Volume 1 Chapter 3: She Called Him “Husband” Coquettishly, and He Couldn’t Suppress His Desire
Hearing Shang Ye’s name, Shang Shiyan instinctively pressed his lips together, the warmth in his eyes approaching freezing point.
“Have you been living too comfortably lately?”
He lowered his gaze, the shadow cast by his lashes perfectly concealing his cold, dark expression.
The man’s voice was casual, yet it carried a bone-chilling coldness.
Fu Yuan couldn’t help but shiver.
Thinking of the consequences he’d suffered every time Shang Shiyan dealt with him, his temples throbbed violently with regret.
He really had a loose tongue!
Why provoke this formidable figure?
“I was just kindly reminding you—don’t go doing anything reckless!”
Fu Yuan licked his lips nervously, afraid Shang Shiyan might hold this against him, and immediately changed the subject.
“She’s quite badly injured. It’ll probably take a long time for her to recover.”
Shang Shiyan narrowed his eyes, his dark, deep-set eyes appearing indifferent on the surface, yet filled with deep concern beneath.
“What should she be careful about during her recovery?”
“Everything else is manageable, but the most important thing now is not to stimulate her.”
Fu Yuan paused, pondering how to explain it to him.
“In her condition, her memories are likely disordered—possibly even regressed to a few years earlier. And patients like this firmly believe in their own perceptions. Excessive contradiction could trigger her, potentially leading to a coma or other more serious conditions.”
“Besides, this young lady likely had a tendency toward depression before. She already had mental health issues, so extra caution is needed.”
As Fu Yuan spoke, he kept his eyes on Shang Shiyan’s reaction, watching his brows knit together, his gaze revealing an indescribable complexity.
He sighed, knowing how Shang Shiyan felt about the young lady, and couldn’t resist teasing: “Right now, the girl believes you’re her husband. You should seize the opportunity.”
Shang Shiyan’s brow twitched twice, his gaze flickering.
He naturally understood what Fu Yuan meant.
But taking advantage of someone in such a vulnerable state… that was hardly proper.
Moreover, even if he used such despicable means to stay by her side, what if one day she regained her memories?
Given her love for Shang Ye, she would likely despise him!
Imagining Meng Zhi looking at him with hatred, Shang Shiyan’s heart clenched with a sharp pain.
No, that wasn’t what he wanted to see.
“I heard she was on her way to get a marriage certificate before the accident. You need to think this through—if she doesn’t recover, you have a chance. But once she does…”
Fu Yuan’s words struck Shang Shiyan like a sharp blade.
And he wasn’t done—he continued to twist the knife.
“So, do you really want her to recover?”
Did he?
Shang Shiyan lowered his eyes, his palms clenching so hard that veins bulged on the back of his hands.
To Fu Yuan’s question, he fell into an uncharacteristic silence.
His heart was a whirlwind of mixed emotions—conflicted and tormented.
A man who was decisive and resolute in everything he did now found himself hesitating, treading with extraordinary caution.
He didn’t want Meng Zhi to hate him, yet he couldn’t suppress the desire to draw closer to her.
Especially when she called him “husband” in that weak, soft voice—he felt his blood run in reverse, his heartbeat ringing loud and clear in his ears.
Shang Shiyan was well aware of his own despicable thoughts.
He knew he should refuse.
But he couldn’t help coveting that happiness that wasn’t his—stolen, borrowed happiness.
Evening.
Meng Zhi opened her eyes and saw the stark white walls.
Breathing in the pungent smell of disinfectant, a wave of intense unease washed over her.
She furrowed her brow, trying to get out of bed. The moment she moved, the pain radiating through every limb and bone made her lose her balance, and she pitched straight toward the floor.
Damn it!
Squeezing her eyes shut, Meng Zhi braced herself for the fall.
But the expected pain never came. A broad, warm hand caught her firmly around the waist.
“Injured this badly and still moving around—do you want to get better or not?”
Shang Shiyan frowned, his cold, stern voice laced with concern.
The man helped her back onto the bed, taking care to adjust the angle of the hospital bed. Worried she might be uncomfortable, he also tucked two pillows behind her lower back.
“I just woke up and didn’t see you—I was a little scared!”
Meng Zhi looked at the man with anger in his eyes, showing no fear at all. Instead, she pouted and complained in a pitiful voice.
“Where did you go just now?”
Watching her act like a child seeking attention, the anger that had just risen in Shang Shiyan dissipated without a trace.
He let out a helpless sigh and brought the dinner he’d just bought over to her.
“Eat something.”
She watched as his slender, well-defined fingers untied the bag and pulled out a bowl of thick, congealed fish porridge.
Paired with simple, appetizing stir-fried vegetables, Meng Zhi—who hadn’t eaten all day—swallowed hard, her stomach already growling with hunger.
“Honey, I’m hurt…”
She tilted her head up, blinking her eyes vigorously, looking utterly innocent and guileless.
Just like she used to be before she’d been hurt—her little emotions written plainly on her face, not suppressed or hidden.
Her coaxing tone reached Shang Shiyan’s ears, and his gaze inadvertently drifted to her lips, which were gradually regaining their color—a rosy, glistening red like a plump cherry.
Shang Shiyan’s throat bobbed. His self-control, which he’d always prided himself on, crumbled to dust before this adorable, charming Meng Zhi.
Meng Zhi, completely unaware, just blinked. “Honey?”
Shang Shiyan hummed in response.
He had imagined many times what it would be like if she left Shang Ye and came to him.
But none of those imaginings were like this.
It was so blissful it felt unreal.
Duan Yang walked into the ward holding a bag, only to see his boss, Shang Shiyan, holding a bowl of porridge and patiently feeding the woman spoonful by spoonful.
As if afraid it might burn her, he blew on each spoonful before offering it to her.
Gentle and meticulous—was this really the Shang Shiyan he knew?
The impact of this scene was too much, and Duan Yang was momentarily speechless.
He hesitated, unsure whether he should interrupt, until finally Meng Zhi noticed him.
“Boss Shang, this is Miss Meng’s bag.”
“Mm.”
Shang Shiyan responded coldly, his gaze never leaving Meng Zhi.
Only after feeding her the last spoonful did he take the bag into his hands.
It was a plain black tote—ordinary, with no eye-catching design whatsoever, looking utterly lifeless.
Meng Zhi tilted her head and examined it again and again, but no memory of it surfaced in her mind.
“This bag is so ugly. It’s clearly not my style at all.”
She frowned, her eyes full of disdain, then looked at Shang Shiyan with confusion. “Could there be a mistake? Is this really my bag?”
Duan Yang: …
“It really is your bag!”
Only after receiving the confirmation did Meng Zhi let go of her doubts.
She raised her hand to grab Shang Shiyan’s, but the moment she moved, a searing, heart-wrenching pain struck her.
She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.
“Still haven’t learned your lesson?”
Seeing her face turn pale from the pain, Shang Shiyan instinctively pulled her into his arms, soothing her like a child.
His arms were solid and strong, and leaning against his chest, Meng Zhi always felt an inexplicable sense of peace.
“Honey, you’re so good to me.”
She tilted her head up, a misty haze gathering in her eyes.
Yet even as she looked at Shang Shiyan, she still cast a smile his way.
Shang Shiyan was stung by the brilliance of her smile.
He knew full well that she only called him that because of a misunderstanding brought on by her amnesia, yet he still couldn’t help but be stirred and lose himself in the moment.