I'm sorry, but your fiancé loves me.

The rain started in the evening, initially just a few raindrops hitting the ground, pattering softly.

Zhou Yao parked the car on the side of the road without turning off the engine. The windshield wipers swept across the windshield, and the street scene outside the window switched back and forth between blurry and clear. He looked at the red light in front of him, and a person kept going back and forth in his mind.

He first met Yun Muqian at Qin Qihan's company. He was immediately impressed by her generosity and confidence. He was the young master of the Zhou family, and everyone in the company treated him like a child. Only she treated him like an adult when she spoke to him.

After he left, his assistant chased after him and said that the secretary had made him a cup of coffee. He took it and that night, lying in bed, looking at the empty and clean coffee cup on his bedside table, he felt that he had probably been bought off by a cup of coffee.

After that, they gradually became acquainted, went out for meals a few times, and chatted about all sorts of things.

Yun Muqian was different from other girls he had met. When she listened to people, she was really listening. Her gaze was fixed on your face, steady and unwavering. She would nod occasionally and smile sometimes, making you feel that she understood every word you said.

She is gentle, but that gentleness is not deliberate; it permeates every detail.

Once, he complained to her that his family was too strict, saying that he was no longer a child, and his mother would call him every night to ask if he was coming home for dinner.

Yun Muqian simply poured him a glass of water and placed it beside him, saying, "Your family does this because they love you. It will be fine when you grow up a little more."

The "la" sound had a slight upward inflection at the end, carrying a coaxing tone, like soothing a sulking child. His initial dissatisfaction vanished instantly, and he even felt a little embarrassed.

She never said anything harsh to him. When she was with him, she just spent time with him, talking about movies, books, and what songs he was listening to lately. He thought she was clean and straightforward, and that she didn't want his money or anything.

But tonight, he learned too many things he shouldn't have known.

The rain was getting heavier. Zhou Yao parked the car outside Yun Muqian's apartment complex and turned off the engine.

He didn't have an umbrella, and the rain soaked him instantly when he opened the car door.

Rainwater streamed down his hair, along his forehead, past his brow bone, and into his eyes, stinging them and making him squint. He closed the car door, locked the car, and stood in the rain, looking at the outline of the building.

He recalled many years ago.

The image shows the skinny, short-haired girl squatting down to pick up her textbooks after he pushed her. That day, she was wearing a blue and white school uniform, with a small, faded stain on the cuff.

After her backpack strap broke, she didn't pick up the backpack. Instead, she carefully stacked the loose textbooks one by one, held them in her arms, and then stood up and left.

He would occasionally see her on campus after that.

During recess, she would stand at the back of the line, with the people in front of her blocking most of her face. In the cafeteria, she would sit in a corner with a simple meal in front of her, eating slowly, occasionally glancing up at the sycamore trees outside the window before continuing to eat.

Later, when he met her, he always liked to tease her. He didn't understand anything back then and thought it was no big deal, but now he wishes he could kill himself.

Her name was Jiang Xiaohua back then. He repeated those three words to himself. Rain dripped down his chin, pattering onto the ground. When that face overlapped with Yun Muqian's, he suddenly realized—

He had never seriously recalled Jiang Xiaohua's eyes, but now, standing downstairs in this building, everything suddenly came back very clearly.

He walked into the building step by step. The stainless steel walls of the elevator reflected his disheveled appearance. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his shirt was soaked and stuck to his skin, and water dripped down his trouser legs to the ground, spreading into a small puddle at his feet.

He called Yun Muqian, and she immediately came downstairs, holding an umbrella. She was wearing a loose beige sweater, with her hair loosely draped over her shoulders. She was stunned when she saw him like this, and her brows furrowed slightly.

"Zhou Yao? Why are you so wet—"

She tiptoed and gently wiped his wet hair with her sleeve, very lightly, from his forehead to behind his ears, one stroke at a time.

"You're not using an umbrella either," she said, wiping her hands, a hint of helpless amusement in her voice. "You need to find shelter from the rain."

He knew that her gentleness towards him was a way to use him and gain his trust, but he was still willing to do it.

After drying her hair, she reached out to wipe the rain off his face. As she looked up at him, warm light fell into her pupils, shattering into tiny specks of light on her dark brown iris.

He had never looked into anyone's eyes like this before.

He suddenly realized he was certain.

It's her.

He had never really looked into Jiang Xiaohua's eyes before, because he didn't care what she looked like back then.

But at this moment, as he gazed at Yun Muqian and looked at the gentle, reassuring light in her eyes, he suddenly realized something he had never been able to understand before: why he felt so familiar with Yun Muqian, a sense of familiarity that had been there since their first meeting.

That sense of familiarity didn't come from Yun Muqian, but from Jiang Xiaohua.

