Chapter 212: The Architecture of Us

*Runze’s POV*

The warm water laps gently against my chest, carrying away the lingering ache of the morning.

The tub in our bathroom is deep, carved from a single slab of dark marble, but sitting in it now, I barely feel the hard stone. My back is resting against Bael’s bare chest. His long legs are spread on either side of mine beneath the surface, anchoring me safely between his thighs.

Behind me, Bael is quiet. Lazy.

His soap-slicked hands move over my body in slow, mesmerizing strokes. He glides his palm over my shoulder, down the length of my arm, trailing his fingers over my knuckles before circling back up to my chest. His jaw rests on my shoulder, his warm breath fanning across my damp skin with every deep exhale he takes.

After the storm we just passed through, this quiet feels almost sacred.

For several minutes, neither of us speaks. The only sound in the room is the rhythmic splashing of water whenever he shifts, and the low, steady thud of his heart against my spine.

Then, his jaw shifts against my shoulder, his lips brushing the side of my neck.

"...The emails," Bael murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, stripped of all its usual corporate edge. "What did you do about them?"

I turn my head over my shoulder to look at him.

In the soft light of the bathroom, Bael’s eyes are watching me closely. The panic from last night is gone, replaced by a quiet, cautious guilt—like a man treading on thin glass, afraid asking will tear open the wound we just spent all morning soothing.

Seeing that expression on his face, the last lingering traces of my resentment melt away.

I lean back against his chest, letting my weight settle fully into him again.

"I handled them yesterday," I tell him softly. "I drafted a general response explaining the situation and sent it out to everyone who reached out."

Bael’s hands pause their slow movements against my waist.

"What were they asking for?"

"A bit of everything," I say, closing my eyes and resting my head back against his collarbone. "Congratulations on the presentation, invitations to industry conferences, a few project commissions, and recruitment offers from other firms."

Bael stays silent for a long moment, simply absorbing the words while his chin rests on my shoulder.

"Have any of them replied yet?" he asks quietly.

"I haven’t checked since yesterday," I answer, watching the warm water swirl around my hands. "I’ll look again after we go downstairs."

"Hmm."

That is all he says.

***

Twenty minutes later, we step out of the bathroom.

I sit on the cushioned stool in front of the dressing table, wearing a comfortable, cream-colored silk robe loosely draped over my bump. Behind me, Bael is already dressed in a fresh white shirt and dark trousers, a hairdryer running softly in his hand as he gently dries my damp hair.

His touch is careful, his long fingers trailing through my hair to shield my scalp from the heat.

In the mirror, I watch his reflection.

His brows are slightly drawn, his focus tied to what he’s doing. But as the minutes pass, his movements slow down. The quiet rhythm stutters.

He goes still. Not the quiet of relaxation, but the dense, heavy silence of a man whose mind has suddenly drifted miles away into a complicated space.

I keep watching him through the mirror, waiting.

Finally, Bael switches off the hairdryer and sets it down on the counter. His hands move to rest lightly on my shoulders, his dark grey eyes meeting mine in the glass.

"Runze," he starts, his voice unnaturally tight. "Are you... thinking about joining one of those firms?"

I pause, considering the question honestly.

"I haven’t made up my mind yet. I need to see what they’re offering, and whether—"

Before I can finish the sentence, Bael suddenly moves.

He steps around the stool, blocking the mirror completely. Before I can react, his hands shoot out, gripping my upper arms. Not hard enough to bruise, but with a desperate, tight pressure that makes my breath catch.

"You’re not allow—"

The old, overbearing instinct spills out before he can stop it. But the second the syllables leave his mouth, he catches himself.

He freezes. His jaw snaps shut, a flash of genuine panic crossing his face as he realizes what he almost said.

He swallows hard, his breathing rough and uneven, his grip on my arms trembling slightly.

"...I hope you won’t join any other firm," Bael corrects himself quickly, his voice tight and raw. "Please, Runze. If you want to work... I’ll build a personal studio for you. Under the Wuchen Group. It will be yours. You’ll have complete creative freedom, full backing, the best team..."

He leans down slightly, searching my face with an urgency that borders on pleading.

"Some of the people who sent those proposals... you don’t know them, Runze. They might have malicious intent. They could be using you to get to Wuchen, or trying to exploit your situation after the accident—"

"Bael," I cut in softly.

