Chapter Sixty-Eight: Let's Get a Divorce

Shen Huaijing returned to her room and leaned against the door. Gradually, her body seemed to dissolve into a puddle, sliding down the edge of the door to the floor. Facing Lin Yiqing moments ago, she had been holding back, refusing to lose, or at least not to lose in a humiliating way.

When Lin Yiqing uttered the words “the child is Fu Chen’s,” Shen Huaijing felt as if she had plunged into an icy cellar, chilled from her crown to her toes.

Suddenly, a frantic knocking shattered the silence.

“Madam, are you alright? Don’t believe that woman’s one-sided story,” Aunt Feng’s anxious voice called from outside. She had overheard the entire conversation between Shen Huaijing and Lin Yiqing from the kitchen.

Aunt Feng’s words of comfort broke through Shen Huaijing’s defenses. An unprecedented bitterness and rage twisted in her heart. Her chest felt stifled, tears welled up and blurred her vision, and even her voice grew hoarse.

“It’s fine, Aunt Feng. I’ll wait for Fu Chen to give me an explanation,” she managed.

Aunt Feng paced uneasily outside, her brows clouded, hands wringing her apron.

“Madam, what will you do if the young master admits it’s true?” Aunt Feng stammered.

Bang!

The door flung open from inside. Shen Huaijing’s hair was disheveled, her eyes bloodshot, tears like pearls hanging from her cheeks. Her voice trembled, as fragile as broken feathers in the wind, ready to scatter.

“Aunt Feng, do you know something?” Shen Huaijing’s gaze turned icy, piercing Aunt Feng with the chill of an ice pick.

Aunt Feng waved her hands in panic, fear written all over her face. “Madam, absolutely not. I’m only worried that you and the young master might fall out over this.” Her eyes darted away, avoiding Shen Huaijing’s.

Shen Huaijing’s emotions slipped out of control. She seized Aunt Feng’s hand and demanded, “You must have messaged Fu Chen just now, didn’t you?”

Seeing she could no longer hide it, Aunt Feng admitted it frankly, knowing Shen Huaijing was already aware of her secret correspondence with Fu Chen. “Yes, but the young master hasn’t replied.”

“Give me your phone!” Shen Huaijing’s eyes blazed.

She was certain Fu Chen and Aunt Feng were concealing something from her. She suspected Fu Chen knew Lin Yiqing would come today, given that Lin Yu had already told Lin Yiqing about her fake pregnancy.

Perhaps Lin Yiqing had come at Fu Chen’s behest to test her reaction.

Aunt Feng obediently reached into her pocket, but Shen Huaijing, impatient and wary of tricks, reached in herself and snatched the phone.

Sure enough, Aunt Feng hadn’t lied. Fu Chen hadn’t replied to any messages or answered calls.

This unsettled Shen Huaijing even more. No matter how busy Fu Chen was, he always responded, but now he had completely cut off communication. She couldn’t fathom what he was doing in Paris.

She didn’t want to make things difficult for Aunt Feng, only instructing her to let her know immediately if there was any news from Fu Chen.

———

Unnoticed, December arrived.

It had been eight days since Lin Yiqing’s confrontation with Shen Huaijing, and in those eight days, Fu Chen hadn’t sent a single message or made a single call. Every day, Shen Huaijing tried calling at different times, but it was as if he had evaporated from the earth.

Even Lin Yu, who had initially answered as assistant, now never picked up.

Meanwhile, Shen Huaijing was wracked by public scrutiny. As Yu Yunxi had predicted, news of Lin Yiqing’s pregnancy soon dominated the front pages of every entertainment weekly.

Lin Yiqing herself held a press conference, admitting to her pregnancy but evading the question of the child’s father.

Public opinion overwhelmingly assumed the child was Fu Chen’s. Reporters from all sorts of publications staked out Shen Huaijing’s home around the clock, like flies impossible to drive away.

It was only thanks to Yu Yunxi, who contacted her cousin He An and arranged for police presence, that the number of reporters was reduced.

To her fury, Ke Jing and Fu Heniann even called to blame Shen Huaijing, accusing her of failing to manage her husband. With Fu Heniann’s influence, it would have been easy to deal with the tabloids, but they showed no intention of helping, leaving Shen Huaijing to fend for herself.

Every day, the reporters’ racket gave Shen Huaijing splitting headaches. She lay on her bed, counting the days until Fu Chen’s return.

That night, when the commotion outside finally died down, Shen Huaijing, feeling hungry, went downstairs in search of food.

Just as she reached the stairs, she spotted a dark silhouette at the dining table.

Alertness surged—could a crazed reporter have snuck inside?

She slipped off her slippers, tiptoed down the stairs. The figure didn’t move, still seated at the table. Shen Huaijing grabbed a metal ornament from the nearby side table and, with a snap, switched on the lights.

The brightness stung her eyes for a moment. When her vision adjusted, she looked toward the table—only to find the figure staring back at her.

That familiar face.

It was Fu Chen.

Shen Huaijing’s hand fell limp, the metal ornament clattering to the floor with a harsh ring.

She stared at Fu Chen, clad in a black trench coat, his eyes inducing an inexplicable chill. In those few seconds, her back was drenched in cold sweat. The room was warm as spring, yet she felt trapped in an icy vault.

Fu Chen sat quietly at the table, his tall frame distorted by the overhead light. He turned his dark eyes toward her, gazing intently, silent.

Shen Huaijing sensed something different—Fu Chen’s whole presence radiated hostility, a far cry from the gentle man of days past.

What had happened in France?

Step by step, Shen Huaijing approached him, her gaze unwavering, bright as starlight.

“Fu Chen, why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”

Fu Chen’s eyes were chilling as he regarded her, scanning her from head to toe. At last, he spoke: “I decided to return on impulse.” His voice was taut and hoarse, as if suppressing something.

Shen Huaijing’s face was pale from days of sleeplessness. She bit her lip and exhaled deeply, as if expelling all her pent-up frustration.

“Why haven’t you contacted me these days? Do you know how hard it’s been for me?”

She sensed the anger, the injustice, and the resentment smoldering within, ready to burst into flames.

Fu Chen’s expression was void of emotion as he stared at her, a shadowy chill settling in his eyes.

“Shen Huaijing, we can get divorced now.”

“Oh, no—Song Hui.” His voice, laced with the cold of the night, coiled around her like a serpent, suffocating and inescapable.