Throughout the night, Zihan barely interacted with the family. He ate quietly, offering faint smiles whenever laughter broke across the dinner table. To anyone else, he looked calm, composed as always, but Guo Min could sense the distance in his eyes. Something was off.
After dinner, everyone retired for the night. The mansion slowly grew quiet, the soft hum of the city outside blending with the occasional chirp of crickets.
Inside their room, Guo Min moved through her nightly routine, removing her jewelry, cleansing her face, smoothing lotion over her hands. Zihan, meanwhile, sat silently on the edge of the bed, watching her in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. He had faced gunfire, betrayal, and death without flinching, yet at this moment, with his wife only a few feet away, his chest felt tight.
When she was finally done, she turned off the light and climbed into bed. Just as she was about to lie down, she noticed his expression, still serious and unreadable.
"Zihan…" she called softly, brows furrowing. "Is something wrong?"
He didn't respond immediately. His fingers drummed once against his thigh, a tell he rarely showed when restless.
"…Guo Min," he began, voice low and even, though she could hear the weight behind it. "I want to talk to you."
Her concern deepened. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" She tried to lighten the mood, a soft smile curving her lips. "Is it about the cooking? You said you wanted to try my food, remember? I was planning to make something for you tomorrow. So don't worry."
Zihan's heart clenched at her words. She was trying... still thinking of him, and he was about to shatter that fragile peace.
He exhaled slowly, gaze moving from hers. This was the moment he had been avoiding. The truth had claws, and once he let it out, there would be no taking it back.
"…I'm in the mafia, Guo Min."
The words fell heavy, breaking the calm like a blade through glass.
At first, she didn't move. Her expression didn't even change as if her mind was still processing what she heard. Then, a small, uncertain laugh escaped her lips. "Zihan, that's… not funny."
But he didn't smile. Didn't even blink. His eyes were cold, and unbearably honest.
Her laughter died instantly. "…You're serious."
"Yes."
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
"I didn't want you to find out like this," he said, voice steady but low, "but after what happened today, after that attack… you deserve to know the truth."
Her pulse quickened. "You're telling me you're involved with those people? Those who... Oh God, why am I so unlucky with men". Her voice cracked.
"I don't deal in chaos," Zihan interrupted quietly. "I control it. I don't work under anyone, Guo Min... I am the law beneath the law. The one who keeps balance where governments can't reach."
Guo Min shook her head, her fingers gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white. "You make it sound righteous, but it's still blood, Zihan. It's still a crime." Her voice trembled with disbelief, her heart twisting painfully. Then, a small, humorless laugh slipped from her lips. "And besides… you lied to me. So why are you telling me this now? I'm already married to you..." she scoffed bitterly, "...ah, more like trapped."
Her laugh faded into a hollow silence. She turned away from him, her movements slow and deliberate, as though even the act of turning her back carried the weight of betrayal. Pulling the duvet over herself, she buried her face in the pillow, as if that thin fabric could shield her from the reality he'd just laid bare.
Zihan sat still for a long moment, staring at the outline of her trembling shoulders beneath the covers. His throat tightened, a rare ache pressing against his composure. He didn't know what to expect from her tomorrow, if she'd even look at him, or if this fragile bond between them had already begun to fracture.
Finally, he laid down beside her, the silence between them sharp enough to cut through the dark. Slowly, he inched closer until his chest brushed her back, his warmth seeping through the fabric. His arm slid around her waist, tentative at first, then firmer when he felt her flinch and tried weakly to push him away.
"…I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair, the words rough and low, laced with sincerity and helplessness.
She didn't answer. Only her soft, uneven breaths filled the room, Zihan's hand tightened slightly around her, a silent plea for forgiveness he wasn't sure he deserved, or will receive. He closed his eyes, listening to the quiet sound of her breathing, and for the first time in a long while, Zhu Zihan the man who ruled over empires and shadows felt the full weight of his own choices crushing him.
It was a few days since that day, that night passed and Guo Min and Zihan hadn't spoken to each other, or more like Guo Min was giving him the cold shoulder. The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, painting pale streaks across the room. Guo Min was already awake, earlier than usual. Her movements were quiet, deliberate, as if she was afraid that even the air would betray her intentions. She slipped out of bed carefully, the faint rustle of sheets the only sound she left behind.
Zihan stirred soon after. He was a light sleeper, and though her footsteps were soft, her absence beside him was louder than any noise could be. For a long moment, he simply sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the empty space before him, lost in the weight of last night's confession.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough, the words simple yet hesitant.
"…Good morning."
Guo Min stood by the mirror, fingers deftly gathering her hair into a neat ponytail. She didn't look at him, her reflection meeting her own eyes instead. Her response came flat, void of warmth.
"Mm."
The sound pierced deeper than he expected, quiet but cutting, cold and distant. For a heartbeat, Zihan just watched her, eyes tracing the curve of her shoulders, the way her back stiffened ever so slightly. A bitter smile tugged faintly at his lips as a realization struck him.
That was how he usually spoke, curt and detached. And now she was giving it back to him.
Zihan leaned back against the headboard, exhaling slowly. The silence between them felt heavy. He wanted to speak, to bridge the gap forming in front of him, but every word he could think of felt too small, too late.
He sat there on the bed for a long moment, watching as Guo Min picked up her bag and walked out without glancing back. The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall.
Zihan exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. She probably needs time, he told himself, though the thought felt more like a plea than comfort.
Dragging himself to the shower, he let the cold water wash away the weight of sleeplessness, but not the heaviness in his chest. When he emerged, he dressed in a charcoal six-button double-breasted suit paired with a burgundy silk tie in a Windsor knot, sharp and dignified. He took his phone, straightened his cufflinks, and descended the stairs.
The family was already gathered at the dining table, the morning air filled with light chatter and the soft clinking of porcelain. He took the empty chair beside Guo Min, greeting everyone with a polite, composed tone. "Good morning."
She didn't look at him.
Her expression was calm, perfectly polite, but her attention remained fixed on her plate. When he reached for the serving dish and placed a slice of glazed beef in her bowl, she paused for a brief second, long enough for him to notice, then quietly continued eating as if nothing had happened.
Around the table, everyone felt the shift in atmosphere, something has been going on between these two for a while now. Conversation faltered for a heartbeat before picking back up again, lighter this time, as though pretending not to notice the quiet distance between husband and wife. Grandpa Zhu even cracked a teasing comment about newlywed quarrels, which earned forced chuckles but no real warmth.
After breakfast, Guo Min stood, wiped her lips with a napkin, and adjusted the strap of her bag. Her tone was composed, polite but distant.
"Let's return to the villa today."
She didn't wait for an answer. Her heels clicked lightly against the marble as she turned and walked out, leaving the faint trace of her perfume behind.
Zihan's jaw flexed. A low scoff escaped his lips as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping once against the table.
She wants space, he thought. She wants to face me without an audience. He almost smiled, not in amusement, but in weary resignation. His wife was about to make his life a living hell, and she clearly didn't plan to do it in front of his family.
"Well," he murmured under his breath, standing and straightening his suit jacket. "Villa it is, then."