Wu Zhipeng and his friends looked at the unconscious Linda, then at me standing alone, and angrily closed in. Wu Zhipeng, reeking of alcohol, sneered, "Her husband? More like some punk trying to take advantage of a drunk woman. You dare yell at me? You asking for a beating?"
I was young—tall at 175 cm, but my face still had a boyish softness. Linda, clearly older than me, made it impossible for them to believe I was her husband. They were itching to teach me a lesson.
Dressed in cheap suits, they looked like office workers out for a drink. Not gangsters, but there were several of them. In a fight, I'd lose badly.
Linda and I had held a wedding banquet, but we hadn't officially registered due to age restrictions. With her passed out, I had no way to prove our relationship. As the drunk men advanced, I didn't hesitate—I grabbed a Jinwei beer bottle.
Wu Zhipeng paused but wasn't intimidated. "Think a beer bottle scares me? The manager here's my friend. Want to leave in an ambulance?"
I remembered the gangster's words from the hospital: When facing ruthless people, be ruthless. When dealing with tough opponents, fight to the end. So I smashed the bottle against the tempered glass table.
*CRACK!*
The bottle shattered, leaving a jagged edge glinting dangerously in the light.
Wu Zhipeng's smirk faltered. "Trying to scare me?"
Damn right. But I kept my face cold, staring him down as I slowly dragged the broken glass across my left forearm.
The sharp edge split my skin effortlessly. Blood welled up, dripping onto the table. Wu Zhipeng's face paled—I even saw his left eyelid twitch in fear.
I held his gaze, watching the terror in his eyes as the blood flowed.
Then I tossed the broken bottle onto the table. "You work at Anda Company, right?" I said icily. "I'm taking my wife home. Call your manager friend if you want. But unless you kill me tonight, I'll come for you. I don't forget grudges."
The club's music drowned out our confrontation. Most patrons were too drunk or distracted to notice.
Wu Zhipeng stiffened when I named his company (I'd spotted the *"Anda"* pin on his tie). To him, I was now some unhinged gangster. His bravado evaporated.
Seizing the moment, I hoisted Linda up and walked out, my back to them. Only when they couldn't see my face did I let my pain show. Goddamn, that hurts! Blood streamed down my arm. Should've cut shallower…
Outside, a guy in an "AIDS Prevention" T-shirt spotted us and approached. "Safety first! Here, take this." He handed me a condom—brand new, same as the one in Linda's bag.
I froze. Wait…
"How long have you been handing these out here?" I asked.
"About two weeks."
My eyes lit up. So Linda got hers from him last time?
"Ever give one to her before?" I gestured to Linda.
He glanced at her, impressed, but shook his head. "Too many people. I just hand them out to couples leaving clubs."
Relief flooded me. She wasn't with another man.
Guilt followed. I called her horrible names over a misunderstanding.
Too ashamed to face her parents, I asked a valet for nearby hotels. He smirked and directed me to a "cozy, affordable" love hotel.
At the Golden Thai Inn, the clerk barely glanced at my ID before handing me a key.
In the room, I bandaged my arm while Linda mumbled, "Water…"
No minibar. I sprinted out for bottled water.
Back upstairs, I propped her up, gently tipping the bottle to her lips. She gulped greedily, choking a little, water spilling down her neck—
My face burned as I dabbed at her damp collar.
Once she settled, I called her dad with her phone: "We're staying out tonight."
He sounded relieved. *"You two made up?"
"Yeah… my fault. I jumped to conclusions."
"Linda told us it was a misunderstanding days ago," he admitted. "But she refused to let us explain to you."
I winced. She's really mad.
Now, watching her sleep—cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted—I couldn't resist brushing a fingertip along her face.
She's my wife. And she owes me kisses for taking the blame last time…
My pulse raced. She'd never know…