The room was quiet again, except for the shallow breaths that still lingered between them.

Hua Jing lay sprawled against the smooth surface of the piano, her cheeks flushed, strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead. The faint sheen of sweat on her skin glowed in the dim light, making her seem both fragile and luminous.

Fu Jingrong bent over her, his hand brushing those errant strands away from her face. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as though afraid she might break if he pressed too hard. His gaze, however, was another matter—deep, unguarded, and so filled with love that Hua Jing felt her chest ache.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Their eyes did the speaking—hers shimmering with tears, his with a kind of relief that words could never capture.

Fu Jing Rong’s chest was still rising and falling heavily as he held her close, but his hands remained steady, gentle, as though he were afraid she might shatter beneath him. He lifted his head slightly, his dark eyes searching her flushed face.

"Did I hurt you?" His voice was low, careful, threaded with worry that could not be hidden.

Hua Jing shook her head immediately, her lips curving into a faint smile. "No..." She whispered, the words almost breathless. "I’ve never been better."

Her answer made his brows knit together, not in doubt but in the weight of relief. He knew her body had only just begun to heal. Though she looked fine, beneath her skin there were still bones knitting themselves back together, still traces of weakness that could not be ignored. Even at the height of their passion, he had been painfully mindful—restraining himself, holding back when every instinct urged him to take more, to lose himself entirely in her warmth.

For him, it had been a torment of its own. For her, it had been a revelation.

Hua Jing could feel it—how carefully he had treated her, how he put her comfort above everything else.

The respect in his every touch made her heart ache and swell at once.

She already knew how hard this was for Fu Jing Rong. She could imagine the storm in his chest, how much he had carried in silence.

Ever since she had woken, she had seen the anguish flicker in his eyes whenever he looked at her—anguish from those endless days when she lay motionless, unconscious, as he waited by her side.

A month of waiting, of watching, of fearing she would never open her eyes again.

And now that she was awake, he held her as though she was the most fragile treasure in the world.

It was her who had lost control first. Her who had pulled him closer, needing to feel him, to prove that they were both still here, alive, together.

The memory of what had just happened replayed in her mind, and heat rushed to her cheeks. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

A deep blush spread across her face until even the tips of her ears turned red. She buried her face against his chest, unable to meet his gaze.

Fu Jing Rong saw it, and a low chuckle escaped his throat. Leaning down, he pressed the softest of kisses against her temple, then along her cheek, then at the corner of her lips.

Feathery kisses, light and unhurried, trailing across her face as though he had all the time in the world.

Hua Jing squeezed her eyes shut, her blush deepening as his breath ghosted over her skin. She swatted lightly at his chest in half-hearted protest, but he only smiled more, continuing his slow worship of her face with lips that refused to stop.

The two of them lay sprawled across the glossy surface of the piano, limbs tangled, hearts still racing. Neither of them moved to get up. Neither of them wanted to.

...

The sunlight of the next morning spilled gently through the tall windows of Fu Jing Rong’s mansion. Hua Jing stirred faintly, the soft sheets cocooning her, and for a moment she forgot where she was. Then the memory of the night before returned, bringing warmth to her cheeks.

She had fallen asleep in his arms after he had carefully carried her into the bathroom, washed her himself with patience that made her heart ache, and then tucked her into bed like she was the most precious thing in the world. She had slept deeply, without a single nightmare, like a child at peace.

When she opened her eyes, Fu Jing Rong was already awake, standing by the window with a shirt half-buttoned, watching her with a soft gaze that made her heart skip.

"Morning," his voice was low, still husky from sleep.

"Morning," she whispered, sitting up slowly. The thought came to her at once—today was the day. They had agreed, and neither of them had the patience to wait.

They were going to get married!

...

By the time they left the mansion, Hua Jing was dressed in a new floral dress. It was light, simple, yet breathtakingly beautiful.

Fu Jing Rong had bought it for her days ago, quietly anticipating that she would need something of her own here.

The fabric swayed around her knees as she walked beside him, her hand tucked safely into his.

She hadn’t gone back to her own place yet, and truthfully, she didn’t want to. His house already felt like home.

Fu Jing Rong himself looked striking, even in the casual clothes he chose. His aura was unmistakable, calm yet commanding, a man who did not need to flaunt power to make others feel it.

When they reached the garage, he led her to his car—a sleek, polished machine, brand new and gleaming under the morning sun. He opened the passenger door for her as if she were royalty.

Hua Jing only smiled faintly. She wasn’t surprised. She herself had owned fleets of luxury cars during her peak years, before the accident had stolen her time.

The only difference was, she had bought hers as symbols of her fame. For Fu Jing Rong, this seemed natural, an extension of who he was.

As he drove, she leaned back in her seat, watching the scenery blur past. "Jing Rong," she said softly, "I don’t have my household registration book with me. How are we supposed to...?"