The heavy door of the master bedroom opened with a soft creak as Fu Lianhua slipped inside. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in a sliver of the spring dusk that bathed the room in a pale, muted light. The faint scent of medicine lingered in the air.
On the grand bed lay the man who had once commanded both the Fu family and their empire with an iron hand—now reduced to a pale, gaunt figure. His once sharp and authoritative features had grown thin, his lips nearly bloodless against skin that seemed even paler than the sheets covering him.
For a moment, Fu Lianhua's eyes glinted with something cold, a hint of the ferocity she always hid beneath her gentle facade. If it were entirely up to her, she would have rid herself of this man long ago. But with the suspicious circumstances of his first wife's death still whispered about by the old servants, she knew she had to tread carefully. She could not afford even a speck of suspicion to fall on her now.
"Lianhua…"
