I'm sorry, but your fiancé loves me.

The air in the ward seemed to freeze for a moment.

Qin Qihan kept his head tilted to the side, his gaze fixed on his assistant's face, as if he wanted to break down every word of what he had said and listen to it again.

"I've already returned to China."

He recognized every single word, but when they were put together, it felt like a wall slamming into his face; his mind was reeling.

He sat up abruptly. The movement was so sudden and fast that the IV needle was ripped from the back of his hand, leaving a trail of blood droplets on the white sheets. But he seemed completely oblivious to the pain, throwing back the covers to get out of bed.

The moment his foot touched the ground, his knee buckled, and he stumbled forward half a step. His assistant rushed over to help him, but he pushed him away with such force that the assistant staggered back several steps, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud.

"When did she leave?" Qin Qihan's voice was forced out of his throat, hoarse and with an almost tearing sharpness, "When?"

The assistant steadied himself against the wall, his voice trembling: "Last night... the flight was at ten o'clock, Mr. Qin, please don't move—"

Qin Qihan had already reached the door of the ward. He was wearing a hospital gown, the fabric on the back of which was wrinkled, and the blood seeping from the gauze on his forehead was larger than before, seeping out from the white edge and running down his temple.

Then he was pinned down from behind by two hands. Two medical staff in white coats rushed in, grabbed his arms on either side, and dragged him back. His back slammed heavily against the edge of the bed, and he was pushed back onto the bed.

His hand was still outstretched, his fingers grabbing wildly in the air, and he grabbed a nurse's wrist, his knuckles gripping her tightly. The nurse gasped in pain.

"My phone." His voice was forced out through clenched teeth, his eyes fixed on the doorway, a near-mad light in his pupils. "Give me my phone."

The assistant shakily pulled his phone out of his briefcase and handed it to him. Qin Qihan snatched it away, and it took him a few seconds to focus his gaze on the dial pad when the screen lit up.

He pressed the button, his fingers trembling, and he made two mistakes before finally entering her number.

beep - beep - beep -

No one heard.

He dialed several more times, and then there was a soft click as the call connected.

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then her voice came through: "Feed."

Qin Qihan's fingers tightened around her phone: "Where...where are you?"

"I'm in China," she said. "Take good care of yourself and recover. The hospital said you might have a concussion, so don't move around too much."

Qin Qihan's breathing was heavy, as if it would explode from his chest. He gripped the front of his hospital gown so tightly that he crumpled the fabric fibers into fine wrinkles. "Why didn't you tell me before you left?"

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone. "You're badly injured, I don't want to disturb your rest."

"You don't want to—" Qin Qihan's voice suddenly rose, sharp and distorted, then she forcefully suppressed it, "Yun Muqian, I almost died there, and you wouldn't even wait for me to wake up?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"Say something," his voice suddenly lowered, "Say something to me. Where are you? I'll send someone to pick you up. Come back and stay by my side!"

"Qin Qihan," she interrupted him, her voice still calm, "I told you, you should focus on recovering. I don't want to go back right now."

"You're just saying that out of anger," he said, his voice trembling. "Come back and we'll talk things out. If you want to leave, fine, we'll go together. You can't just leave me like this!"