Chapter 183: The Morning After

*Runze’s POV*

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the emptiness.

Not the room.

The bed.

I blink slowly, still half asleep, and instinctively reach toward the other side of the mattress. My fingers slide across the smooth, flat linen, searching for the familiar warmth that is usually there.

Nothing. The sheets are already cold.

I frown, staring up as the last bits of sleep fade away.

It has been a long time since I woke up without Bael. Ever since I came back from the hospital, every single morning had started the exact same way.

Sometimes I woke with my face pressed against his chest, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Other times, I woke up wrapped tight in his arms, his chin resting on top of my head and his warmth keeping the morning chill away.

Some mornings he was already awake, quietly reading through work reports on his tablet with one arm still anchored around my waist. Other mornings he was still asleep, his breathing deep and even. But he was always right there beside me.

Today, he isn’t.

I push myself upright, rubbing my eyes. The silence in the bedroom feels too loud. There is no sound of water running in the bathroom, no rustle of papers, and not even the faint scent of his cedarwood soap lingering in the air.

Normally, I would take a shower first to fully wake up. But today, an odd restlessness settles under my skin. It makes me feel too impatient to stay in the quiet room.

I slip my feet into my slippers and walk toward the bedroom door.

The moment I pull it open, I freeze. Two of our younger maids are standing in the hallway right outside. They aren’t holding cleaning supplies or moving around, they are just standing there, their shoulders stiff, waiting.

The instant they notice me, they bow quickly.

"Young Master."

I blink, caught off guard by how tense they look. "...Good morning."

Before I can ask why they are standing guard outside my door, soft footsteps echo from the end of the corridor.

Mrs. Wen appears, carrying a stack of neatly folded clothes. The moment her eyes land on me, her worried expression softens into a gentle smile.

"Young Master," she says warmly. "You’re awake."

"I am."

She steps closer, holding out the clothes. "I’ve brought a fresh change for you."

I nod, barely looking at the fabric. My chest tightens slightly. "Where is Bael?"

Mrs. Wen hesitates. It is only for a brief second, but I catch the way her eyes flicker down toward the floor before she looks back up.

"Master Bael is downstairs," she replies, her voice quieter than usual. "In the sitting room."

The uneasy feeling in my stomach grows. The entire house feels different this morning. The hallway is incredibly quiet, and even Mrs. Wen is speaking in a hushed tone, as if she is afraid of disturbing something.

My heartbeat starts to quicken. "...Did something happen?"

Mrs. Wen lowers her eyes, avoiding my gaze. "You should go downstairs, Young Master."

She doesn’t give me a direct answer, which is an answer in itself.

I don’t bother changing. I turn immediately and head toward the staircase, my pace quickening with every step. By the time I reach the first floor, my stomach is twisting into anxious knots.

I make my way down the hall, and the sitting room comes into view.

Grandmother is sitting in her usual armchair. The morning tea on the table beside her is untouched. She isn’t reading her book, she isn’t working, and her hands are resting idle in her lap. She is simply staring out the window, her gaze fixed on the empty gardens.

Across from her, Bael is seated on the sofa. He isn’t working either. There is no laptop open on his knees, no files spread out around him, and his phone is resting face down on the glass coffee table.

He is just sitting there, waiting.

The silence between them is thick and suffocating.

The moment my voice breaks the silence, Bael’s head snaps up. Our eyes lock across the space, and the tight, sharp line of his jaw instantly relaxes. The rigidity in his shoulders seems to melt away the second he looks at me.

Grandmother, however, barely registers my voice. She slowly turns her head toward me, her sharp eyes unfocused and incredibly distant, as if she is looking straight through me.

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t offer her usual composed greeting, she simply gives a single, faint nod before her gaze drifts right back to the cold tea on the table.

The heavy silence makes the anxiety in my chest turn into real fear.

"...What’s going on?" I ask, looking between the two of them. "Why is everyone acting like this?"

Without saying a word, Bael slowly extends his hand toward me, palm up.

*Come here.*

I don’t hesitate.

I walk across the room quickly, my slippers making soft sounds against the rug. The second I reach him, his fingers close firmly around mine. With a gentle but steady pull, he draws me down onto his lap.

His arms wrap around my waist immediately, pulling me against his chest. Before I can ask another question, he buries his face in the crook of my neck.

He takes a deep breath. Once. Slowly.

Then he inhales again, holding me closer, as if he needs to feel my pulse against his skin to ground himself.

He stays like that for a long moment, his chest rising and falling against me. Only when he finally exhales a long, quiet sigh do I feel the last bit of tension leave his body.

"...Bael?" I whisper, my hand rising to rest against the back of his head, my fingers sliding into his hair. "What is it?"

He doesn’t speak. His arms tighten around me one last time, holding me so close it is hard to breathe, before he finally leans back to look at me. His face is calm, a perfectly blank mask that tells me absolutely nothing.

"Nothing to worry about," he says softly.

I stare at him, my eyes narrowing. "Don’t do that. Tell me."

Instead of answering, Bael reaches over to the coffee table and picks up his phone. He unlocks the screen, taps on a webpage, and places the phone directly into my hands.

I look down at the screen. The bold letters of the headline jump out at me immediately.

*Wuchen Ming Found Dead In Prison Cell. Authorities Rule Death a Suicide.*

My breath hitches.

For several seconds, the words run together on the screen, my brain flatly refusing to understand what I am reading.