Ruofei's POV:
Next morning
I wake to familiar warmth beside me.
Wenli stayed the whole night, just like he promised. His presence is solid and comforting, and I find myself grateful—not for the first time—that fate gave me a soulmate like him.
He's kicked off the blanket at some point during the night, one arm flung above his head, completely relaxed in sleep. I smile softly and retrieve the blanket from where it's draped over the armchair, carefully covering him.
He doesn't stir.
Quietly, I slip from the room and make my way downstairs to the kitchen. It's only fair—he cooked dinner last night, so breakfast is my responsibility.
The familiar rhythm of cooking is soothing.
Cracking eggs, chopping vegetables, the sizzle of the pan. Simple, normal tasks that ground me when my thoughts threaten to spiral.
Pregnant. I'm pregnant.
The reality still feels surreal, even after the hospital confirmation. There's a life growing inside me. A tiny person who's half me and half—
I cut off that thought before it can fully form.
I'm plating the food when I feel hands on my shoulders. I turn to find Wenli smiling at me, hair still mussed from sleep.
"It's hard to wake up early," he says, pulling me into a hug. "But it's worth it. I even see an angel in front of me."
I can't help but chuckle, relaxing into his embrace. "Morning."
"Hmm." He releases me after a moment. "Need help?"
"Could you set the table?"
"Sure."
We work in comfortable silence, and soon breakfast is ready. As we eat, I pull out my phone and call my parents.
My mother answers on the second ring. "Ruofei! What a pleasant surprise."
"Hi, Mum. Wenli and I were hoping to visit this morning. Around nine?"
"Of course! Your father will be thrilled. We'll see you soon, dear."
After we hang up, Wenli handles the dishes while I head upstairs to change.
Since discovering the pregnancy, I've been more conscious of staying warm. The hormonal changes make me more sensitive to temperature, and I don't want to risk getting sick.
I choose a black turtleneck and dark gray trousers—professional but comfortable. The turtleneck has the added benefit of hiding my neck, where I suspect there might still be marks from...
Don't think about it.
I tie my hair into a neat ponytail and head downstairs.
Wenli is already waiting by the door, checking his watch impatiently.
"Let's go," he says, turning before I've even reached the bottom step.
I laugh. "Someone's excited."
"Of course! I haven't seen auntie for ages. I'm sure she misses me too." His eyes light up at the prospect.
"Sometimes I wonder who her real son is," I mutter, pretending to sulk.
Wenli bursts out laughing, and despite my mock annoyance, I can't help but smile.
"What! I'm telling the truth," I continue. "Every time you visit, I feel like a ghost. She only has eyes for you."
He grins, clearly pleased that I'm jealous. "Still better than being bombarded with questions."
I sigh. He's right. Because I'm so busy with work, I don't visit often, which means when I do, my parents want to know everything.
Andy is waiting with the car, and we settle into the back seat for the drive to my parents' estate.
Wenli chatters excitedly about seeing my mother again, but I'm only half-listening. My mind keeps drifting back to last night.
To the dream.
Except... I'm not sure it was a dream.
The Dream
Heat. Overwhelming, all-consuming heat that made thinking impossible.
But there were hands—gentle despite their strength, guiding me, supporting me.
"You're doing so well, princess."
That voice. Low and rough with desire, but also tender. So tender it made something in my chest ache.
I remember arching into the touch, seeking more, and those hands obliged. One sliding down my spine, the other cupping my face.
"Look at me."
I opened my eyes—when had I closed them?—and met dark eyes filled with something that looked almost like... reverence.
"Beautiful," the voice murmured. "So beautiful like this. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted—"
The memory fragments, scattering like startled birds.
But then another piece surfaces:
Later. Much later. My body aching in the best way, completely sated and exhausted.
Arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me against a warm chest. Lips pressing against the back of my neck—gentle, almost reverent.
"Mine," that voice whispered against my skin. "Finally mine."
And I—God help me—I'd smiled. Pressed back into the embrace. Whispered back:
"Yours."
Had I really said that? Or am I imagining it?
The scene shifts again.
Pain. Sharp and sudden at the back of my neck.
But not unwelcome. No—my body responded to it with a surge of pleasure so intense I—
"I love you."
The words, spoken so quietly I almost missed them.
"I love you, princess. Have loved you since the moment I first saw you. Will love you until my last breath."
My heart clenched. Tears pricked at my eyes.
Had I responded? Had I said it back?
I can't remember. The memory is fading, slipping away like water through my fingers.
A hand on my shoulder jolts me back to the present.
"We're here, soulmate," Wenli says gently.
I blink, disoriented, and look out the window. The familiar gates of my parents' estate loom before us.
Was that real? Did those things actually happen?
