I'm sorry, but your fiancé loves me.

"It's someone I like."

Yun Muqian's body stiffened.

She nestled in his arms, her face buried in his chest, but her back tensed up in that instant, and she held her breath, waiting for the next word.

Chi Qiusheng glanced down at her, his voice continuing softly, carrying a faint, wistful smile, like that of someone reminiscing: "She's the best, kind and lovely, she just doesn't know it."

He often regretted not expressing his feelings sooner. Now that she was back by his side, he wanted to make it up to her.

Yun Muqian's fingers gripped the hem of his sweater tightly. She opened her mouth, but the words churned in her throat—"I am Jiang Xiaohua."

The words were almost on the tip of my tongue, carrying the weight of several years and a heart full of passion, and were about to burst out.

But she bit down.

She didn't know how to explain all of this to Chi Qiusheng.

She has changed so much that even she sometimes feels like a stranger when she looks back at her.

So the words stuck in her throat, swallowed back down. Her voice, muffled by his sweater, carried a thin nasal tone: "She's so lucky."

She must have been under the influence of alcohol; she gently took his hand, looked up at him, and said, "If you like me even a little, will you be with me from now on?"

When she was ugly and unremarkable, everyone despised her, but he saw beyond her appearance and saw the ambitious and hardworking girl inside.

When she was beautiful, graceful, and stunning, everyone fawned over her, but he remained indifferent to her appearance and still saw the same her as before.

"You're sleepy, I'll take you to bed." Chi Qiusheng gently wiped away the tears on her face, bent down, put one hand under her knees and the other hand on her back, and gently lifted her up from the ground.

He knew she was very drunk, and even if she seemed to like him a lot at that moment, he couldn't take advantage of her.

The moment Yun Muqian's body was lifted into the air, she let out a soft cry and instinctively clung to his shoulder.

He carried her through the living room and into the bedroom, gently placing her on the bed.

The mattress sank slightly under her weight. Chi Qiusheng straightened up and was about to pull his hand back, but her hand was still gripping the hem of his clothes and wouldn't let go.

"Don't go, don't go." She looked at him with teary eyes. "I want you to stay with me."

Chi Qiusheng looked down at the hand that was clutching his clothes, and without hesitation, sat down on the edge of the bed:

"Okay, I'll go with you."

Yun Muqian moved further into the bed to make room for him. Chi Qiusheng took off his shoes, leaned against the headboard, turned to the side, and gently patted her back with one hand, like coaxing a child to sleep.

She buried her face in his sweater, inhaling the faint scent of soap, her eyes closed, her voice muffled as it escaped from the fabric:

"Chi Qiusheng."

"Um."

Do you like me now?

"like."

They didn't need to spell things out; he understood her, and she understood herself.

She asked the same question four or five times, and Chi Qiusheng answered her each time in a gentle tone. Later, her voice grew softer and softer, her breathing gradually became steady, and the fingers that were gripping his clothes loosened. Finally, she fell asleep completely.

The next day, Yun Muqian was awakened by the sunlight.

She turned over, felt a warm light on her eyelids, and opened her eyes groggily. It took her several seconds to realize that she was in her own bedroom.

Memories of last night flooded back like a tide—the wine, the phone call, Chi Qiusheng, the soup, that hug, her clutching his clothes and saying, "Don't go."

Her face flushed instantly. She went outside in her slippers, wanting to see if Chi Qiusheng was still there, but he had already left.

He cleaned the house; the magazines on the table were neatly stacked, and the bowl she had used for soup last night was washed clean on the kitchen rack, next to a plate of golden, fluffy fried rice sprinkled with bright green scallions and sesame seeds.

There wasn't a trace of oil on the stove, and even the takeout flyer she had casually tossed on the counter last night had been taken away.

There was a light gray sticky note on the table with a line written on it:

"Microwave the fried rice for two minutes before eating. The milk is in the refrigerator, the yogurt can be drunk directly, and the soup from last night is still there; I can reheat it for lunch."

She got drunk yesterday and said a lot of unrealistic nonsense.

But one thing is true.

That means she really wanted to be with him.