Who could possibly be happy knowing another woman held a place in her husband’s heart? Lost in thought, I wasn’t paying attention to my footing until a sharp, searing pain shot up my ankle. I barely had time to think, I’m screwed, before a steady pair of hands caught me mid-fall, pulling me straight into a firm chest.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” The voice above my head sounded far from pleased.

“Just getting some fresh air to sober up,” I replied, trying to keep my voice even as I made a subtle, deliberate effort to step out of his embrace. I missed the way his brows knit tight at my sudden retreat.

Siyan let out a soft sigh, effortlessly carrying me over to a nearby bench before dropping to one knee to examine my ankle. His fingers gripped my skin, sending a wave of heat through me that made my mouth filterless.

“Siyan… did you use to pull off Lin Ximo’s shoes like this too?”

The air around us instantly froze. He snapped his head up, genuine surprise in his eyes. “How do you know about Lin Ximo…?”

“Forget I asked,” I blurted out, cutting him off before he could give me an answer that would rip my heart out.

The ride home was draped in heavy, suffocating silence. But the moment we reached my bedroom door, he caught my wrist, his voice low and raspy. “Don’t overthink things. I would never be that intimate with her.”

Those words miraculously deflated half the bitterness festering in my chest. A man in Siyan’s position had no reason to lie to me. Maybe… I really was just letting my imagination run wild.

In the days that followed, our relationship actually started feeling like a normal marriage. After work, he’d take me out for dinner and movies—just like any regular couple in love. Before bed, he would press a gentle, lingering kiss to my forehead. All the milestones we had missed out on before tying the knot were slowly being filled in, piece by piece. I genuinely thought I had finally found our groove—until that fateful Friday.

Passing by a downtown shopping center, my eyes caught a massive digital billboard broadcasting an interview with a breathtaking starlet.

“In the second half of the year, I’ll be starring in a major project backed by Fu Corporation,” the woman purred, hiding a delicate smile behind her hand. “Their CEO and I go way back…”

The colleague standing next to me gasped. “Oh, wow, isn’t that Lin Ximo? The international Best Actress winner who just flew back?”

My heart stopped. She was stunning—a classic, cat-eyed beauty born for the spotlight. In the high-society circles of City A, I had always been the golden girl, the center of attention. But Lin Ximo was the first woman to make me feel a sudden, terrifying pang of insecurity.

That evening at my studio’s after-party, I deliberately downed a dozen shots of hard liquor. The burning liquid washed over my throat, leaving my head light and weightless—right up until the phone in my purse buzzed relentlessly.

It was Siyan.

“Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up,” his deep voice commanded, hardening the moment he caught the chaotic noise on my end.

“No need… hic… it’s still early, and I’m totally sober…” I let out a thoroughly unladylike hiccup.

“Be good,” he said, his tone softening into something dangerously possessive that brooked no argument. “I can’t rest easy with you out alone. Send me your location.”

It was ridiculous! When he stayed out late for business dinners, I never interrogated him once. Why was he suddenly breathing down my neck? Was it because his “old flame” was back, making him feel the sudden urge to play the perfect, dutiful husband?

By the third round of drinks, most people had called it a night. The VIP room was down to just me and a stylish, silver-haired intern from our design team. He leaned over, trying to help me up. “Qiao, where do you live? Let me drive you home.”

I waved a lazy, hand: “Someone’s coming…”

But the eager kid insisted, slinging my arm over his shoulder to hoist me up anyway. Right at that second, the heavy door slammed open. A sudden, violent force swept in, shoving the poor intern aside before he even realized what was happening.

Siyan’s face was as dark as a storm cloud. “Who gave you permission to touch her?”

“Siyan, can you stop being so aggressive?” I snapped, stepping up to defend my employee. “He’s just an intern at my company! If you scare him off, where am I supposed to find talent like him?”

His expression darkened by another notch. “Unbelievable. Even now, you’re still defending another man.”

That sentence snapped the last thread of my restraint. What gave him the right? He was busy funding Lin Ximo’s movies, yet I couldn’t even stand up for my own employee without a lecture? This title of “Mrs. Fu” was nothing more than an empty shell.

Staggering to my feet, I deliberately pushed his buttons: “I want him to carry me back.”

“You dare flirt with another man right in front of my face?” Siyan’s eyes turned pitch-black. “Qiao Yihua, do you think I’m dead?”

Ignoring my kicks and thumping fists, he scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Slung over his back, I pouted and started throwing a full-blown tantrum. “You don’t spoil me at all! You’re the absolute worst…”

I eventually exhausted myself with my own whining. Wrapped in the crisp, clean scent of his fresh aftershave, I drifted off to sleep. In my haze, I felt myself being gently lowered onto a soft mattress, followed by a touch against my lips so faint it felt like a tickle.

A few days later, once I was fully sober and back to my senses, I couldn’t resist asking, “Siyan… that night I got drunk, did you do anything?”

His hand froze mid-turn over the document he was reviewing. “No,” he replied, his tone entirely flat. “If you don’t remember, let it go.”

I bit my lip, caught between wanting to believe him and suspecting he was hiding something. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it—the premiere party for Lin Ximo’s new film was right around the corner. And it fell on the exact same day as our hundredth wedding anniversary.

Reluctant as I was, I had no choice but to go with him. “For events like this, if the lady of the house doesn’t show up, the press will run wild with rumors,” he had argued, leaving me with nothing to do but sigh. I really didn’t want to see him standing beside Lin Ximo with my own eyes—out of sight, out of mind.

The gala was dazzling, and Lin Ximo was the undisputed center of attention, draped in a fitted fishtail gown that hugged every curve. Wine glass in hand, she glided toward us, her eyes sweeping over me from head to toe with a cool, unmistakable condescension.

Siyan’s arm tightened around my waist, his voice low and steady as he broke the silence:

“Let me introduce you. This is my wife, Qiao Yihua.”

Lin Ximo bit her lower lip, staring at him with eyes brimming with lingering affection. “Siyan… I really didn’t expect you to get married so quickly. I thought…”

Her voice trailed off, but the intimate undertone cut straight through me, making my chest tighten. Between them hung an undeniable bond—a shared past that I was utterly powerless to touch.

Was she really his irreplaceable “white moonlight” after all?