The warmth in my chest pulses, as if answering.
Yes.
I press my hand over my heart, trying to steady my breathing.
"Are you okay?" Wenli's voice is concerned.
"Fine," I manage. "Just... thinking."
He studies me for a moment but doesn't push. "Come on. They're waiting."
We exit the car and approach the mansion. The door opens before we even reach it—my mother must have been watching for us.
She appears in the doorway, elegant and commanding as always. At fifty-three, she barely looks forty, with the kind of timeless beauty that comes from good genes and better self-care.
More importantly, she's one of the most dangerous people I know. The brains behind my father's brawn, the strategist who turned the Huang family from a regional power into a national force.
And she's looking at me with the kind of maternal concern that suggests she already knows something is wrong.
"Look who decided to bless us with their presence," she says, smiling as we approach.
"Come on, Mum. I was here recently. You can't be angry at me."
She sighs dramatically, but her expression softens as she turns to Wenli. "Look at my little angel. How are you doing, dear? Do you want something to drink?"
Wenli hugs her, and I catch the amused glance he throws my way. "I'm doing well, auntie. Thank you."
"Oh, by the way, auntie," Wenli says, pulling back with an innocent expression that doesn't fool me for a second. "Ruofei has something to tell you and uncle."
I shoot him a look that promises retribution later. Little angel my ass. More like little devil.
"That can definitely wait," I say quickly. "But I think Wenlan and Dad can't wait any longer to see us."
My mother nods, taking both our hands. "Let's go, then."
She leads us through the familiar halls to the dining room, where we find my father and older brother engaged in an intense game of mahjong.
I pause in the doorway, watching them. My father—still formidable at fifty-eight, with silver threading through his white hair and sharp eyes that miss nothing.
And Wenlan—my brother, four years older, a dominant alpha who's been groomed since birth to eventually take over the family business.
Right now, though, he's losing spectacularly.
I move closer, analyzing the board. "You're losing, Wenlan. How about you move aside and let me finish the game for you?"
My father looks up, his stern expression melting into genuine warmth. "Give him a chance, Ruofei. It's not completely lost."
Wenlan makes his next move, and I sigh. "It is now."
My father chuckles. "Want to play a game?"
I shake my head. "Not now. Maybe later?"
He nods, then his attention shifts to Wenli, who's already launched into rapid Korean, updating my mother on everything that's happened since they last spoke.
My mother responds in the same language, her face lighting up in a way I rarely see. She's asking about her sister—my aunt, whom she left behind in Korea when she married my father and took over the Chinese mafia operations.
It's been almost thirty years, but I still see the pain flash across her face whenever Korea is mentioned. Whenever she thinks about the family she left behind.
Wenli sends her regular updates about his family—his way of bridging the distance she can't cross herself.
My father watches them with a soft smile, and I realize with a start that he's learning Korean.
Probably so he can understand these conversations, so he can be part of this small piece of his wife's past.
They really do love each other, I think, feeling an unexpected pang in my chest.
Is that what I could have had with Qingyue? If our families weren't enemies? If the circumstances were different?
Wenli notices our stares and pauses mid-sentence. "Are we... disturbing you?"
My father shakes his head quickly. "Not at all, Wenli. I'm glad to see you again."
Wenli beams, then turns to me with a questioning look. Should we tell them now?
I shake my head slightly. Not yet.
I don't think they're prepared for the news. More importantly, I don't want them to kill Qingyue.
They've always liked him—ever since he saved my life when I was seven. I don't remember much about that day, just fragments: a tiger, pain, blood, and then someone carrying me to safety.
My parents told me later that a boy found me and brought me home, but I was too delirious from blood loss to remember his face. The scars on my shoulder and back are permanent reminders of how close I came to dying.
When my parents arranged my engagement to Qingyue three years ago, they'd mentioned that he was the one who saved me. That they'd been searching for him for years to properly thank him, and the engagement was partly gratitude, partly genuine belief that we'd be good together.
I still don't remember him from that day. Can't connect the dangerous, possessive man I know now with the mysterious savior from my childhood.
But my parents remember. They're fond of him for that reason alone.
However, I'm fairly certain that fondness won't extend to learning that he got me pregnant without my full awareness or consent.
My father suddenly stands, his chair scraping loudly. He crosses to me and takes my hand, his expression concerned.
"Ruofei, son. Is everything okay? You look pale."
Oh.
All eyes turn to me, and I freeze. I haven't looked in a mirror this morning—am I really that pale? Or is my father just that observant?
Wenli moves to my other side, taking my free hand. His presence is grounding.
"Could we... talk about this somewhere else?" I ask quietly.
My father nods immediately. My mother moves to his side, wrapping her arms around his waist—a gesture of support that makes my throat tight.
