Mist Over Victoria Harbour, Loving the Wrong Billionaire - Chapter 12

Zhong Yichen left the annual meeting and drove all the way to the old house.

He walked into the living room, the lights still dim, as if it were a damp place that never saw the sun.

He didn’t like the old house much; he preferred the villa they lived in after marriage. After I sold it, he bought it back, but no matter what, he couldn’t recapture the old feeling.

In these two years, he traveled countless times between Shanghai and Hong Kong, shamelessly “supervising” me.

Wen Song was too free. Sometimes she would suddenly disappear, and even if you searched the whole world, you couldn’t find her.

At eighteen, I was taken under his wing. Back then, she was very obedient, her big eyes wide open, looking at people earnestly and affectionately.

Even when she threw a tantrum, she was easy to coax. Sometimes, she didn’t even need coaxing-she’d talk herself around, hugging his waist and warning fiercely but without any threat, “If there’s a next time, I won’t forgive you so easily.”

He never knew that Wen Song was such a free wind.

These two years, she avoided him like the plague, but often sent holiday greetings to his mother.

When he couldn’t find Wen Song, he would come to see Hu Wanhua.

He leaned sideways on the sofa, head lowered, absentmindedly playing with the string of beads in his hand. The beads had been polished beautifully by Hu Wanhua. He didn’t believe in gods or Buddha; holding the beads was just a game to him.

If Hu Wanhua saw this, she’d probably frown at him in displeasure. After Wen Song left, she often looked at him like that.

But this time, Hu Wanhua sat down and said nothing.

She simply dropped a wedding invitation on the table. It didn’t look like the Hong Kong style-the cover was so red it seemed to glow, gaudy to the extreme.

Zhong Yichen’s gaze swept over the invitation, and he decided to use it to start a conversation, asking casually, “Whose wedding invitation? Quite the spectacle.”

Hu Wanhua looked at him in surprise. “Wen Song’s. She’s getting married. You didn’t know?”

Zhong Yichen’s eyes froze. He bent down and reached out to touch it-a thin piece of paper, but he didn’t open it for a long time, its contents never seeing the light of day.

Hu Wanhua watched his expression, suddenly understanding. She calmly pulled the invitation from his hand. “I see. You weren’t invited.”

As she pulled it away, the invitation flipped open at one corner, and Wen Song’s name came into view.

Hu Wanhua walked to the stairs, Li-Jie supporting her as she went up. From the second-floor corridor railing, she looked down.

Zhong Yichen still didn’t move, trapped in the half-light, half-shadow.

Li-Jie couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “Why let things get to this point? Didn’t you know he told me just the other day that Wen Song was much kinder to him? He said, ‘Li-Jie, Wen Song still has me in her heart.’ Such a grown man, happy as a child.”

Hu Wanhua withdrew her gaze and said lightly, “You’re wasting your sympathy on him. Wen Song is far away on the mainland, don’t you know? When Wen Song is in love, do you really think he’d just sit around like a widower?”

Zhong Yichen didn’t move for a long time, his limbs growing numb.

He thought there was a tacit understanding between him and Wen Song, that no matter how fierce their fights, no one else would ever enter their hearts.

So when they divorced, he didn’t think it was a big deal. Don’t people always break up and get back together?

So when she dated and had boyfriends, he always looked down on them, arrogant and dismissive.

Those men were just her amusements. When she got bored, she’d settle down again.

In the end, whether divorced or remarried, the only ones entangled for life would be him and Wen Song.

He thought he would have her forever, but at this moment, he faced a forever loss.

He didn’t know when Wen Song had already walked out of their rotten marriage and love.

But he was left trapped in the illusion of “still being loved.”

How could she allow love to happen again?

How could anyone replace him, dispel her fear of marriage, and give her boundless courage?

The wedding invitation on the table still glowed, but it was getting farther and farther away from him.

As if declaring Wen Song’s happiness and mocking his wretchedness.

He began to hate her a little, love turning to hate, fear rising in his heart.

Such hatred burned his heart and lungs, impossible to blame, impossible to let go.

For a lifetime, it would leave him sleepless.