Ruofei's POV:
After the intensity of the library conversation, the atmosphere in the room shifts to something softer, more protective.
My mother is already planning security details with Wenli, their heads bent together over her phone as they discuss logistics.
Wenlan sits quietly, still processing everything, occasionally glancing at me with an expression that's equal parts concern and determination.
My father catches my eye and tilts his head toward the door. A silent invitation.
I nod and follow him out of the library, leaving the others to their planning.
We walk through the familiar halls of my childhood home in comfortable silence.
My father has never been one for unnecessary words—a trait I inherited—but I can feel the weight of what he wants to say.
He leads me to his study, a smaller, more personal space than the library.
The walls are lined with photos—family moments captured over the years.
Me as a child, Wenlan's graduation, Lexin's first day of school.
My parents' wedding photo holds pride of place on his desk.
He gestures to the comfortable chairs by the window, and we both sit.
For a long moment, he just looks at me. Really looks at me, the way only a parent can—seeing past the careful masks to the scared young man underneath.
"How are you really doing, son?" he asks quietly.
The question, so simple and sincere, nearly breaks me.
"I don't know," I admit. "I'm scared. Confused. Angry at the situation but not... not at the baby. Never at the baby."
He nods slowly. "That's normal. When I found out I was pregnant with you, I felt the same way."
I blink in surprise. My father rarely talks about his pregnancies—they were difficult for him, both physically and emotionally.
"You were scared?" It's hard to imagine my father, the Mafia King, being scared of anything.
"Terrified," he says with a soft smile. "I was a recessive omega, just like you. Your mother and I had been trying for over a year with no success. The doctors told us it might never happen naturally, that we should consider alternatives."
He leans back in his chair, eyes distant with memory.
"And then one day, I started craving persimmons. Couldn't get enough of them. Your mother noticed before I did—she'd been tracking my cycles religiously, hoping. She brought home a pregnancy test and..." He laughs quietly. "I was convinced it would be negative. We'd had false alarms before."
"But it wasn't," I say softly.
"No. It wasn't." His expression softens further. "And I remember sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at that positive test, feeling so many things at once. Joy, terror, disbelief. How could this be happening when everyone said it wouldn't?"
I lean forward, hanging on every word. He's never shared this much about the experience before.
"Your mother found me there," he continues. "She sat down next to me and held my hand, and do you know what she said?"
I shake my head.
"She said, 'Our baby chose us. Against all the odds, against all the statistics, they chose to exist. That makes them a fighter, just like their parents.'" He meets my eyes. "And she was right. You were a fighter from the very beginning, Ruofei. You still are."
Tears prick at my eyes. "Were you sick? During the pregnancy?"
"Oh, constantly." He laughs ruefully. "The first trimester was brutal. I couldn't keep anything down except plain rice and ginger tea. Your mother was so worried she wanted to hospitalize me, but I refused. Stubborn, even then."
"That sounds familiar," I mutter, and he grins.
"The second trimester was better. I actually felt good for a few months—had energy, could eat normally, even trained a little. But the third..." He shakes his head. "The third was hard. You were a big baby, and my body wasn't built for it. I was on bedrest for the last two months."
"I didn't know that."
"We don't talk about it much." He shrugs. "It's in the past. But I want you to know, Ruofei—being a recessive omega who gets pregnant isn't easy. Your body is going to go through things that are difficult and sometimes frightening. But you're strong. Stronger than you think."
"What about..." I hesitate, touching my neck. "The bond? Did it help?"
His expression grows more serious. "Your mother and I were bonded before we conceived you, so yes, it helped immensely. The bond stabilizes hormone levels, reduces complications, makes the pregnancy safer overall." He pauses. "But you're in a different situation."
"Because Qingyue bonded me without asking," I say quietly.
"Because you don't remember consenting to it," my father corrects gently. "There's a difference. The bond itself will protect you and the baby—biology doesn't care about the circumstances. But emotionally..." He reaches over and takes my hand. "That's something you'll need to work through."
"I don't know what I want," I confess. "Part of me feels violated. Part of me feels... something else. Something I can't name."
"Connected?" my father suggests.
I nod miserably. "Yes. Even though I don't remember most of it, I feel connected to him. Like there's a string tied between us, pulling tight. And I don't know if that's the bond or if it's me—my own feelings getting confused with the biological imperative."
"Probably both," he says honestly. "The bond amplifies what's already there. If you had feelings for Qingyue before this happened..."
"I did," I whisper. "I have. For three years."
"Then the bond is intensifying those feelings, making them harder to ignore." He squeezes my hand. "But that doesn't mean you have to act on them right now. Taking space, going to Korea—that's smart. You need distance to figure out what you want independent of the bond's influence."
"What if I can't?" The question bursts out. "What if the bond is too strong? What if I—"
"You're not going to lose yourself," my father interrupts firmly. "You're my son. You have a will of iron and a mind sharp enough to cut through any manipulation, biological or otherwise. The bond might influence your emotions, but it doesn't control your choices. Those are still yours."
The words settle something anxious in my chest.
