The rain had not stopped, only softened.
Outside the hospital, the world blurred behind the windows — streetlights flickering like ghosts through the mist. Inside, everything was white. Too white.
Gu Ze Yan sat motionless on a metal bench in the corridor.
His elbows rested on his knees, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. The smell of disinfectant was sharp, burning his throat every time he breathed.
He didn't look up when the operating room door opened.
A doctor stepped out, removing her mask. "Mr. Gu?"
Ze Yan rose immediately, his eyes red from sleeplessness but his tone steady. "How is she?"
The doctor hesitated. "She's stable now. We managed to stop the bleeding. She'll wake soon."
He nodded once, relief almost breaking him—until the next words followed, quiet but clear.
"…But we couldn't save the pregnancy."
The world stilled.
He blinked, the word repeating in his head until it began to lose shape.
"Pregnancy?"
The doctor's eyes widened slightly. She realized he hadn't known.
"She was about seven weeks along," she said softly. "The hemorrhage was severe. I'm sorry."
Ze Yan didn't answer. He just stood there, staring past her shoulder at the red "Sterile Zone" sign on the wall. It took several seconds before he exhaled.
"Thank you," he said, voice barely a whisper.
---
They let him into the room once the nurses finished cleaning up.
Qing Yun lay on the bed, pale as the sheets. The oxygen mask had been removed, leaving only the faint sound of her breathing and the steady beep of the monitor beside her. Her lashes trembled once, twice, before her eyes opened.
"Ze Yan…" her voice was hoarse.
He moved to her side instantly, pulling the chair close. "I'm here."
Her gaze shifted, reading his face before she looked away. The guilt hit her faster than the pain.
"You found out."
He said nothing at first. His throat refused to work. He could only stare at her—at the faint colorless lips, at the IV needle taped to her hand.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally managed, his voice raw.
Her eyes closed. "Because you already had too much to fight for."
"That wasn't something to fight against," he said quietly. "That was something to fight for."
She turned her face toward the window. The drizzle outside streaked down the glass like silver threads.
"I didn't want to become another weight," she whispered. "You were carrying Luminar, the shareholders, the storm. I didn't want you to look at me and see one more problem to solve."
He clenched his jaw, a tremor breaking through his hands as he reached for hers. "You were never a problem, Qing Yun."
She smiled faintly, eyes still closed. "Maybe it's better this way."
He flinched. "Don't say that."
"I would've been a fake mother," she said softly. "Everything I do feels borrowed—other people's love, other people's strength. Maybe the world just decided to take back what I wasn't ready for."
Her words sliced through him, clean and cold.
He caught her hand, pressed it to his cheek, his voice low and trembling.
"No. You were already the truest mother."
A tear slid down his face, landing warm against her knuckles.
"You carried something of ours, and you protected it alone. You loved before you even realized you were loving. That's not fake, Qing Yun. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen."
Her breath hitched. Slowly, her fingers curled, brushing against his jaw. "Don't cry, Ze Yan."
He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "Too late."
For a long while, neither spoke. Only the rain tapped against the window, matching the slow rhythm of the heart monitor.
---
When she drifted back to sleep, he stayed sitting there, still holding her hand.
The nurse came in quietly to check the drip. She looked at him with sympathy, but he didn't notice. His world had narrowed to the pale figure lying before him.
Outside the ward, Shen Qiao and Chen Rui waited. When Ze Yan finally stepped out, the corridor lights reflected the exhaustion etched into his face.
"How is she?" Shen Qiao asked softly.
"She'll live," he said. Then, after a pause: "But our child won't."
Chen Rui's expression faltered. Shen Qiao looked down, unable to find words.
Ze Yan adjusted his cufflinks with mechanical precision, as if keeping his hands busy could stop them from shaking.
"Where's the press now?"
"Outside," Shen Qiao said. "Yi Rong's statement is everywhere—she's pretending she's just another shareholder worried about Luminar's image. The media's eating it up."
He nodded once, gaze fixed on the floor.
"Prepare a conference for tomorrow morning."
Shen Qiao frowned. "You should rest."
"I'll rest after I bury this," he said quietly. "After I take her name off their tongues."
---
Later that night, the hospital quieted. The chaos outside dimmed to murmurs.
Inside the room, the only light came from the lamp above Qing Yun's bed.
She stirred once, hand moving weakly to her abdomen, as if her body still remembered something that was no longer there.
Ze Yan watched from the chair beside her, his face hidden in shadow. He hadn't moved for hours.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her falling—rain, blood, the sound of her voice barely breathing his name.
He stood, walked to the window, and drew the curtains shut.
The flashes from outside—paparazzi still waiting—disappeared instantly.
For the first time in days, the room was quiet.
He turned back, his voice a whisper meant only for her sleeping form.
"They took our child with their lies," he said. "Tomorrow, I'll take back our name."