Wenlan stands, looking between us with obvious confusion. "How about the library?"
"I think that's a good idea," Wenli says, smiling at my brother. "Lead the way, cousin."
I glance at Wenli, suddenly understanding his strategy.
My father is obsessed with his library. It's his sanctuary, and he has exactly one ironclad rule: no shouting. We can talk, even argue, but raised voices are absolutely forbidden.
By suggesting the library, Wenli is ensuring that even if my parents are upset by my news, they won't be able to yell at me.
Clever.
I squeeze his hand gratefully, and he winks back.
The walk to the library feels both too long and too short. My heart is pounding, and despite my trust in my parents, I can't quite shake the nervousness.
Wenlan opens the heavy oak door, and we file inside.
The library is exactly as I remember—floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, comfortable chairs arranged around a large central table, the smell of old paper and leather. Afternoon sunlight streams through tall windows, painting everything in warm gold.
My parents and Wenlan take seats at the table. Wenli and I remain standing, and I'm acutely aware of how this must look—like we're about to deliver bad news.
Which, I suppose, we are. Sort of.
My mother breaks the silence first. "So... what is this thing Wenli mentioned you wanted to tell us?"
I take a deep breath.
This is it.
"I'm pregnant."
The words hang in the air like a bomb waiting to detonate.
For a long moment, no one speaks.
My father's expression goes carefully blank—the mask he wears when processing information he doesn't like. My mother's eyes widen slightly, then narrow as she begins calculating.
Wenlan looks like I've just announced I'm joining the circus.
"Pregnant," my mother repeats slowly. "You're... pregnant."
"Yes."
"How far along?"
"About six days."
Her eyes sharpen. "That's very early for symptoms to manifest enough for testing."
"I had... concerning signs," I say carefully. "Wenli insisted we get it confirmed at the hospital."
"Signs like what?" my father asks, his voice deceptively calm.
"Taste changes. Nausea. Fatigue." I don't mention the soreness, the missing memories, the bond mark I still haven't properly examined.
My mother stands and crosses to me, taking my face in her hands. She studies me intently, and I force myself not to look away.
"You're scared," she observes quietly.
"A little," I admit.
"But not of us."
"No. Never of you."
She releases me and steps back, exchanging a look with my father that speaks of years of wordless communication.
"Who's the father?" my father asks.
Here it is. The question I've been dreading.
I could lie. Could make up a story about a one-night stand, someone whose name I don't know.
But these are my parents. They'll see through any deception.
"Luo Qingyue."
Wenlan actually stands up, his chair falling backward. "What!?"
My mother closes her eyes briefly. My father's jaw tightens.
"Your fiancé," my mother says slowly. "Your fiancé got you pregnant."
"It's not what you think—"
"Then explain it to me," my father interrupts, his voice still calm but with an edge of steel. "Explain how my son—my omega son—ended up pregnant six days ago when he's on suppressants and has been avoiding his fiancé for three years."
The accusation in his tone isn't directed at me, I realize. It's directed at Qingyue.
"I was drugged," I say quietly. "The Zhang family. They shot me with a bullet laced with a heat-inducing drug. Mark confirmed it."
My mother's expression hardens dangerously. "The Zhang family will be dealt with. Continue."
"I went into heat. I don't remember most of it—the drug causes memory loss. But I woke up the next morning with..." I trail off, unsure how much to reveal.
"With evidence that you'd spent the night with someone," my mother finishes clinically. "And you confirmed it was Qingyue how?"
"I remembered a detail. A moon tattoo behind the ear. Lexin investigated and confirmed it was him."
The room falls silent again.
Wenlan is staring at me like he's never seen me before. "Qingyue," he says slowly. "My best friend Qingyue. He—"
"Used the situation," my father completes, his voice going cold in a way that usually precedes violence. "Took advantage of my son while he was drugged and vulnerable."
"We don't know that," I say quickly, because even now, even scared and confused, I can't let them think the worst of him. "I don't remember enough to know what actually happened. Maybe he was helping me. Maybe I—"
"Maybe you what?" my mother asks gently. "Asked for it? Ruofei, you were drugged. Whatever happened after that, you weren't in a state to give informed consent."
But I wanted it, a voice whispers in my head. Even drugged, even confused, I wanted him. I've always wanted him.
I can't say that out loud. They wouldn't understand.
"I'm keeping the baby," I say instead, because that's the only thing I'm certain of. "I wanted you to know, but I also wanted to ask... please don't tell Qingyue. Not yet."
"Not yet?" My father's eyebrows rise. "Ruofei, he's the father. He has a right to know."
"I know. And I'll tell him. But on my terms, when I'm ready." I meet his gaze steadily. "I need time to figure out what I want, what I'm going to do. And I can't do that if he knows and starts... interfering."
