Chapter 184: Too Late to Sleep

*Runze’s POV*

My breath catches.

For several long seconds, the words on the screen refuse to make sense.

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

I read the headline once. Then again. Then a third time, my eyes tracing the dark, bold letters until they blur. I blink hard, forcing the text to sharpen, but the words do not change.

"...Dead?"

The word leaves my mouth before I even realize I have spoken. It sounds tiny, almost lost in the vast quiet of the sitting room.

Bael doesn’t answer. He simply watches me, his hand remaining steady on my waist, keeping me grounded against him.

With an unsteady thumb, I scroll down the page, my eyes scanning the brief paragraphs.

**Was It Really Suicide? Questions Off the Record.**

**Authorities confirm inmate Wuchen Ming was discovered unresponsive shortly before midnight. Medical staff attempted resuscitation, but he was pronounced dead at the scene.**

Shortly before midnight.

Another headline sits just beneath the main article, already speculating on what comes next.

**Internal Conflict Predicted Within Wuchen Group Following Ming’s Death.**

**Some online commentators believe the incident may drastically affect the future leadership of the family business, though no official evidence has been presented supporting claims of foul play.**

I stop reading. My thumb freezes on the glass screen.

"...Suicide?"

I don’t know why that is the specific part my mind gets stuck on.

I had only met Uncle Ming that one time. But he had not looked like someone who would simply give up and end his own life. He had seemed too calculating, too stubborn, too full of pride to choose that way out.

Then again... what did I really know about him beyond the hatred he’d shown me?

Silence settles over the room, deep and absolute.

Slowly, beneath the shock, something inside my chest begins to loosen. It is like a tight, tangled knot I hadn’t realized I was carrying, finally starting to unravel.

The person who had wanted me dead. The person who nearly took our baby away from us before they even had a chance to breathe.

He is gone.

There are no more court cases to dread, no more threats hanging over our heads, no one will come after me in the dark anymore, and no one will ever come after our child.

The realization should make me happy. It should make me want to smile, to breathe a sigh of relief.

Instead, it leaves a strange, dark weight behind.

Relief settles quietly in my chest. Almost immediately, guilt follows for feeling it at all.

"...When did this happen?"

My voice comes out much quieter than I intended, barely a whisper against Bael’s neck.

It is Grandmother who answers.

"Last night."

Her eyes never leave the cold, untouched cup of tea resting on the small table beside her. Her voice is level, but it lacks its usual sharp, commanding ring.

"The prison called around eleven." Her fingers tighten ever so slightly around the armrest of her chair, her knuckles turning pale. "We had to go immediately."

Only then do I really look at the two of them.

Bael is dressed neatly as always, but his shirt is faintly creased, and the exhaustion around his eyes softens the sharpness of his usual composure.

Beside him, Grandmother has changed into a plain dark dress, likely thrown on in a hurry when the late-night call woke her. When I look closer, I can see the faint, dark shadows bruising the skin beneath both of their eyes.

Mrs. Wen quietly steps forward from where she had been standing near the hallway entrance.

"Madam and Master Bael didn’t return until after two in the morning," she says softly, her eyes full of quiet sympathy. "They’ve both been awake ever since."

My heart sinks. Neither of them slept. Not Bael, and certainly not Grandmother. They have been sitting downstairs in this quiet room for hours, carrying this secret while I was upstairs sleeping peacefully in our warm bed.

I look back at Bael, my chest aching. "...You should’ve woken me."

His thumb begins absentmindedly stroking the back of my hand, his touch warm and slow. "You needed to sleep, Runze."

"I would’ve gone with you," I insist, turning slightly in his lap so I can look into his tired grey eyes. "I shouldn’t have been left here asleep while you both went through that."

"No."

The answer comes immediately. It is firm, but not cold. Just absolute.

"You weren’t going near that place," Bael says, his hand pressing gently against my lower back, holding me close. "Not last night."

His tone leaves no room for argument. I know that look on his face, once he decides to protect me from something, nothing in the world can make him change his mind.

I lower my eyes, looking down at our joined hands.

For a long while, no one speaks. The silence in the room isn’t uncomfortable, but it is incredibly tired.

Grandmother finally reaches for her tea. She lifts the cup halfway to her lips before her fingers pause, realizing there is no warmth left in the porcelain. After staring into the dark liquid for several seconds, she quietly places it back onto the saucer with a faint clink.

"...He was still my son," she says.

The words are very quiet, but they seem to echo off the walls.

No one responds. There isn’t really anything we can say to that. He was the man who had tried to destroy our family. Yet to her, he was still the son she had raised.

I watch her profile. She isn’t crying. Her face remains perfectly composed, and she isn’t angry. She just looks old. Far older than she did yesterday, the lines around her eyes and mouth deeper than I have ever seen them.

After another long silence, she exhales softly, her shoulders sinking.

"...I have to decide where he’ll be buried."

The words fall quietly into the room, heavy and final.

No one answers.

Her words hang in the quiet space between us, final and heavy.

I lower my eyes to our joined hands, feeling Bael’s thumb slowly brush over my knuckles.

The shadow that had followed us for months was finally gone. But somehow... the house had never felt this quiet.