Chapter 266: Home

Runze’s POV

The evening news has been playing on mute in the small sitting room off the main hall for forty minutes.

On the screen, ticker text scrolls beneath a sleek banner graphic of the central headquarters: Wuchen Group Formally Certifies Sole Ownership Under Chairman Bael Wuchen. The stock price sits beside the headline, green numbers adjusting in real-time as after-hours trading reacts to the press wire.

I glance down at my phone on the low table beside my chair. There are no new notifications. The last conversation was a brief, unexpected call from Ling Yue shortly after Bael and I hung up. He didn’t stay on the line long—just long enough to say he had left Jin Hao’s residence again, but that this time, he wasn’t going into hiding. He was returning directly to his family to step into the position he had spent years dodging, promising to explain the rest when he comes to the estate in three days.

The low, steady sound of tires grinding over the gravel driveway cuts through the quiet of the house, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I stand up immediately.

Near the main entryway, Mrs. Wen is already stepping toward the front doors to open them, letting in a draft of cool air as Bael walks inside.

He wears a tailored midnight blue suit, his coat draped over one arm. His tie is slightly loosened at the collar, revealing the sharp, elegant line of his throat. Even exhausted from the day, the stark lighting of the hall catches the clean angles of his jaw and the striking, lethal handsome quality that always stops my breath.

Mrs. Wen steps forward, taking his coat with a quiet, respectful bow. "Welcome home, Master Bael. Congratulations on the final outcome today."

"Thank you, Mrs. Wen," Bael says, his voice low and raspy from a full day of meetings.

As Mrs. Wen turns toward the side closet, Bael’s eyes slide past her and land directly on me standing at the edge of the inner archway.

He doesn’t pause to ask about the day. He doesn’t look at the staff moving down the corridor. He steps straight across the polished floor, reaches out, and catches me around the back of the waist, pulling me hard against his chest.

His mouth settles over mine before I can speak. The subtle chill of the outside air on his skin melts away as his lips part mine, tasting deep and familiar. I step back until my shoulders rest against the wall, his palm cupping the side of my neck, his thumb resting gently along my jawline to hold me still.

A soft breath escapes me against his mouth. My hands come up to rest against his chest, my fingers curling lightly into his lapels as he deepens the kiss, pulling my hips flush against his. There is no distance in the way he holds me, his mouth moves over mine slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding against mine while his chest rises and falls steadily against my ribs.

When he finally pulls back, his thumb lingers on my lower lip, tracing the damp edge. His breathing is low and deep, his dark eyes fixed on mine, heavy with everything he didn’t say on the phone.

I clear my throat, a small blush creeping up my neck as my eyes shift past his shoulder. Mrs. Wen is standing near the hall entrance, her hands folded neatly in front of her, discreetly looking down at the floor.

"Grandmother is already seated in the dining hall," I say softly, keeping my hand flat against his chest, feeling the solid, rhythmic beat of his heart through his shirt. "She was waiting for your car to pull in."

Bael adjusts his cuffs, his composure locking back into place as if the sharp kiss against the wall hadn’t just happened. "Let’s eat, then."

The formal dining hall is bathed in the soft, warm glow of the recessed light overhead.

Grandmother Wuchen sits at the head of the long table, her spine straight despite her age, a dark silk shawl draped over her shoulders. Mrs. Wen stands near the side, quietly signaling the kitchen staff as the first courses are brought out.

Bael sits to Grandmother’s right, I sit beside him.

"I see the filings are complete," Grandmother says, setting her spoon lightly against the rim of her porcelain bowl as she looks across at Bael.

"Yes, Grandmother. It was signed, sealed, and verified by the board at two-thirty," Bael replies, cutting his meat with smooth, precise movements. "The forfeit clause was triggered without exception. The board signed the confirmation before three."

Grandmother nods once, a slow, deliberate movement. "Good. It was long overdue." She turns her gaze toward me, her expression softening by a fraction of a degree. "And Siying?"

"She fell asleep an hour ago," I answer, offering a quiet smile. "She ate well this afternoon."

"She looks more like Bael every day," Grandmother says, setting her utensil down. "Though she has your eyes. That is a mercy."

Bael doesn’t look up from his plate, but the corner of his mouth twitches slightly upward. "She has my temperament. That is all that matters."

"Heaven forbid," Grandmother remarks dryly, though there is no real bite to her tone.

The rest of the dinner proceeds in comfortable, low-keyed silence. Mrs. Wen moves around the table with quiet efficiency, refilling tea cups and clearing plates without intruding on the atmosphere. For the first time in months, the heavy, suffocating weight of pending lawsuits, board maneuvers, and public scandals is entirely absent from the room. The estate feels anchored.

After dinner, we bow to Grandmother as she retreats to her private wing on the ground floor.

Bael and I walk up the broad staircase toward the nursery. The door sits slightly ajar, a small nightlight casting a pale amber glow across the crib.