"Was it worth it?" I ask quietly. "The difficult pregnancy, the complications, all of it?"
My father's smile is immediate and genuine.
"The moment they placed you in my arms, I forgot every second of pain. You were perfect, Ruofei. Worth every sacrifice, every struggle. And you still are."
Fresh tears spill over, and this time I don't try to stop them.
He pulls me into a hug, and I let myself be held like I'm seven years old again, small and safe in my father's arms.
"You're going to be an amazing parent," he murmurs into my hair. "I have no doubt about that. And we'll be here to support you every step of the way."
"Even from Korea?"
"Especially from Korea. Technology is wonderful—we'll video call so often you'll get sick of seeing our faces."
I laugh wetly. "Never."
We sit like that for a while, until my breathing evens out and the tears dry.
"There's one more thing," my father says, pulling back to look at me. "The pregnancy symptoms will get worse when you're separated from Qingyue. The bond will try to pull you back together, especially in the first trimester."
"Dr. Chen mentioned that."
"Good. I want you to be prepared. It's going to be uncomfortable—nausea, fatigue, mood swings. But it's manageable. And Wenli will be there to help you."
"I know."
"And Ruofei?" His expression grows stern. "If at any point it becomes dangerous—if you start showing signs of distress that could harm you or the baby—you come home immediately. Pride isn't worth your life."
"I promise."
He nods, satisfied.
"Good. Now, I believe I promised you a game of mahjong?"
I smile. "You did."
"Then let's play. One last game before you leave us."
We return to the dining room to find the game already set up.
My father takes his seat, and I take mine across from him.
The game is familiar, comforting. We've played countless times over the years, and there's a rhythm to it that requires no words.
Halfway through, my mother appears with a glass of water, setting it in front of me with a knowing look.
"Drink," she orders gently.
"Thanks, Mum."
She presses a kiss to the top of my head before returning to wherever she and Wenli were plotting.
My father and I continue playing, and I realize this is his way of saying goodbye.
Not with dramatic declarations or tears, but with this quiet moment of normalcy.
This reminder that no matter what happens, I'll always have this—have them.
I win the game, but barely.
"You're getting better," my father observes.
"Or you're getting soft," I tease.
"Never." But he's smiling.
Too soon, it's time to leave.
We gather in the entrance hall—all of us—and suddenly the reality hits me. I'm leaving.
Maybe not forever, but for a long time. Long enough that everything will be different when I come back.
My mother hugs me first, fierce and tight.
"Call every day," she whispers. "And take your vitamins. And rest when you need to. And—"
"I will, Mum. I promise."
She pulls back, cupping my face. "You're so strong, baby. Stronger than you know. Don't forget that."
"I won't."
Lexin is next, her hug quick but sincere. "Stay safe, big brother. And text me all the baby updates. I'm going to be the best aunt."
"You'll have competition from Wenlan," I point out.
"Please. I'm obviously the favorite."
Wenlan snorts but steps forward for his own hug.
"Ignore her. We all know I'm the favorite uncle."
His embrace is careful, like he's afraid of breaking me.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, so quiet only I can hear. "I'm sorry I didn't protect you from him."
"It's not your fault," I whisper back. "None of this is your fault."
"I'm still going to make him pay."
"Get in line," I say dryly, and he huffs a laugh.
Finally, my father.
He doesn't say anything, just pulls me close and holds me.
I feel him trembling slightly—the only sign of how much this is affecting him.
"I love you, son," he says finally. "More than you'll ever know. Until you have your own child and understand."
"I love you too, Dad."
He kisses my forehead and steps back, standing beside my mother.
They look so united, so strong together, and I wonder if Qingyue and I could ever have that.
Stop it, I tell myself. That's not your future.
Wenli and I turn to leave, but my mother calls out one last time.
"Have a safe trip, sweethearts. Visit as soon as you can."
I wave, and then we're in the car, pulling away from the estate.
I watch my family through the back window until they're out of sight, my mother's arm around my father, Wenlan and Lexin standing close.
My family. My home.
The ache in my chest is physical.
Wenli's hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
"They'll be okay. And so will you."
I nod, but I can't speak past the lump in my throat.
Instead, I pull out my phone and open our family group chat.
I type quickly: I love you, and I am really grateful that you guys are my family.
The responses come almost immediately:
Mum: We love you too, baby. Always. ❤️
Dad: Forever proud of you, son. Be safe.
Wenlan: Love you, little brother. Call if you need anything.
Lexin: Love you! Don't forget about your favorite sister! 💕
I smile through my tears and pocket my phone.
The drive back to Wenli's villa is quiet.
Neither of us feels the need to fill the silence with conversation.
When we arrive, the house feels different somehow.
More temporary, like it's already becoming part of my past rather than my present.
"Want to finally watch that movie?" Wenli asks as we enter.
"Yes," I say immediately. I need the distraction, need something light and mindless to keep the heavy emotions at bay.
Wenli disappears into the kitchen while I set up the living room, pulling out the softest blankets and arranging the pillows on the couch into a comfortable nest.
He returns with snacks—popcorn, fruit, some of those lemon candies I've been craving—and we settle in.