My parents exchange another look.
"You're planning to leave," my mother says. It's not a question.
"Wenli invited me to Korea. I'm going with him next week."
Wenlan finally finds his voice. "Wait. You're pregnant with Qingyue's baby, and you're running to another country?"
"I'm not running," I say, even though that's exactly what I'm doing. "I'm giving myself space to think."
"The separation will make your symptoms worse," my father points out. "Especially this early in the pregnancy."
"I know. But Dr. Chen said the bond will mitigate the worst of it. It'll be uncomfortable, but not dangerous."
"Bond?" Wenlan's voice goes up an octave. "You're bonded too?"
I touch the back of my neck unconsciously. "I think so. I haven't... I haven't examined it closely. But there's a mark, and I can feel... something. A connection."
My mother moves to stand behind me. "May I?"
I nod and tilt my head forward, moving my ponytail aside.
Her fingers are gentle as they examine my nape, but I still feel her sharp intake of breath.
"It's a bonding mark," she confirms. "Fresh, but already healing. Did he ask permission before marking you?"
"I don't remember," I admit. "The memories are... fragmented."
"Fragmented or missing entirely?" my father asks sharply.
"Both. Some things are starting to come back, but it's like looking through fog. I remember sensations, emotions, fragments of conversation. But not enough to know the full picture."
The anger radiating from my father is palpable now, even muted by the library's calming atmosphere.
"He marked you without consent," he says flatly. "Got you pregnant without consent. And now you're protecting him?"
"I'm protecting myself," I correct. "And the baby. If you go after Qingyue now, it'll start a war. Our families are already on tense terms—this would be the excuse his family needs to strike first."
"Let them try," my father growls.
"No." I put every ounce of authority I possess into that single word. "I'm handling this my way. I'm going to Korea, I'm going to figure out what I want, and when I'm ready, I'll deal with Qingyue myself."
"And if he finds out before then?" Wenlan asks. "What if he comes after you?"
"He won't," I say with more confidence than I feel. "He doesn't know about the pregnancy, and he has no reason to think I'd leave the country."
"Ruofei..." My mother's voice is gentle now. "Running away won't solve this."
"I'm not running away." I meet her eyes. "I'm buying time. There's a difference."
She studies me for a long moment, then sighs. "You're just like your father. Stubborn to a fault."
"Hey," my father protests mildly.
She ignores him, focusing on me. "Fine. We won't tell Qingyue. Yet. But we have conditions."
"What conditions?"
"You call us every day. You see a doctor in Korea and keep us updated on the pregnancy. And if anything—anything—goes wrong, you come home immediately."
I nod. "I can do that."
"And," my father adds, his expression stern, "when you do decide to tell him, we're there. I want to see his face when he learns he's going to be a father."
The protective threat in his voice is clear: And if his reaction disappoints me, I'm going to kill him.
"Deal," I agree.
Wenlan is still staring at us like we've all lost our minds. "Am I the only one who thinks this is insane? You're pregnant with the enemy family's heir, bonded without consent, and we're just... letting you fly to Korea?"
"I'm going with him," Wenli points out. "I'll keep him safe."
"You?" Wenlan turns his disbelief on his cousin. "No offense, Wenli, but you're not exactly—"
"I'm stronger than I look," Wenli interrupts coolly. "And I'm not the weak omega you seem to think I am."
The tension between them is sharp enough to cut, and I step in before it can escalate.
"Wenlan, I appreciate your concern. But this is my decision. I'm asking you to respect it."
He looks at me for a long moment, then slumps back into his chair. "Fine. But for the record, I think this is a terrible idea."
"Noted," I say dryly.
My mother moves back to my father's side. "When do you leave?"
"Next Thursday."
"That gives us a week," she muses. "Plenty of time to arrange additional security for you in Korea. Discreet, of course."
"Mum—"
"Non-negotiable," my father says firmly. "You're carrying my grandchild. You're getting security whether you like it or not."
I recognize a losing battle when I see one. "Fine. But they stay out of sight."
"Of course."
The tension in the room begins to ease, the worst of the revelation behind us.
Wenlan stands properly this time, retrieving his fallen chair. "So," he says, his tone carefully neutral. "Qingyue and I are no longer friends, I take it."
"That's your choice," I say quietly.
"It's not a choice," he corrects. "He hurt you. That makes him my enemy."
But did he? I wonder. Or did we hurt each other?
The memory fragments surface again—those whispered words, that tender touch, the overwhelming sense of being cherished.
"I love you, princess."
Had he really said that? Or am I projecting what I wish had happened onto the blank spaces in my memory?
I don't know.
And until I do, I'm not ready to face him.