Intimate Gestures, Tender Touches

"Don't be mad."

Ethan Jiang gently coaxed Elena Shen out from under the covers, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her close, the other continuing to massage her stomach.

"Just a little longer," he murmured.

Night deepened outside.

In a smaller villa behind the main residence, Adrian Jiang stood at his window, drinking alone as he stared at the light that remained on in Elena's room across the courtyard. His expression darkened with every passing moment.

She hadn't drawn the curtains, and under the bright light inside, Adrian could faintly make out the room—one he had only been inside twice.

But his brother entered it with practiced ease.

Ethan walked in without hesitation, while Elena sat on the bed, looking up at him and saying something with a soft expression.

Their posture was intimate, their actions even more so.

Adrian's gaze was locked in place.

His breathing became labored, as though invisible hands were tightening around his throat.

The veins on the back of his hand bulged with tension, jealousy—dark and blinding—rose like a tide in his eyes.

In all these years, not once had he felt envy this sharp.

And never—never—had he felt such raw regret.

He had spent so many years with her.

Everyone saw them as an unspoken pair.

But because he resisted the idea of a family-arranged marriage, because he stubbornly forced her to admit their relationship had been built on more than obligation, he had driven her away.

At some point, the glass in his hand shattered.

Shards bit into his palm, and blood dripped steadily onto the cold, hard floor.

But Adrian seemed oblivious, eyes still fixed on the painful scene before him—each movement inside that room like a rusted knife dragging slowly through his chest.

He watched until the curtains finally drew themselves shut, the lights inside extinguished.

Then, at last, Adrian sank onto the sofa, ignoring the blood on his hand, and sat alone until dawn.

7:00 a.m.

Ethan Jiang came downstairs, dressed for his morning meeting at the company.

Just as he stepped into the foyer, he ran into Adrian, who had just returned from outside.

Adrian had changed into fresh clothes.

His hand, though bandaged, was curled into a loose fist so that the injury was completely concealed.

"Heading to the office this early?" he asked lightly.

"Yeah," Ethan replied. "There's a morning meeting."

Adrian hesitated, his fingers tightening, and just as Ethan was about to leave, he blurted,

"Ethan… are you and Elena getting a divorce?"

The question landed like a sudden clap of thunder—abrupt and jarring.

Ethan paused, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Why are you asking that?"

Adrian looked away, forcing a half-hearted, careless smile.

"Just a random thought. You and Elena—there's no real love, right? It's just a marriage of convenience. But marriage isn't like business… So if one day, you meet someone you really love, would you leave her?"

Ethan's brow creased slightly, his voice low but calm.

"Adrian, I've told you before. The foundation of marriage is responsibility."

"Marriage isn't something you casually propose. Divorce is even less so. These pointless questions—don't ask them again."

Adrian clenched his jaw.

He wasn't giving up that easily.

"But you don't love her. If someday, you truly fall in love—will you give it up the same way you gave up medicine back then?"

This time, Ethan's voice dropped a degree colder.

"That day will never come. That person does not exist."

"I don't want to hear anything like this again."

He turned to go, but paused, glancing back at Adrian with a warning in his tone:

"Elena is your sister-in-law. You should know what should and should not be said."

It was a reminder—and a warning.

Adrian's fists trembled at his sides.

His gaze grew murky, clouded by a rising storm.

Around 9 a.m.

After breakfast, Elena accompanied the old patriarch to visit several of his longtime friends.

She had expected the usual routine: tea, chess, polite small talk, just like in past years.

What she hadn't anticipated…

It was a steady stream of red envelopes being stuffed into her hands.

In the past, the old man would introduce her as his granddaughter.

But today, everywhere they went, he beamed with pride, presenting her as his granddaughter-in-law.

As if that weren't enough, he proudly announced that she and Ethan had already registered their marriage.

And then came the red envelopes—thick, generous ones, pressed into her palms faster than she could count.

By the time Elena's arms were filled with the bulging stack, her eyelids twitched.

She couldn't help thinking:

Her grandfather hadn't brought her out for fun… he'd brought her out to collect dowries.

They spent the entire day out "visiting," and by the time they returned home, the red envelopes had to be crammed into a large paper bag just to carry them all.

As they stepped out of the car at the Jiang family estate, the old man looked at the hefty bag in her arms and chuckled with satisfaction.

"Very good, very good. Not only did we reclaim some face, we even got back a good number of gifts."

He turned to Elena, eyes gleaming.

"Elena, tomorrow I'll take you to visit the rest of my friends."

Elena blinked, nearly speechless.

"…Grandpa?"