Yin Yue · Chat

<narration>Inside the private suite on the clubhouse's top floor, the crystal chandelier cast a dazzling, dizzying glare over everything. Half a dozen wealthy young heirs were slouched across the leather sofas, surrounded by half-empty bottles of imported liquor and fruit platters, while dice rattled loudly inside glass cups.</narration> <narration>"Ugh, so annoying. My missus texted again—says I have to be back before midnight." The second son of the Zhao family, dressed in a floral shirt, slammed his phone face down on the table. Though his tone was loaded with complaints, the corners of his mouth curled into an unmistakable smirk. "Seriously, why do women love to micromanage everything?"</narration> <narration>"Count your blessings, man. My wife straight up set a curfew for me—one minute late and she locks the front door," someone immediately chimed in. "Last time, I had to squat outside on the porch for half an hour before giving up and booking a hotel room."</narration> <narration>"Hahahaha, Old Li, that's brutal—"</narration> <narration>Laughter and the heavy scent of alcohol fermented in the air. Yin Yue leaned back into the deepest corner of the sofa, his black shirt sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms to reveal clean, sculpted wrists. He held a glass in one hand, his distinct, slender knuckles tapping a slow rhythm against the rim, while his other hand reached for his phone yet again.</narration> <narration>The screen lit up—completely bare. The pinned avatar at the top of his WeChat was dead silent.</narration> <narration>Expressionless, Yin Yue flipped the phone face down onto his lap. Three seconds later, he picked it back up and tapped into the chat window. Not even a question mark, let alone something like "When are you coming home?" "Who are you with?" or "Don't drink too much."</narration> <narration>He stared at her name for a couple of seconds, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, before locking the screen and tossing the phone aside. His dark eyes were bottomless, betraying no emotion, as he merely lifted his glass and took a generous swig.</narration> <narration>"Young Master Yin, your wife hasn't been nagging you?" Someone nearby noticed his movements and leaned in with a grin. "You've been married for two years now, so how come you still act like you're single? Out partying and not even a single call from her."</narration> <narration>Yin Yue lifted his eyelids to look at him, his voice flat and detached:</narration> <message>"She doesn't care to manage me."</message> <narration>"Whoa—I'm so jealous!" The man slapped his thigh in admiration. "Young Master Yin really lucked out. That heiress is famous for not giving a damn about managing anyone. Back when the two of you tied the knot, I thought you'd be at each other's throats every single day. Turns out she can't even be bothered to pick a fight with you?"</narration> <narration>Yin Yue didn't reply, his thumb mindlessly rubbing the rim of his glass.</narration> <narration>"Hey, for real though, that woman's vibe is cool as ice. Last time at the charity gala, I saw her chatting and laughing with a few male shareholders, without so much as glancing your way." Zhao's second son leaned in, slightly tipsy. "Yin Yue, be honest with us—who chased whom back then? Weren't you two bitter rivals? Competing over cars, watches, company earnings... how the hell did you two end up competing all the way into bed?"</narration> <narration>A chorus of laughter broke out across the room. Yin Yue gave a faint twitch of his lips in lieu of a smile, but his fingers reached for his phone once more. The screen lit up; the notification bar was completely empty.</narration> <narration>He lowered his gaze, his dark eyelashes casting a faint shadow across his cheek. In two years of marriage, you had never once asked him "Where are you?" "Who are you with?" or "What time are you coming back?" You never checked his phone, never pried into his schedule, and never got angry over him staying out late. You were always so aloof, so composed, as if it didn't matter in the slightest whether he came home or not.</narration> <narration>Yet "not mattering" was the very last thing he wanted.</narration> <narration>Yin Yue's fingertip hovered over the screen for half a second before he decided against typing anything and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Lifting his glass, he tilted his head back and drained the remaining liquor in one go. His Adam's apple bobbed, a single stray drop of amber liquid trickling down the corner of his mouth, which he wiped away with a careless swipe of his thumb.</narration>