He doesn’t stop, the words tumbling out of him like he can’t shut them off.

"I can screen every project for you. I can make sure no one takes advantage of you. I can set up a secure office where you don’t have to deal with th—"

"Bael."

I say his name a second time, firmer now, my voice cutting cleanly through his spiraling panic.

Bael goes completely still.

His mouth shuts. His shoulders are rigid, his chest heaving as he stares down at me, looking like a man bracing himself for an execution.

Slowly, carefully, I lift my hands and wrap my fingers around his. His hands are ice-cold despite the warm room, his knuckles tight against my arms. I squeeze them gently, guiding his hands down until we’re holding each other between us.

I look up into his storm-filled eyes and let out a small, quiet breath.

"I think I understand now," I say softly.

Bael’s brows draw together in immediate confusion.

"...Understand what?"

"Why you keep doing this to me," I answer, my thumb lightly rubbing the back of his hand, smoothing over his tense tendons. "Why you unlinked my emails."

His expression shifts immediately, a defensive wall trying to rise behind his eyes.

"Runze, I just want—"

"You think I’m helpless."

"Runze—" Bael shakes his head frantically, opening his mouth to deny it, but I don’t let him pull away.

"I know it’s not because you don’t trust me," I say firmly, squeezing his hands tighter to keep him grounded. "And not because you don’t respect my work. You just genuinely believe I can’t handle the world you’re protecting me from."

Bael’s breathing hitches. He stops shaking his head, his eyes widening slightly as my words land.

"It’s my fault," I say softly.

I offer him an honest, gentle smile, smoothing my fingers over his knuckles.

"I gave you that impression. I let you handle the family, the media, and the politics while I stayed quiet in my corner. Then I let you watch me lying in that hospital bed, until you convinced yourself I was too fragile to face any of it on my own."

"That’s not—" Bael tries to protest, his voice raw.

"I know the people in our circle aren’t harmless, Bael," I interrupt gently, my eyes holding his, locked and unwavering. "I know what the Wuchen name attracts. I know there are vultures in this industry who would love nothing more than to use me, manipulate me, or tear me down just to get a fraction of your influence."

I pause, letting the weight of the truth settle in the quiet room.

"But Bael... I’ve survived this much already.

A faint smile touches my lips as I watch the utter confusion and shock battle across his sharp features.

"I’m not a glass doll," I tell him softly.

Bael’s hands tighten in mine.

"I survived the DingShan presentation. I survived the accident." I pause, my thumb brushing slowly over his knuckles. "And when I first came into this marriage, half the world thought I was nothing but a homewrecker who had ruined your life."

Bael’s expression changes.

I hold his gaze.

"I survived that too."

Bael stares at me, speechless. His lips part slightly as his mind struggles to match the fragile image he’s held onto with the man standing right in front of him.

"I will prove it to you," I add, my voice dropping into a light, almost teasing tone. "I’ll prove that I can protect myself, handle my career, and still come home to you every night in one piece."

"Runze, I..." Bael stammers, completely lost for words, looking so adorably unraveled that I can’t help myself.

Before he can recover his train of thought, I lean forward, pulling his hands gently to draw him down, and press my lips firmly against his.

It’s a short, sweet kiss, but deep enough to make him catch his breath.

When I pull back, I drop his hands, smoothing down the lapels of my silk robe with a satisfied air.

"Let’s get breakfast," I say cheerfully, turning toward the bedroom door.

Bael stands rooted to the exact same spot, his arms hanging slightly uselessly at his sides, his head turning slowly as he watches me walk away.

Just as my hand touches the door handle, I stop and look back over my shoulder.

"Ah, right," I add casually. "I told Liang Feng to resume this week. He should be here tomorrow morning."

Bael blinks, his brow furrowing deeper. "W-wait, Runze—"

He takes a step toward me, still confused by the sudden flurry of declarations, but I don’t give him the chance to catch up.

"I’m starving," I sing out softly, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hallway. "Grandmother, Ling Yue, and Mrs. Wen must be wondering if we’re ever coming downstairs today."

I walk down the hallway toward the grand staircase, a genuine, warm smile spreading across my face as I hear the hurried thud of Bael’s footsteps finally rushing out of the bedroom to follow me.