Chapter 3

Fang Yun went off triumphantly to prepare for her death.

I went home to pack.

I kept my most valuable things in the basement.

But the moment I walked in, someone covered my eyes.

Chi Wang blindfolded me with his tie and asked softly in my ear:

“Where have you been?”

There was a faint smell of blood on him. I wondered if he’d just killed someone.

Even after three years, I was still instinctively a little afraid of him. My voice trembled. “Buying you a present.”

I opened my hand. A silver rose-shaped brooch lay in my palm.

It wasn’t particularly expensive, but Chi Wang seemed delighted.

He picked me up and set me on the piano.

“What would you like to hear today?”

“I like anything you play,” I said obediently.

Ten years earlier, Chi Wang’s father had loathed his son so much that he’d locked him in a psychiatric hospital.

Chi Wang had suffered abuse and electric shocks every day. Countless times, he’d wanted to end his life.

Then he’d discovered a rose garden on the hospital grounds, with an abandoned piano.

He played there every day. A girl came to listen from the other side of the wall.

That girl was Shen Mianmian.

…

After I came into his life, Chi Wang planted a whole garden of roses for me.

He had me wear white dresses and listen to him play.

Today, his playing was restless.

Halfway through, he stopped abruptly in irritation, caught my calf, and pulled me from my perch into his arms.

I landed hard on the keys. The jangle of notes drowned out my startled cry.

Chi Wang kissed me, forceful and possessive, his breathing as disordered as his thoughts.

“Next time, don’t leave without my permission.”

“Mm…”

I’d answered meekly enough, but he still didn’t seem reassured.

He pulled open my dress and gathered me into his arms.

…

I had to admit, I was a little luckier than Fang Yun.

Spending money was her only source of pleasure.

Mine came in rather more varieties.

…

But I couldn’t let Chi Wang know that.

When he held me, a light sheen of sweat on his skin, and kissed my cheek, I suddenly began to cry.

He kissed away my tears. “What are you crying about?” he asked, his voice low.

“Do you love me?”

His expression cooled a little.

For three years, he’d indulged practically my every wish and spoiled me beyond belief.

But we’d both tacitly avoided discussing what, exactly, our relationship was.

I was only a substitute. Apart from her looks, the most important thing about a substitute was that she knew her place.

Pestering the man who supported you about his feelings was an excellent way to show you didn’t.

Chi Wang said nothing. His silence was answer enough.

Yet I persisted. “Chi Wang, am I the woman you love most?”

He stood and dressed.

As he was about to leave, my tears fell. “Where are you going?”

He stopped.

Then he looked back, his expression indifferent, as if he hadn’t been tangled up with me moments before. “Xia Yan, you’re overstepping.”