"My sister committed suicide."

The moment Mo Xuan saw the message, every trace of sleep vanished.

Before he could even process it, he shot upright in bed. Terror and panic exploded inside him, his breath turning ragged.

The woman lying half atop him stirred awake. She shifted uncomfortably a few times, her soft body twisting slightly, yet her arm remained draped over his waist.

Calming himself, Mo Xuan checked again. Unknown number. Below the message: funeral details. And at the very end, three clear characters:

Shen Bingjing!

His heart clenched painfully.

He remembered that name. Shen Bingjing—Shen Bingyao’s younger sister. They’d known each other since high school, shared university years too.

The text was starkly brief. Between the lines, he sensed cold indifference. He couldn’t help recalling the lively, smiling girl from back then—a faint ache tightened his chest.

The woman slowly woke, long hair spilling over her bare shoulders. Her voice, thick with sleep, dripped honeyed sweetness. She wrapped her arms around his rigid frame from behind, eyes half-lidded. "Sweetheart, what’s wrong?"

"Shen Bingyao… she committed suicide…" Mo Xuan’s voice sounded hollow, unfamiliar.

Silence. Then, from the dark, a faint, detached "Oh." The blankets rustled as Yun Jiumo sat up cross-legged.

"Shen Bingjing sent this?"

Mo Xuan stared at the screen, eyes locked on those five chilling words.

*Please be a joke. A drunk prank.* Cruel as it was to joke about family—if it were false, he’d forgive her. He’d heard Shen Bingyao was recovering well in the psychiatric ward, regaining clarity, nearing discharge. How could this happen now…?

He bit his lip, face etched with grief.

Yun Jiumo slipped out of bed, glided to the floor-to-ceiling window, and whoosh—yanked the gray curtains open.

Outside, the sky mirrored the curtains: dull, heavy. Drizzle veiled the city. Layered clouds pressed down, suffocating.

Pale light seeped in, casting a silvery sheen over her naked form—porcelain-smooth skin glowing faintly.

Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face. Hearing the news felt no different than learning a stray cat got hit on the street. Few things ever moved her.

"Dawn’s here," Yun Jiumo turned, rose-red eyes softening with gentle warmth. "Want to sleep a little longer?"

She loved watching him sleep—planning to count his lashes, kiss his cheeks after rising. Who knew he’d wake so early?

*That damn text,* she thought.

He shook his head.

"Shower first? Or breakfast?"

"No appetite. No heart for it."

How could he eat? To Yun Jiumo, Shen Bingyao’s death meant nothing. But not to him. She was someone he’d known since high school. Someone whose path had tangled deeply with his. Now separated by death—it felt unreal.

Yun Jiumo said nothing. Barefoot, she entered the bathroom. Water rushed.

After university, she’d taken over her father’s company—youngest chairperson ever. Flawless at meetings, deeply trusted. They married soon after, her insistence. Mo Xuan knew her stubbornness. Without the legal age barrier, he’d have been dragged to the altar mid-semester.

A year had passed. Yet it felt like a lifetime of stagnation.

Every day identical: wake, shower together, breakfast. He’d stay home gaming or watching films. Lunch when she returned. Afternoon swim. Evening intimacy in their vast bed.

She forbade him from working or leaving. "Your yearly salary is less than my daily earnings. I provide. You enjoy life."

At first, he’d been glad. Who wants a job? But within weeks, emptiness set in. What man stays idle all day? Where’s the dignity?

Emerging from the bathroom, Yun Jiumo slipped into white lingerie, sat before the mirror.

"Um…" Mo Xuan rarely used her name at home. "I want to go out today."

Her comb stilled. Jet-black hair cascaded down her smooth, rounded shoulders. She turned slowly, delicate brows furrowed—clear displeasure on her exquisite face.

"Why?" Her tone stayed sweet, but irritation threaded through.

*Here we go again.* Since marriage, she granted every wish—except leaving the villa alone. Only allowed with her watching.

He swallowed his frustration. "Shen Bingyao is gone. I must attend her funeral. See her one last time. Is that so wrong?"

"What’s it to you?" Yun Jiumo set down the comb, tucking a strand behind her swan-like neck. Genuine confusion in her voice.

"How is it nothing? She was my friend. Known her since high school. And Shen Bingjing—she and her sister were all each other had. Doesn’t she need comfort now?"

"Sweetheart, you misunderstand." A faint smile touched Yun Jiumo’s lips. "She has others. Why must it be you?"

Mo Xuan fell silent, eyes dimming. "She was lonely. Aside from her sister… I might’ve been her only friend left. Duty. Decency. It’s the least I can do."

Yun Jiumo gave a slight nod. "True."

Then, that familiar gentle, composed, utterly confident smile returned. She shook her head—slow, firm. "Still unnecessary. Relatives will handle it. You’re not needed."

A pause. "I regret her passing. But it’s not your concern. You haven’t spoken in years. And she nearly killed you once. Forgotten that?"

Mo Xuan’s throat tightened.

"The past is past," he said with a bitter smile. "I don’t hate her. Never could. Maybe we all failed her. If I’d noticed sooner…"

Yun Jiumo listened silently, twisting her hair into an elegant updo. She pulled out a black suit, dark purple stockings, and dressed slowly before him—every motion deliberate, seamless.

The sheer fabric hugged her slender calves. A silent invitation.

He saw none of it. His mind held only Shen Bingyao’s laughter, her face—a cold ripple of sorrow spreading through his chest.

"Yun Jiumo," his voice dropped, pleading. "Let me go. Send guards if you’re worried. I’ll share the location. Promise to return by a set time. Just… one last goodbye."

She shook her head gently.

The dam broke. Mo Xuan stood abruptly on the bed, towering over her. "In college, you made me swear never to leave. I kept it. No other girls. Followed you everywhere."

"Graduation day—you demanded marriage. I agreed. Everyone witnessed it."

"You told me not to work. 'Wait for me at home.' I did. Played the devoted husband."

"Since high school, I’ve met every wish of yours. But you—have you ever considered *my* feelings? I just want to walk outside alone! You track my bathroom breaks down to the minute! What more do you want?"

Yun Jiumo’s cheeks flushed faintly. Her eyes wavered—but she steadied herself, shaking her head again.

"Shen Bingyao was my friend. My classmate. Shen Bingjing’s sister. Today’s her funeral. Can’t I just say goodbye?"

Yun Jiumo reached out. He jerked away.

"I’m leaving. Eat breakfast," she said flatly.

"Don’t dodge this!"

"It’s cold. No iced drinks. Pomelo slices and honey are in the cabinet. Steep with hot water."

"You—"

Before he could shout, Yun Jiumo—fully dressed—pulled the door open with a whoosh.

*Click.*

Locked from outside.

That was her answer.