Lost and Found

Barely had I stepped back into my office when my trusted confidant transmitted a photograph.

Lingering doubts regarding Vivienne ultimately drove me to assign someone to tail her in secret.

Undeniably, a toxic shred of malicious voyeurism played a part in my decision.

If Julian genuinely shared a clandestine affair with her, it would provide undeniable leverage come divorce proceedings.

Yet the moment I opened the image file, my mind screeched to a dead halt.

The person Vivienne had just met with was none other than Zhao Ling!

My father’s former right-hand man and the principal mastermind behind the plundering of my mother’s estate.

This old fox was excruciatingly cunning; having long since seen through my strategic maneuvers and knowing Julian stood backing me from the shadows, he swiftly weighed gains and losses, cleanly separating assets and vanishing long before my father’s empire collapsed.

He was a natural-born strategist; when disaster struck, he dumped 100% of the blame onto my father. Though the old bastard’s hands were far from clean, he successfully orchestrated a flawless escape.

Word had it that upon returning to the country, he established a boutique enterprise that thrived rapidly.

Yet why on earth would Julian dispatch Vivienne to make contact with him?

What was he plotting?

A terrifying hypothesis began fermenting in my mind.

Back then, executing the coup to overthrow my father and reclaim the Song Corporation had fundamentally relied on Julian’s covert backing behind the scenes. If he grew displeased with my expanding, uncontrollable ambitions and sought to administer a harsh lesson, destroying the Song Corporation once more would require no more effort than flicking a speck of dust.

Yet could Julian genuinely be that cold-blooded and ruthless toward me?

I frantically fired off a message instructing my operative to maintain close surveillance on Vivienne’s every move, while I slumped blankly at my desk in a daze.

Unaware of when tears had begun streaming down my cheeks, I jolted back to reality to find my face soaked.

“Wife, time to knock off!”*

Julian unexpectedly shoved the door open and strode in. I panicked, hastily wiping away the tear tracks with the back of my hand.

He frowned and hurried over, his tone laced with suppressed heartache.

“Since when did you start needing to hide your tears from me?”

My mind was an absolute mess of tangled yarn, forcing me to throw together a clumsy excuse.

“Crying solves nothing.”

“Huh?”

“You once said it yourself—you despise girls who act weak and cry over nothing.”

Indeed, Julian had once uttered those exact words.

It dated back to the early phase of my power struggle against my biological father, when Julian kept me suppressed and cornered at every turn.

Driven to sheer despair, I drowned my sorrows in alcohol, hiding in a corner to weep in secret.

Julian had coldly snatched the wine glass straight out of my grip back then, his voice cutting like ice.

“Drinking solves zero problems, and neither do tears.”

“I’m just so exhausted… I’m his biological daughter too, why must he treat me like this.”

“Because you aren’t strong enough yet. Wait until you grow powerful enough that he can no longer reach you, and these trivial matters won’t even warrant a second glance.”*

The man’s long, slender fingers gently swept away the lingering teardrops from the corners of my eyes.

“I don’t like crybabies. Clara, I love seeing you smile.”*

Recalling the memory, Julian chuckled with helpless self-deprecation.

“Look at you, remembering words from all those years ago.”

“Because circumstances then were vastly different from now.”

“Crying before others might be useless, but with me, it’s different.”

“Because you are my wife—the sole exception.”*

I snapped out of my daze, gazing straight into his eyes while deliberately molding my expression into a picture of fragile vulnerability.

“So tell me, what on earth caused you such distress today?”

I lowered my lashes: “I dislike Vivienne.”*

Julian chuckled softly: “She’s merely a petty assistant, hardly worth you feeling aggrieved enough to shed precious pearls.”

“You treat her exceptionally well.”

“I merely kept her around as a handy errand runner because she catches my eye…”

I remained silent, quietly letting the tears flow.

“Alright now, be a good girl.”*

Julian suddenly softened his tone, pulling me into his embrace to soothe me.

“A tiny creature like Vivienne managing to make you jealous and aggrieved counts as putting her to some practical use; but causing you to shed tears is entirely my fault.”*

I seized the opportunity to pout petulantly: “I don’t want to go back to that house anymore, I don’t want to lay eyes on her.”*

“Very well!”*

Julian pressed a kiss to the tear track on my cheek.

“I promise you.”*

He held me contentedly against his chest, while I locked away every trace of my true sentiments behind a stoic facade.

Julian, just how am I supposed to trust you?

Upon returning home with Julian, true to his word, Vivienne had vanished entirely.

Yet pressing further with aggressive questioning would only make me look unreasonable.

After showering, I leaned against the headboard scrolling through work emails on my phone.

The rushing sound of running water from the bathroom indicated Julian was still washing up.

I hesitated momentarily over whether to directly confront him about the matter, before ultimately abandoning the thought.

Admitting I had set people to tail him would be tantamount to proactively exposing my own paranoia and petty tactics.

A bitter, suffocating chill settled deep within my bones.

Clearly, we were the most intimate of spouses, yet here we stood harboring twisted agendas, constantly guarding against and calculating each other’s moves.

Julian stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a bath towel, his tall, athletic frame fully displayed.

Crystal-clear droplets sliding down from his wet hair traced the contours of his jawline, slipping past his neck, collarbone, and pectoral muscles… leaving distinct damp trails.

I was, after all, a woman—and his legally wedded wife.

Sometimes, playing the card of vulnerability served as a lethal weapon.

Glancing at the man drying his hair, I proactively slid closer, wrapping my arms around his muscular waist.

“Let me help.”*

My fingers wove through his soft damp locks.

Julian offered a warm, deep chuckle, welcoming my rare initiative.

His large hand slid down to cup my thigh, slowly exploring upward.

Following subterranean currents of calculation, Julian unusually slowed his pace, lingering in prolonged, tangled intimacy.

…

At 7:00 AM sharp, my biological clock woke me up like clockwork.

Instinctively, I reached for my phone to check news feeds and reply to operational messages.

My fingers tapping across the screen inadvertently woke the man sleeping beside me.

“Whose text message is so early in the morning?”

“Leo.”*

Julian’s expression instantly darkened into a thundercloud.

“You’re lying in my bed, yet you still dare to flirt and text other men.”*

I replied with total nonchalance: “We’re discussing work!”*

“Besides, Leo mentioned that yesterday he spotted someone near West Street who looked remarkably like Zhao Ling.”*

“Didn’t that old bastard flee back to his hometown?”*

“Honey, did you happen to know about this?”*

Julian’s dark, bottomless pupils instantly turned ice-cold and distant, entirely devoid of shock or panic.

He stared straight at me for a long, drawn-out beat before letting out a dry, humorless laugh: “Clara Song, you’re getting more and more scheming by the day.”*

He flipped over, threw off the covers, and walked out of the bedroom with an impassive face.

In reality, I hadn’t messaged anyone at all; my phone screen merely displayed a candid snapshot of Julian sleeping peacefully in profile.

Yet my heart plummeted straight down into the freezing abyss.

Why did he refuse to tell me the truth, when he clearly knew it would weigh heavily on my mind?