"What are we watching?" I ask as he scrolls through options.
"Something stupid and fun. No thinking required." He selects a ridiculous action comedy we've both seen before, something with explosions and bad one-liners and a plot that makes no sense.
Perfect.
We burrow under the blankets, and Wenli hits play.
For the first twenty minutes, I actually manage to focus on the movie.
The familiar jokes make me smile, the absurd action sequences are distracting enough.
But then my mind starts to wander.
And the memories come flooding back.
Memory Fragment
"You're so beautiful like this."
Hands tracing patterns on my skin, reverent and possessive at once.
"I've dreamed about this. About you. For so long."
I arch into the touch, seeking more, and those hands oblige.
Everywhere at once—on my face, my chest, my hips, my thighs.
"Tell me what you want, princess."
"You," I hear myself gasp. "Just you. Always you."
A low, satisfied sound. And then—
"You have me. You've always had me."
The scene shifts.
I'm exhausted, sore in the best way, completely sated.
Arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me against a warm chest.
A hand splays across my stomach, protective.
"I'm going to take care of you," that familiar voice murmurs against my neck. "You and our baby. I'll give you everything you've ever wanted."
Wait. Baby?
Did he know? Even then, did he somehow know?
The memory fragments again, scattering.
But one more piece surfaces:
Lips pressed against the fresh bonding mark on my neck.
"Mine," that voice whispers, reverent and possessive and tender all at once. "My omega. My love. My everything."
And I—
I smile. Tilt my head to give him better access.
Whisper back:
"Yours. Always yours."
"Ruofei?"
Wenli's voice pulls me back to the present.
I blink, disoriented, and realize there are tears on my cheeks.
"Are you okay?" He pauses the movie, turning to face me with concern.
"I... I remembered something." My hand goes to my neck, touching the bonding mark through the fabric of my turtleneck. "More than something. Fragments. Pieces of that night."
"What did you remember?"
"He was... gentle. Tender. He said..." I swallow hard. "He said he loved me. That he'd always loved me. And I—I said it back, Wenli. I told him I was his."
Wenli is quiet for a moment. "Do you think he knew? About the pregnancy?"
"I don't know. Maybe? He said something about taking care of me and 'our baby' but that could have just been..." I trail off, uncertain.
"Ruofei." Wenli takes my hand. "These memories—they're important. But they're also just pieces of a larger picture. You don't know the full context yet."
"I know."
"And even if he did say those things, even if you said them back—you were drugged. You weren't in a state to make clear decisions."
"But what if I meant it?" The question comes out small, scared. "What if, even drugged, I meant every word?"
Wenli squeezes my hand. "Then that's something you'll need to figure out. But not tonight. Tonight, we're going to finish this ridiculous movie, eat too many snacks, and not think about complicated alpha boyfriends who don't know how to communicate like normal people."
Despite everything, I laugh. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Fiancé, then. Baby daddy. Whatever."
"You're terrible."
"You love me anyway."
"Unfortunately."
He grins and unpauses the movie, but keeps holding my hand under the blanket.
We watch in comfortable silence, and gradually, my breathing evens out.
The memories are still there, still confusing and overwhelming, but they feel slightly less immediate.
Wenli's presence grounds me. Reminds me that whatever I'm feeling for Qingyue, whatever those memories mean, I'm not alone in figuring it out.
"Thank you," I whisper during a particularly explosive action sequence.
"For what?"
"For being here. For helping me. For not judging me when I'm a mess."
"You're not a mess," Wenli says firmly. "You're going through something incredibly difficult, and you're handling it with more grace than most people would. I'm proud of you, soulmate."
The words settle warm in my chest, joining the complicated tangle of emotions already there.
On screen, the hero saves the day with a perfectly-timed explosion and a terrible pun.
I smile despite myself.
Maybe everything isn't okay right now.
Maybe I'm confused and scared and carrying the child of a man I can't have.
But I have my family.
I have Wenli.
I have this moment of peace.
And for now, that's enough.
The movie ends with the credits rolling over bloopers that make us both laugh.
"Another one?" Wenli asks, already scrolling through options.
I consider it, but exhaustion is pulling at me now. The emotional weight of the day catching up.
"I think I need to sleep," I admit.
"Fair." He starts cleaning up the snacks while I fold the blankets.
As we head upstairs to our respective rooms, he pauses at his door.
"Ruofei?"
"Yeah?"
"We're going to be okay. All of us. You, me, the baby. We're going to figure this out."
I want to believe him. Choose to believe him.
"Yeah," I say softly. "We will."
We say goodnight, and I retreat to my room.
As I lie in bed, hand resting on my still-flat stomach, I think about everything that happened today.
The revelation to my family, the conversation with my father, the memories that keep surfacing.
And tomorrow, I'll start preparing to leave. To put distance between myself and Qingyue, between myself and these complicated feelings.
But tonight, I let myself feel it all. The fear, the hope, the love, the confusion.
All of it.
Because this is my reality now. And running from it won't change that.
I close my eyes and let sleep take me, hoping my dreams will be kinder than my memories.