The girl he pushed to the ground and made to squat down to pick up her textbook glanced at him before getting up to leave.

That one glance, so brief it was almost nonexistent, but something inside him remembered it.

She is Jiang Xiaohua.

She changed her name, her face, and her entire life, but the thing in her eyes remained the same—that quiet, unyielding light.

"What's wrong with you?" Yun Muqian looked at him. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Zhou Yao didn't answer. He reached out and pulled her into his arms.

Yun Muqian was caught off guard by his embrace, her body stiffened slightly, and the umbrella in her hand fell to the ground. She was completely encircled in his arms, her face pressed against his soaked chest. She tried to break free, but he held her too tightly, so tightly that she could feel his heartbeat in his chest.

"Zhou Yao—"

"sorry."

His voice came down from above her head, muffled by the sound of rain, with a heavy nasal tone.

Rainwater was still dripping down his hair, onto her shoulders, and seeping into her sweater.

"I've done so many stupid things before," he said, his chin resting on the top of her head, his voice broken. "So many. I don't know how to say it. But I know I was wrong now. I know it too late. But I really do know I was wrong."

Yun Muqian was held in his arms, and her body slowly softened from its stiffness. She slowly raised her hands, her fingers gently clenching the wet fabric of his shirt on his back, as if she didn't know whether she should clench it tightly or not.

"What did you do?" Her voice came from the spot pressed against his chest, muffled.

Zhou Yao didn't answer, but hugged her even tighter, as if afraid that if he let go, she would walk out of the corridor and disappear completely, just like that afternoon many years ago.

"I'm sorry," he said over and over, his voice growing softer and softer until the last three words disappeared into the sound of the rain, leaving only his slightly trembling breath and the violently beating heart beneath her palm.

The rain was still falling, and the light from the porch cast their shadows together on the ground, making it impossible to tell who was whose.

Yun Muqian was held in his arms. She didn't push him away, nor did she ask why he apologized. She simply stood quietly in his embrace. The overhead light cast their shadows on the floor tiles. She simply said:

"Be careful not to catch a cold if you stand in the rain."

Zhou Yao closed his eyes; he decided not to ask. He decided not to expose her. If she was willing to continue facing him with Yun Muqian's face, her name, and her entire life, then he would pretend he knew nothing.

He owes her this, and she can use her however she wants.

Even if every bit of tenderness she showed him was fake, even if every time she smiled at him she was secretly calculating her next move, he accepted it.

Now he stands here, soaked to the bone, and she tiptoes to wipe the water from his face. Even if it's fake, he feels his life has been worthwhile.

She told him to let go and go inside to take shelter from the rain, but Zhou Yao didn't. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, the wet, cold strands of hair on his forehead clinging to her neck, his voice muffled and hoarse:

"You're so kind."

His shoulders were trembling. "You're too good to me. You shouldn't be so good to me."

Yun Muqian slowly raised her hand from his back, placing it on the back of his head. Her fingers ran through his wet hair as she softly comforted him:

"What's wrong? Why are you suddenly saying things like that?"

Zhou Yao did not answer. He had never seriously thought about what those things meant before. He just felt that he should not like the person his sister disliked either. He felt that the person was an eyesore, superfluous, and annoying. He felt that it was only right to embarrass her by following his sister.

But now, he truly hates himself.

As he stood in the rainy night, holding Yun Muqian in his arms, those memories surged back like a tidal wave, overwhelming his chest. He felt he no longer deserved to live.

"Zhou Yao," she said softly, "what happened to you? You can tell me."

Zhou Yao shook his head, his forehead rubbing against her shoulder. His wet hair soaked through her sweater, leaving a large water stain. He could hear his breathing trembling, and he squeezed out a few words:

"I did some things in the past. Now that I think about them, I regret them."

Yun Muqian paused for a moment. "Who hasn't made mistakes when they were young?"

"My mistake wasn't just any mistake," he said. "It was terrible, really terrible."

Yun Muqian was silent for a while. Rain was pouring down from the eaves. She said softly, "Then you should just not do it again."

Zhou Yao's nose suddenly stung with tears. He lifted his face from her shoulder, his eyes red and glistening with a thin layer of moisture. He looked at Yun Muqian's face and said, "Look at me."

He said in a hoarse voice, "Look at me and tell me you don't hate me."

Yun Muqian blinked. "Why would I hate you?"

"Just say it, just say it."

"I don't hate you."

He pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling, one deep, one shallow. He closed his eyes, his voice broken and incoherent: "You're so good."

"You're really... too good. So good that I don't deserve you."

Yun Muqian's hand landed on his cheek, her palm pressed against his cold, damp skin, her thumb gently brushing away the raindrops clinging to his cheekbone. Her palm was warm, so warm it made him want to cry.

The extreme pain tore him in two, and he realized that he could never reconcile with himself in this lifetime.