
The screen lit up, showing the time: 6:10 a.m.
She scrolled through her contacts, found Qin Yining’s name, and dialed.
The phone rang for a long time. Once, twice, three times… each ring felt like a hammer against her heart.
Just as it was about to go to voicemail, the call connected.
The other end came Qin Yining’s hoarse voice, tinged with drowsiness from being woken: “Yaoyao? What’s wrong?”
Gu Ziyao, hearing her voice, felt as if something was stuck in her throat, unable to speak for a long moment.
“Yaoyao?” Qin Yining’s voice grew clearer, “Are you there?”
“Yeah.” Gu Ziyao responded, her voice so hoarse it felt unfamiliar even to herself, “I’m here.”
“What’s wrong with you? Why does your voice sound like that?” Qin Yining clearly sensed something was off, “Have you been crying?”
“No.” Gu Ziyao sniffled, “Yi Ning, can you do me a favor?”
“What favor?”