Yichen's POV
The second they stepped into my apartment, every ounce of warmth I'd felt minutes ago vanished. Like someone had cracked open a window and let all the heat escape.
My pulse went cold.
The smell of her shampoo and her perfume still lingered in the air, faint traces of the chaos that had just happened. And now—this. My father. My brother. Standing in my living room as if they owned the place.
"What do I owe this visit to?" I asked dryly, watching them slip off their shoes at the entrance like they were here for tea.
Without waiting for an answer, I turned toward the liquor cabinet, opened it, and grabbed a bottle of red. Not for them.
For me.
They both sat on the sofa in perfect silence, father on one end, Yiran on the other. Two statues, perfectly carved, perfectly irritating.
I poured myself a glass, the sound of liquid filling crystal almost loud in the stillness.
My father cleared his throat. "We need to have a serious talk with you."
He didn't sound angry. Just... solemn.
That was worse.
I sat opposite them, glass in hand, the table between us feeling like a barrier I was glad existed.
"What do you want?" I asked, taking my first sip.
My father hesitated, coughed again. His eyes flicked toward Yiran before returning to me.
Strange. He never looked nervous before. Not him—the man who could crush boardrooms with a glance.
"It's about—"
I took another sip, impatient. Can't he just spit it out already...
"Your wife. Hua."
The name hit like a spark to dry wood. My hand jerked, and crimson wine spilled across the table.
I stared at the spreading stain, a dark pool against polished wood.
"What about her?" I asked, my voice flat. I set my glass down harder than I meant to; it clinked sharply.
My father coughed again—stalling, searching for the right words. Then his eyes darted to my brother, as if begging him to take over.
"Um..." He exhaled. "You should divorce her."
I froze.
"What?"
My father looked away.
"You told me to get married," I said slowly, the words trembling under control. "And I did. So what's the issue now?"
My heart was thudding, loud enough that I could hear it in my ears.
"Just find another woman," he said simply.
I laughed—a short, humorless sound. "I don't want another woman."
Was this a joke?
I leaned forward, my tone sharpening. "Is this another one of your tricks to keep me from inheriting my share of the company?"
Because if it was, I'd had enough. I could find another way—convince investors, build my own team. I didn't need their games.
My father shook his head. "No. It's not about that. It's simply…"
He trailed off. Yiran cut in, voice calm but cold.
"You can still be an heir, if that's what you want. But let go of that girl."
For a moment, the room tilted.
"What?" I whispered.
Yiran didn't flinch. My father nodded, confirming it.
"This Hua," he said slowly, "is your brother's first love. It's not right for you to take her from him."
He couldn't even look at me while saying it.
I clenched my fists under the table. My knuckles went white.
"What about me?" I asked quietly.
What about my feelings?
Of course, silence.
Always the same story. The golden boy complains, and Papa fixes it. He breaks things, and I'm the one who gets punished.
It's always been that way.
"You'll still be made an official heir," my father said after a pause, his voice turning businesslike. "I'll make it public—contracts, announcements, everything. No one will ever question your position again."
My jaw tightened.
"All you have to do," he added, "is divorce."
I blinked at him. Then I started laughing.
Not a polite laugh—an ugly one, raw and real.
"You'll give me a share of the company," I said between breaths, "as a gift for your favorite son?"
My father's expression twisted. He hated being called out like that. His hand adjusted his cufflinks just to have something to do.
"Your brother is miserable without her," he said finally. "Clearly, she's part of his… happiness."
He paused, looked at Yiran, then back at me.
"And his happiness affects the company's state. So I'm simply doing what's right—for the company."
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
That's insane.
He was insane.
"What about my happiness?" I demanded.
His patience snapped. "What do you want more than this?!" he shouted. His voice cracked, echoing off the walls.
I met his eyes without blinking. "Hua," I said simply.
Their faces froze.
"I want to be with her."
Yiran stood up so fast the glass table rattled.
"You liar!" he shouted.
"Excuse me?"
"You don't love her! You just want to take what's mine!" His voice shook with rage, his hands clenched so tightly the veins stood out. "I won't let you touch her—not even one of her hairs!"
I rose too, slow and deliberate.
We were face to face now.
"You can't stop me," I said calmly.
Something flickered in his eyes. A warning. A dare.
I hesitated, then smiled. "In fact…" I tilted my head, lowering my voice just enough to make it sting. "We already touched. And trust me—" I leaned in. "I didn't stop at the hair area."
The next second, he lunged.
His hand grabbed my collar, jerking me forward. His other fist raised, trembling in the air.
For a heartbeat, I almost wished he'd do it— hit me. Maybe then he'd get it out of his system.
Was it provocation? Yeah.
A bit of possessiveness? Probably.
But mostly, I wanted him to understand one thing: she wasn't his anymore.
My father shot up from the couch, grabbing Yiran's arm. "Stop!"
"Let me go!" Yiran snarled.
For a moment, I almost pitied him.
The way he looked at me—it wasn't hatred, it was heartbreak.
But then I remembered who let her cry in the first place.
My father's voice cracked under strain. "Enough! Both of you!"
His eyes darted between us, the room trembling under his anger. "You have one week to think about it," he finally said, voice shaking. "This offer won't stay forever."
Then he turned, escorting his precious son toward the door.
I followed them—because they needed my card key to leave.
The air felt suffocating.
As I scanned the key to unlock the door, Yiran turned back, his face twisted in fury.
"I swear," he hissed, voice low enough for only me to hear, "if I see you touching her again, I'll kill you."
I stared into his eyes—and recognized that look.
I'd seen it before. In the mirror.
It was the kind of look you give when you're willing to destroy everything for love.
I believed him.
But it didn't matter.
Because it wasn't my fault.
He had his chance. He was the one who hurt her, who let her go.
I just stepped in at the right time.
Love isn't a charity. It's a game. And in this one—
Hua is mine.
And there's nothing he can do to change that.
To be continued...
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