We step inside together, making no sound on the floor. Siying is lying on her back, her small fist balled near her cheek, her chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic breaths. Bael stands beside the crib rail for a long moment, staring down at her in silence. He doesn’t touch her—afraid to wake her—but his posture loosens entirely, the tension in his shoulders dissolving into the quiet room.

I catch his wrist, tugging him gently toward the door.

"Come on," I whisper.

We step into our master bedroom, and the moment the door clicks shut behind us, closing out the rest of the house, I turn around and wrap both arms tightly around Bael’s neck.

I bury my face in his neck, breathing in his scent and the cold night air still clinging to his skin. I don’t say anything. I just hold him, locking my fingers behind his nape and squeezing with everything I have.

Bael pauses for a second, startled by the sudden grip, before his arms come around my waist and lift me slightly off my feet, hauling me fully against him.

"Runze?" he mutters into my hair.

"Hmm," I murmur, voice muffled against his shirt. "Just stand here for a minute."

He doesn’t argue. His hands settle low on my back, holding me suspended against the hard length of his body as the silence stretches between us.

I pull back just enough to see his face. His hair is slightly disheveled, collar open where he’d undone the top button.

I reach up, cup his jaw, and drag his mouth down to mine.

This kiss isn’t like the urgent, rough one in the foyer. It’s slower, deeper, hotter—my tongue sliding against his the moment our lips meet. He groans quietly into my mouth, the sound vibrating straight through me, and his grip on my waist tightens until it borders on painful. I slide my hands down his chest, fingers working the buttons of his shirt open one by one, then shoving the shirt off his shoulders so it drops to the floor without either of us looking.

He walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the large bed. His hand slips under the hem of my sweater, warm fingers splaying across the bare skin of my waist and digging in as he kisses me harder. We tumble onto the mattress together, Bael’s weight settling over me, his dark eyes burning down into mine while his mouth moves to my neck. He drags open-mouthed kisses down the side of my throat, tongue tasting the skin, then lower toward my collarbone, sucking lightly until I can’t stay still.

I arch up into him, fingers twisting in his dark hair, pulling him closer as the heat between us turns sharp and hungry.

"Wait... we can’t..." I whisper breathlessly between kisses, my chest heaving as his hand slides down my thigh. "The doctor said... not yet."

Bael stills. His mouth hovers just above mine, breath hot and uneven. He lets out a low, rough exhale, then brushes a strand of hair from my forehead with careful fingers.

"I know," he says quietly, voice deep and gravelly. "But we can do something else."

Before I can answer he sits up against the headboard and pulls me with him, settling me firmly onto his lap so that I’m straddling his thighs.

His hands move without hurry, unbuttoning my trousers, pushing the fabric down just enough to free me. The cool air hits my skin for only a second before his palm closes around me, warm and sure. He unzips himself next, shoving the clothing out of the way until his own length springs free, already hard and flushed.

He draws me closer until the undersides of our cocks press together, heat to heat, the contact making my breath catch. I look down at the sight of us, he looks up at my face, dark eyes heavy-lidded and intent.

Bael takes my hand and wraps it around both of us, covering it with his own larger one so our fingers interlace. He guides the first slow stroke, the friction slick and perfect, our combined heat sliding against each other with every pull.

"Like this," he murmurs, then leans up to kiss me again.

The kiss is deep from the start. Our tongues meet as our hands move together, stroking both lengths in the same rhythm, tight on the upstroke, slower on the way down. I feel every ridge of him against me, the wetness of precome spreading between our fingers, the way his cock twitches whenever I tighten my grip. He groans into my mouth, the sound low and unbroken, and I answer with a soft, broken moan of my own.

We keep kissing while we stroke, never fully separating. His free hand stays locked at the small of my back, holding me flush against him so that every movement grinds us together.

The pleasure builds fast and sharp, my thighs tremble around his hips. He thrusts up into the circle of our hands, matching the pace, his breath hitching against my lips.

"Runze—" he manages between kisses, voice strained.

I only kiss him harder, swallowing the rest of the sound. Our hands speed up, the wet slide turning frantic. The first pulse of his release hits my fingers just as my own climax rips through me.

We come together, spilling hot over our joined hands, moaning into each other’s mouths in broken, overlapping sounds that never quite become words.

Even after the last tremor fades we keep kissing, slower now, softer, tasting the residual heat on each other’s tongues while our hands stay loosely wrapped around the mess we made.

Bael wraps his arm around me and pulls me fully against his chest, holding me there while our breathing slowly steadies. One hand stays low on my back, the other remains loosely linked with mine, still faintly sticky between us.

I press my face into the open collar of his shirt and listen to the gradual slowing of his heartbeat.

"I’m home," he says at last, voice quiet and certain against my hair.

I close my eyes and let the weight of him, the lingering heat, and the silence of the night settle around us.