chapter 4

Yan Zhiqiu was born and raised in Country X, a foreign land far from her ancestral home. From a young age, she stood apart—not because she was loud or fierce, but because she was quiet in a way that drew no warmth. People described her as elegant, capable, and self-reliant. They rarely called her soft.

Her indifference wasn’t cold. It was simply the way she was built.

Raised in a wealthy household that prized silence over sentiment, she learned early that emotions were unnecessary, and attachments were distractions. She was the kind of woman who didn’t ask for help, and certainly never expected it.

When she discovered she was pregnant, she didn’t react much. It wasn’t part of her plans, but she made room for it, as she did with everything else that came unexpectedly. There was no panic. No contact with the man involved. She handled it alone.

Even when she found out she was carrying twins, she said nothing to him.

He hadn’t reached out.

She hadn’t expected him to.

So when Ming Ye appeared in the VIP hallway of the hospital in Country X, flanked by silent bodyguards, she wasn’t shocked. Just… faintly surprised he had shown up at all.

She was awake when he entered the ward. Pale, tired, her hair was damp with sweat. She didn’t greet him. She didn’t even sit up. Her gaze flicked to him for a second, then drifted away. It was like looking at a stranger in passing.

The newborns lay in separate bassinets near her bed—one girl, one boy.

The man approached quietly. His eyes fell on the babies, and for a moment, he just looked.

The boy was fussy, arms waving, small cries escaping his lips. The girl, however, was silent. Her eyes were slightly open, and for a flicker of a second, she looked directly at Ming Ye—and smiled. Just the faintest curve of her lips, like she recognized him.

And something shifted in the man.

Surprise flickered across his otherwise unreadable face. The moment was brief, but it stayed.

“I’m taking the girl,” he said, voice flat, certain.

Yan Zhiqiu didn’t speak for a moment. It wasn’t a disagreement. Just calculation. She thought he might take the boy—if he took anyone at all.

The bodyguards beside her looked startled. One even stepped forward instinctively before Yan Zhiqiu lifted a hand to stop him.

“Fine,” she said softly. Calm. Emotionless. As if he had simply told her the time of day.

Ming Ye didn’t say anything more. He picked up the baby girl gently but firmly, a natural possessiveness in his movement that even he didn’t notice. She fit in his arms as if she belonged there. As if she had always belonged to him.

He didn’t look at the boy. He didn’t look at the woman. He turned, bodyguards flanking him again, and left through the same doors he had entered—without pause.

In the silence that followed, Yan Zhiqiu finally glanced at the boy.

He had started crying again—soft, breathless wails that filled the quiet ward. His little fists clenched, face scrunched, as though he sensed that someone important had left.

She looked at him for a moment.

Her fingers reached into the bassinet and gently lifted him into her arms. The crying didn’t stop immediately, but she held him without urgency, her expression unreadable.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” she said softly.

Then, as always, her face returned to calm. Not cold, not warm—just steady. Like nothing in the world surprised her anymore.

Later, once the nurse had stepped out and silence returned, her phone vibrated on the side table. A call from her secretary.

“President Yan, we just received a message from Ming Ye’s office,” the voice said. “His secretary conveyed that you’ll retain full custody of the boy. In exchange, Mr. Ming Ye will have the sole guardianship of the girl. There will be no further communication or obligations between both parties.”

Yan Zhiqiu's eyes narrowed faintly.

She had briefly considered the possibility that Ming Ye's sudden decision to take the girl could open the door for a temporary collaboration between their companies—at least a transactional benefit from an otherwise unplanned situation.

But now, with his firm refusal to share even that much space, it was clear: he had no intention of cooperating.

“A clean cut,” she murmured.

And in her world, clean cuts meant no leverage.

A faint sigh escaped her lips—not regretful, just disappointed in a missed opportunity. She looked down at the boy, who had finally fallen asleep in her arms.

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