Sweet Wife in My Arms

The pain in her stomach was getting worse. It was the sort of pain only women would be able to understand—at its worst, it was enough to send a woman to the ground, thrashing in pain, begging for someone to put her out of her misery. Even the strongest women inevitably found themselves powerless against this excruciating pain.

Sighing softly, she pressed her hands against her stomach as she began walking, one painful step at a time.

Her plan was to get a taxi once she reached the city. Her forehead was covered with cold sweat; there was a brief moment when it was dry, thanks to the wind, but it immediately broke out in sweat again. The pain in her lower abdomen continued to torment her; it did not let up, not even for a second.

She was left with no choice but to walk, as the studio was located outside of the city. She did not have the luxury of a chauffeur as she was not the famous, award-winning actress from her previous life. She was just a background actor, a stunt double, a nobody.

She finally arrived in the city, drenched from head to toe in cold sweat. She could not take another step. She found a bench and sat down, pressing her hands against her stomach the entire time. The pain was now so bad she felt like crying.

She sniffled, but forced the tears back. She would not cry. She would not cry.

She clutched her stomach as she waited for the pain to pass. Deep down, however, she knew that it would not. The ceaseless, unrelenting pain almost made her double over.

She wished she had a cup of hot water, a painkiller, and a bed to lie down on. But she knew it was silly to wish for such things—there was no one around her right now who knew or cared about her. She was invisible.

“Here.” A deep, slightly rough voice sounded above her, taking her by surprise. She could not stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

“What…?”

A cup appeared before her. “Take it.”

She instinctively accepted it. The cup was very warm. It was filled to the brim with pearl milk tea, hot enough to scald her if she wasn’t careful.

She lowered her eyelashes. They were wet with tears. One slid down her cheek and fell, with a tiny plop, into the milk tea in her hand.

She raised the cup to her lips and drank it in tiny sips. The man beside her walked away, his footsteps fading with the growing distance between them. She lifted her head and turned around; the man was already far away, but she could still make out his straight back and long legs. He was dressed in a suit.

The man was tall and lean. There was something about him that made him seem distant and unapproachable.

“Lu Yi…”

She whispered the name softly, under her breath. The man turned his head, and she was able to gaze upon his profile. His face was calm and stoic; it was bathed in sunlight, but somehow his features remained frosty and aloof.

It was him. It was really him.

She had not forgotten his voice or his scent. To her own surprise, she found that she also remembered his preferences.

Lu Yi had strange tastes for a man. He detested both coffee and alcohol; instead, he enjoyed drinking milk tea.

She was fond of milk tea, too.

The milk tea warmed both her stomach and her soul.

She lifted the cup to her lips once more, and slowly drank the rest of the tea. The warmth of the milk tea reached her stomach, and then spread to her lower abdomen. The pain subsided.

She tossed the empty cup into a nearby trash can, and got to her feet. The glare of the sun was a little too bright for her; she shielded her eyes with a hand, and slowly made her way home.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally reached the door to her house. Before she could open it, the door abruptly swung open.

Yi Ling rushed out.