Chapter 66: The Darkness Before Dawn 13

Zhao Yiya looked at the dazed Mo Qinghan, and the fury in her heart finally abated a little. Suddenly, she spoke again, “Someone like you, a commoner, could never comprehend the spiritual realm of those of us in the upper echelons. For He Zheyu, the inheritance of family power is paramount. Otherwise, knowing that I was involved in Mo Qingyu’s death, why hasn’t he uttered a single word of blame until now? It’s because he intends to marry me, to use the Zhao family’s power to help him achieve his ambitions.”

As Zhao Yiya spoke, Mo Qinghan felt an even heavier weight pressing on her chest, her breathing growing more labored, and she murmured, “That’s impossible. He promised me an explanation. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

Seeing Mo Qinghan’s reaction, Zhao Yiya knew her plan was working, though she needed just a little more to achieve her desired result. A wicked smile curled at the corners of her lips, her dark eyes turning cold as she paused, then said, “If he truly cared about you, he would have done everything to keep the child you’re carrying. But what was the outcome? He made his decision without you even knowing. Now, every promise he gives you is nothing more than an attempt to placate you for the time being, because if this matter were to become public, the consequences for the He family’s stock market would be unimaginable.”

“No... that’s not true... he said so himself...” Mo Qinghan cried out in despair, the breath stuck in her chest refusing to ease, and she collapsed onto the floor, lying on her side. After a long moment, her sorrowful gaze fixed on the ceiling, her pale lips finally parted and she said, “Are you finished? Can you leave my room now?”

Zhao Yiya smirked, “I suppose there’s one more thing Zheyu hasn’t told you. When Mo Qingyu’s accident happened and you called him, he didn’t answer because he was at the Civil Affairs Bureau with me, registering our marriage. If I’m not mistaken, this apartment should be the joint property of me and my husband. Technically, you’re trespassing, and I could call the police if you refuse to leave.”

That sentence—“When Mo Qingyu’s accident happened and you called him, he didn’t answer because he was at the Civil Affairs Bureau with me, registering our marriage”—echoed endlessly in Mo Qinghan’s ears. She pressed one hand to the floor and slowly pushed herself up, her eyes emptied of all spirit, as if only a shell remained. As she walked past Zhao Yiya, she didn’t spare her a single glance, her vacant gaze fixed straight ahead. Zhao Yiya, standing by the coffee table, blocked her path slightly, and as Mo Qinghan squeezed past, the hem of her dress caught a glass on the table, sending it crashing to the floor. Shards scattered across the ground, and Mo Qinghan, barefoot, left bloody footprints in her wake. Yet she never paused, as if those bleeding feet were not her own.

Zhao Yiya stared at the trail of bloody footprints on the floor for a long time before a satisfied smile finally appeared on her lips. She, too, left this apartment that she so despised.

Clad in a white nightdress, Mo Qinghan wandered the bustling streets like a madwoman. Passersby stared at her with the eyes of spectators at a circus, and fragments of conversation drifted past her ears—“Is this woman insane? Walking barefoot in this downpour, not even an umbrella”—or, “Why don’t you go ask if something happened to her?” But no matter what was said, she shut it all out, as though nothing could pierce the numb fog that had settled over her.