The partition between the front and back seats had been raised the moment the car started moving.
The driver up front couldn’t see what was happening behind him, but he could hear.
Song Junyan’s voice was somewhat restrained because of this.
Song Man continued to gaze out the window.
He couldn’t see her expression.
“I’m not going.”
“Song Man.”
Song Man fell silent.
Song Junyan’s voice softened. “Be good. That place is a bit far, but I’ll visit often.”
Far.
Remote enough to be well-hidden.
He truly intended to keep her like a caged bird, hidden away in a gilded chamber.
He looked down on her, believing she was just like those other women—whatever she sought, it defied convention.
Song Man dug her nails tightly into the lid of the box, as if she felt no pain, as if she would gouge out blood.
She drifted in a daze for what felt like an eternity, though in truth only a moment passed.
She spoke again. “I’m not going. If Mother arranges a match for me…”
She paused.
“I’ll go.”
“Song Man!”
Song Man trembled all over, immediately pressing down the partition button and shouting at the driver, “Stop the car.”
“Don’t stop! Keep driving!”
The driver, startled, nearly swerved off course as he gripped the wheel. He replied in a low voice, “Yes, sir,” and promptly pressed the button to raise the partition again.
Song Junyan seized Song Man’s chin, his expression dark and stormy with violence. “Say that again.”
She remained silent, as if hesitating, or perhaps reminiscing.
When she raised her head again to look at him, her eyes were filled with an unbreakable resolve.
“I…”
She had barely begun when Song Junyan suddenly reached out, roughly shoving her into the corner, then bent down and bit down on her lips.
Sinister. Brutal.
More frenzied than ever before, as if he wanted to destroy everything.
Song Man winced in pain, her whole body trembling—both from fear and from the instincts he was provoking.
The man’s breath was heavy, his voice exceptionally hoarse.
“You’ve been too disobedient lately. Have I been spoiling you too much?”
He pointed at the mess between them.
“Look at yourself. Can you really leave me?”
Song Man bit her lip and said nothing.
He narrowed his eyes, and the next moment, his large hand gripped the back of her head, forcing her to look.
She seemed stung by the sight before her, her eyes instantly turning red.
“So think carefully before you speak again.”
His voice wasn’t particularly deep—it was even quite calm.
That calm was suffocating, numbing, like a frog slowly boiled in warm water—death was merely a matter of time.
Song Man closed her eyes, a resolute crease forming between her brows.
“No matter how many times you ask, my answer is the same!”
“I’m not going!”
“And I will accept Mother’s matchmaking! Uncle!”
She rarely called him “Uncle” in private.
It was a deliberate attempt to blur the chasm that lay between them.
Song Junyan understood this little trick well enough.
But now she was calling him “Uncle.”
Song Junyan’s face darkened as he stared at her intently.
She stared right back.
Silence.
A long moment passed.
He let out a breath. “Man’er, what exactly do you want to do?”
Song Man’s eyes suddenly stung with heat. She bit her lip hard, desperately suppressing any sound, desperately holding back the sanity that was on the verge of collapsing.
Song Junyan’s tone grew even gentler, his fingertips lightly brushing the stray hairs on her forehead before tucking them behind her ear.
“Be good. Haven’t we gotten through it like this before?”
“I told you, I’m only engaged to her. Nothing between you and me will change.”
“How hasn’t it changed?” Song Man’s throat felt stuffed with wet cotton, each breath a struggle. “You have a fiancée now.”
“It’s just a marriage alliance. In name only.”
“She’s still your wife. If not now, then she will be in the future.”
“Man’er…”
“Do you love me?”
Song Junyan paused. He looked at her.
She was still gazing at him just as before, unblinking.
She was clearly asking a question, yet her eyes were far too clear—holding not a trace of expectation, only the bleak desolation of autumn wind shaking leaves from trees.
Song Junyan suddenly remembered the past.
She had skipped class and hidden at his place to watch a movie.
He’d forgotten the title, only remembered her mocking the female lead for being childish.
When the answer was so obvious, why insist on asking whether someone loved you or not?
What was the point of asking?
To hope for deception, to live in self-delusion?
His answer to her back then was that she was merely seeking closure.
Song Junyan lowered his head, fell silent, then stepped back.
The figure before her, already blurry, suddenly became even more indistinct. Song Man blinked and quietly straightened her clothes.
Song Junyan grabbed her arm.
“Take back what you just said. I’ll pretend I never heard it.”
Song Man couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.
That smile carried despair.
Yet she said nothing. She merely gave a gentle tug, freeing herself from his grip.
She said, “Stop the car.”
This time, he didn’t stop her.