Inappropriate Topic

Jiang Yanxu stood at the station, waiting for the next train. Wen Haoyi stood beside him, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had tried, time and time again, to convince Jiang Yanxu to stay until their vocation ended, but he might as well have been talking to a wall. He had known from the start that it was useless. Jiang Yanxu's mind was set.

Still, he felt stupid for even trying.

The sharp chime of a phone call shattered the silence between them. Jiang Yanxu pulled out his phone. Ye Xinren.

"Honey, I might not be back until late tonight," his voice came through the receiver, a practiced pout laced in his tone. "Everyone here is crazy about sightseeing. They won't let me go."

Jiang Yanxu's gaze remained distant as he replied flatly, "That's fine."

That was unexpected.

A pause stretched between them before Ye Xinren's voice turned wary. "... Aren't you worried?"

Jiang Yanxu exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. "You're not alone. I know they'll take care of you."

On the other end, Ye Xinren's grip on his phone tightened. That tone—detached, indifferent—was foreign to him. It lacked the usual warmth, the concern he had always shown before.

Was he really not coming after him?

His suspicion deepened when a noise crackled through the speaker. A station announcement, distant chatter. His brows furrowed. "You're not at the hotel?"

"No," Jiang Yanxu answered simply, uninterested in elaborating.

Ye Xinren's irritation flared. "Earlier, you told me you were too tired to come with me. So tell me, Jiang Yanxu—what the hell are you doing outside?"

The question lingered, unanswered.

Jiang Yanxu barely registered Ye Xinren' words, his mind still tangled in the memory of him— Yan An, standing amidst the gallery lights, eyes reflecting silent sorrow. A fleeting moment—yet it left an imprint, a small ember glowing amidst the cold. But whatever warmth it gave was quickly smothered by the weight of Wen Haoyi's presence and Ye Xinren's accusations.

A rebellion stirred inside him—subtle, unspoken.

The silence on the line stretched too long.

Ye Xinren's voice snapped, sharp with frustration. "I asked you a question! Are you lying to me?"

Jiang Yanxu's eyes darkened. The way he raised his voice—demanding, grating—should have provoked him. Instead, an odd amusement flickered within.

Was she always this exhausting?

How had he endured this for so long?

His lips curled slightly, humorless. "I was tired," he admitted, voice level. "But I also can't seem to rest."

Ye Xinren knew deflection when he heard it.

It was a lie.

He should have reassured him. He should have smoothed over his doubts with a patient explanation. Instead, he was letting the unease fester, fueling his suspicions.

Then, without another word, the call ended.

Ye Xinren stood frozen amidst the bustling crowd, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. He replayed the conversation in his head, over and over, a growing storm in his chest. He had tried to ignore it—the shift in his demeanor, the quiet withdrawal.

But his husband wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.

And that infuriated him.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. Shen Ke. A reminder of where he was, who he was with. Ye Xinren forced himself to move, following the others without another word.

---

Inside the train, Wen Haoyi leaned back, arms lazily draped over the seat, his gaze fixed on Jiang Yanxu with a knowing glint.

For some reason, he seemed particularly eager to talk about Yan An.

Maybe it was just an innocent conversation.

Or maybe ... it was something else.

"You know," Wen Haoyi mused, "the more I talked to Yan An, the more I realized he's not that bad. Just an introvert. An individualist. Makes it hard to keep a conversation going."

Jiang Yanxu sipped his black coffee in silence, unfazed.

"But when you asked for a divorce," Wen Haoyi continued, his tone taking on a thoughtful edge, "I saw something in him. He was devastated. So, tell me—what was he hoping for, exactly?" He tilted his head. "Did he actually think you'd change for him?"

Jiang Yanxu's fingers stilled around his cup.

He already knew the answer to that question.

Yan An had believed.

That was the cruelest part.

In the past, Yan An had held onto the idea that he would change, that love alone could reshape a person. And in the end, Jiang Yanxu had changed—just too late.

But a second chance had been thrust upon him, and he wasn't going to waste it.

"A thought crossed my mind," Wen Haoyi's voice cut through, casual yet pointed. "In those five years you were married to Yan An, did you two ever f*ck?"

The shift in Jiang Yanxu's demeanor was instant.

His gaze, dark and razor-sharp, lifted to meet Wen Haoyi's with a weight that felt suffocating. The train's fluorescent lights cast a shadow over his features, highlighting the warning in his eyes.

His fingers hovered over his cup, grip tightening just enough to hint at restraint.

Wen Haoyi felt the tension coil between them, and he liked it.

That reaction—sharp, visceral—it entertained him.

And so, he pushed further.

"You know," he smirked, "one day, I'll have Yan An for myself. We can f*ck anytime we want. Then, I won't have to waste money on whores anymore."

The words left a bitter taste in the air.

Jiang Yanxu's jaw clenched. It wasn't jealousy that riled him—it was something deeper. Something that rejected the idea of Wen Haoyi treating Yan An as if he were nothing more than a passing indulgence.

Yan An deserved more.

"Disgusting," Jiang Yanxu muttered, voice low but sharp as a blade. "A bastard like you doesn't deserve someone like him."

Wen Haoyi laughed, unbothered. "Is that so? Then I suppose you did the right thing divorcing him."

Jiang Yanxu lowered his gaze, something unreadable flashing through his expression.

Wasn't that the irony?

He and Wen Haoyi were both unworthy. That's why neither of them deserved Yan An.

"Pfft." Wen Haoyi smirked. "At least you and Xinren are a match. You're dominant, he's submissive—perfect, isn't it?"

It was an insult, not a compliment.

Jiang Yanxu didn't bother responding.

The train pulled into the station, and without another glance at Wen Haoyi, he stepped out.

Back at the hotel, Jiang Yanxu immediately called Song Yuhang. "Book my ticket for tomorrow morning," he ordered.

Song Yuhang hesitated. It was sudden. But questioning Jiang Yanxu was never an option. "Understood."

Hanging up, Jiang Yanxu turned to his laptop, scrolling through documents. His sharp eyes caught an inconsistency in the company's financial records. He frowned, scrolling back, studying it closer. Something wasn't right—

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

He exhaled, pushing away from his desk.

When he opened the door, Ye Xinren stood there, arms folded, lips pressed into a thin line.

He pushed past him without a word.

Halfway into the room, he froze.

His eyes landed on the suitcase by the bed.

He turned to him, voice cold, clipped. "What is this?"

Jiang Yanxu didn't even blink.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning. Urgent business."

Ye Xinren's fists clenched.

"And what about me?!" he snapped.