Chapter 9

Chapter 9

She’d laughed bitterly, twisting the wig in her hands. "See? You grew up in a good family, got a good education, have a good job and money. Unlike me—I’ve accomplished nothing, and now I have cancer."

"What... what kind of cancer? Can’t it be treated?" I’d asked.

"It’s late-stage. There’s no cure. Treatment would just prolong the inevitable. My mom doesn’t want that, and I can’t drag my husband down," she’d said.

"But I... I envy you. You have love," I’d admitted.

She’d smiled at me mysteriously. "You’re not a fish—how do you know what it’s like to swim in the water?"

I hadn’t understood the meaning of her words or her smile then. But later, I’d come to terms with it.

I’d never told my mother about Luna’s death. After all, finding a biological relative in this world had made her happier than anyone else. Besides, her health was poor—I’d been afraid she couldn’t handle the news.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Mom, is Sui Sui here?" Dylan’s voice called from outside.

I wasn’t surprised. Even if I turned off my phone and disappeared from our house, he always found me quickly, calm as ever.

I’d intended to ignore him, but his knocks grew louder. My mother came out, scolding me gently, "Why aren’t you opening the door for A Feng? Acting like a child."

He walked in, loosening his tie. There were dark circles under his eyes—maybe he’d stayed up all night, or bumped into something while drinking. Seeing me ignore him, he didn’t get angry. Instead, he took off his coat and prepared to cook.

"No need. Mom and I will order takeout later," I said coldly.

"Takeout’s unhealthy! I want to eat A Feng’s cooking!" my mother chimed in, taking his side. She didn’t know what had happened—she only wanted her children to be happy. I understood.

I pressed my lips together and said nothing more.

"You’re going to pick a fight with me?" he asked, stepping closer and lowering his voice once my mother had gone back inside.

"Who’s picking a fight?" I retorted.

He hadn’t apologized, yet he had the nerve to accuse me of starting trouble. Without another word, tears rolled down my cheeks.

Seeing me cry, he panicked. He hurried to pull me into his arms. There was no other woman’s perfume on him—only the sandalwood scent I loved. It was his favorite too.

Fine, I thought. I’ll let him off the hook.