Chapter 236: The Exhale

*Runze’s POV*

The warmth of Bael’s arm over my waist is the first thing I feel before I even open my eyes.

Usually lately, by the time I wake up, the bed is cold and the faint sound of his voice is already carrying down the hall from the study. But right now, his body is pressed firm against my back, his chest a solid warmth against my shoulders.

He is awake. I can tell by the steady, deliberate rhythm of his breathing, but he hasn’t moved to get up. He hasn’t pulled away.

The physical aches from last night linger in my hips and thighs, a low, constant reminder of the hours spent under his hands. I shift slightly, resting back against his chest, and Bael pulls me tighter against him. His arm wraps securely around me, his hand resting warm over the curve of my stomach.

He doesn’t say a word. His fingers trail up my spine, long and slow, before settling at the back of my neck. He leans over my shoulder, turning my head slightly to press his mouth to mine in a slow kiss while keeping his hips anchored firm against mine.

I slip my hand over his where it rests on my bump, lacing my fingers through his.

"Stay this way for a while," I murmur against his lips, my voice thick with sleep.

"Hmn," he whispers back, his breath warm against my neck as he buries his face into the side of my throat, taking a deep, steadying breath.

In this room, behind closed doors, he isn’t the ruthless Chairman of Wuchen Group. He is just mine. I close my eyes and breathe him in, letting the possessive warmth of his body wrap around me until the rest of the world fades completely away.

***

By eight o’clock, the estate is fully awake.

Grandmother sits at the head of the dining table, her porcelain teacup held in one hand, a quiet presence as she reads the morning paper.

Mrs. Wen and the maids move softly between the table and the kitchen, setting down a hot platter of air-fried chicken strips, fresh toast, and small dishes of porridge.

"Is Ling Yue not down yet?" I ask, looking at his empty place setting as I settle into my chair.

"Young Master Ling is sleeping in," Mrs. Wen offers with a gentle smile as she adjusts a dish on the table. "I left some fruit for him in the fridge for when he wakes up."

I nod, taking a mental note to pop into his room later to check on him.

Bael sits beside me, already dressed for the office in a dark tailored suit, his jacket hanging over the back of his chair. A slick tablet rests against a small stand next to his plate, lines of financial charts and legal documents reflecting in his quiet eyes.

Grandmother holds her paper to the side, her sharp, perceptive eyes sweeping over me. "How is your body feeling today, Runze? You look a bit pale."

"I’m fine," I say instinctively, giving her a reassuring smile.

Grandmother doesn’t look away. She just tilts her head slightly, her gaze staying fixed on me with the unyielding patience of someone who has raised generations of stubborn men.

I sigh softly, my smile turning a little helpless as I rest a hand over the curve of my stomach. "The baby has been kicking more at night... and my lower back aches if I sit up too long. It feels like they’re running out of room in there."

Bael doesn’t look away from his tablet, but his hand immediately reaches out under the table, his fingers finding mine and giving them a firm, reassuring squeeze. "I’ll have Dr. Xi come by this afternoon to check on you and make sure everything is normal," he says, his deep voice smooth and matter-of-fact.

Grandmother nods in agreement, taking a small sip of her tea. "Listen to him. At seven months, your body is doing heavy work."

"Yes, Grandmother."

I smile softly, dipping a piece of crisp chicken strip into a light dip. Instead of putting it in my mouth, I turn toward Bael and hold it up to his lips.

Bael pauses, his eyes shifting away from the financial charts to look at me. Without a word, he leans in and takes the bite directly from my fingers, his lips brushing against my fingertips before he slowly chews and swallows. I offer him another piece, feeding him between taking my own bites.

The feeling in my chest settles deep. Sitting at this table, listening to the soft rustle of Grandmother’s newspaper while Bael eats from my hand, everything else simply fades away.

Then his phone vibrates against the surface of the table.

Bael sets his tablet down. He picks up the call and brings the phone to his ear, his face giving nothing away.

"Speak."

I keep chewing my food, taking a quiet sip of warm water, but my focus instantly shifts to him. I watch his profile closely. His expression stays stone-cold, but I feel the sudden, subtle shift in the air, a tightening in his shoulder muscles beside me as he listens.

Grandmother stops reading, her sharp gaze settling silently on Bael from the head of the table.

"I see," Bael says quietly. "Have legal handle the front desk. I will be at the office shortly."

He ends the call and sets the phone face-down beside his plate.

Grandmother doesn’t ask, but the quiet tension in her posture speaks for itself.

"Bael?" my voice comes out soft, my fingers tightening slightly around my fork. "What is it?"

Bael turns to look at me, his gaze calm, steady, and utterly controlled.

"The police have issued a formal summons for questioning regarding Wuchen Ming’s death," he says cleanly, as if stating the time of day. "It was delivered to headquarters ten minutes ago."

A sudden, cold wave washes straight down my spine.

*A police summons.*

My mind instantly begins to spiral. What if they hold him? What if the media turns a simple inquiry into headlines declaring his arrest? What if whoever engineered this whole trap uses his absence at headquarters to strike another blow at our stock?

I search wildly inside my head for a way out. I search for a clever legal strategy, a public relations move, an angle we could use to shield ourselves from this blow.

Nothing comes.

The space inside my head stays completely blank. I am an architect. I know how to draw blueprints, how to map out spaces, how to build physical walls. But I don’t know high-stakes corporate warfare. I don’t know how to navigate criminal investigations. I don’t have the leverage, the power, or the brilliant, ruthless mind that Bael uses to dominate his enemies.

I am completely, entirely useless here.

I feel a tremor starting deep in my hands. I press my palms flat against my lap beneath the tablecloth, willing my skin to stay still.

*Don’t panic,* I command myself, forcing my expression to stay calm as I look at Bael. *Do not panic.*

If I let the terror break through my face right now, it will bleed into Grandmother’s quiet dignity. It will become one more heavy burden Bael has to carry into that police station.

I cannot fix this legal trap for us, but I can keep this home solid. I can keep myself steady so he doesn’t have to worry about me on top of everything else.

Bael reaches over, his thumb brushing gently against my jawline before he leans in and presses a firm, warm kiss directly to my forehead.

"It is just a move to force a public reaction," he says softly against my skin. "Everything is under control."

He stands up, picking up his suit jacket, giving Grandmother a respectful nod.

"Finish your breakfast," he tells me, his dark eyes lingering on mine for one last, reassuring second. "I’ll call you as soon as I leave the station."

"Okay," I say, keeping my voice perfectly steady. "Be careful."

He turns and walks out of the dining room, his tall frame disappearing down the grand hallway.

The silence that follows his departure feels heavy and absolute.

I stay seated at the table for a long moment, listening to the distant sound of his car engine starting outside, before slowly pushing my chair back. I walk over to the living room sofa and sit down, wrapping my arms gently over my stomach.

My chest feels tight, and the urge to pull out my phone and track every headline is clawing at the back of my mind. But spiraling won’t change what happens in that interrogation room. Bael knows how to fight these people. He has built his entire life breaking traps just like this one.

I can’t see the way out, and I don’t know how he’s going to walk out of that station with his name intact. But he will.

I trust him enough to know he will.