Even though Yang Wenfu harbored suspicions that his wife was having an affair, he didn’t want her to misunderstand his sincere intentions today. He said, “No, I’m truly apologizing to you from the bottom of my heart today. But what about you? Whose call was that? I ask, and you refuse to say, hiding it time and again. What husband wouldn’t start overthinking? Ruoxi, tell me—who was on the phone?”
“You don’t need to know whose call it was. Anyway, I’m telling you, I didn’t cheat. Believe me or not, that’s up to you.”
Liu Ruoxi’s face was as cold as ice, her husband’s suspicions nothing short of the ultimate humiliation for any wife.
To Yang Wenfu’s ears, his wife’s words sounded like nothing more than excuses, signs of guilt. He couldn’t hold back any longer and raised his voice. “Ruoxi, I’m asking you one last time—who was on the phone?”
“No comment.”
Liu Ruoxi tossed out the icy words and turned to leave, only for her husband to block her path.
Yang Wenfu stood in front of his wife, his gaze locked onto her, the rage inside him finally erupting. He bellowed, “Whose call was it? Ruoxi, tell me—who’s the other man?”
The question had become his inner demon, relentlessly tormenting him as he demanded answers from his wife.
“Get out of my way.”
Liu Ruoxi’s face was terrifyingly cold, showing no fear of her husband whatsoever.
Her husband’s words had pierced her heart. She was seething with her own anger now—wrongly accused with no way to clear her name. How could he possibly understand the agony in her soul?
“I’m not letting you go until you explain yourself.”
“I told you, I didn’t do anything. Believe it or don’t.”
“If you didn’t, then just tell me clearly. If there’s no affair, why are you afraid for me to know?”
“I’m saying it one last time—get out of my way.”
Her husband’s endless questioning finally ignited the fury blazing within Liu Ruoxi. Her face was frigid, her gaze upon him filled with utter disappointment.
That look in his wife’s eyes stabbed deeply into Yang Wenfu’s heart. He couldn’t understand it—truly couldn’t. If there was no affair, why hide it from him? It was a vicious logical loop, trapping him with no escape.
Faced with his wife’s icy stare, a bitter smile tugged at Yang Wenfu’s lips. He stepped aside, and the sharp click of his wife’s footsteps hurried past him.
The couple brushed past each other like total strangers.
In the end, what had started as a surprise turned into baseless argument and suspicion—all because of a single phone call that clung like a shadow.
…
A few minutes earlier, right after his father uttered those words of forgiveness, Yang Haoran sprang into action with his plan. He dialed the number for his mother’s secret WeChat account. With Yaoyao right there beside him, he pretended to be scrolling on his phone, shielding the screen from his little sister.
Fortunately, Yaoyao had been peeking through the door crack the whole time and hadn’t noticed his subtle move.
S Girl’s plan was astonishingly simple: one phone call would suffice.
His mother knew the WeChat account was his, but she didn’t know that he knew it was hers. So she wouldn’t pick up.
As long as she didn’t answer at such a crucial moment, the misunderstanding would take root. What he didn’t realize was that his father’s own infidelity had made him hypersensitive to such things, priming his mind to jump to the worst conclusions.
Of course, there was a downside: calling repeatedly at a pivotal time like this risked exposing that he knew it was her.
S Girl had explained this to him. If he and his mother kept things as they were, meaningful progress would be impossible.
Breaking through that mother-son barrier would actually be a good thing for him.
After all, his mother had sent him provocative photos on that secret account and degradingly called him “Master.” He didn’t know why she’d done it, but it was clear she had seduced her own son first. That was solid leverage, undeniable dirt.
Even if she realized he’d figured her out, she couldn’t possibly answer that call.
She’d have to pretend she didn’t know, and with this call as groundwork, he could press the advantage and tear away that flimsy veil.
Then, with the evidence in hand, he could claim his mother, turn her into his sex slave, and even train her to become the Bitch under his crotch.
“Was that your call? Why didn’t Mom pick up?” As Yang Haoran indulged in visions of a glorious future, Yaoyao’s voice pulled him back to reality.
He snapped to attention and met a pair of clear, crystalline eyes fixed intently on him.
Yaoyao! How did she know? Or had his so-called subtle action been obvious to his sister, who had been watching him all along? Yang Haoran noticed that Yaoyao’s face lacked its usual sweetness around him. Instead, there was a rare chill, just like their mother’s.
Her pure, lovely face and bright, limpid eyes glistened with tears, making her look heartbreakingly pitiful.
Clearly, the argument between their parents had shaken her badly. And in her eyes, he was the culprit behind it all.
Seeing the tears welling in Yaoyao’s eyes softened Yang Haoran’s heart. He reached out as he always did to stroke her hair and comfort her, but she shoved his hand away. He wasn’t upset, speaking gently instead. “Yaoyao, don’t blame big brother. I told you before—I’m a total bad guy. Mom and Dad can’t get back together like before, but hey, aside from not being able to go on family trips, we’ve gotten by just fine all these years, right?”
“Why didn’t Mom pick up your call?” Yang Mengyao latched onto the question relentlessly, mirroring her current stance toward him. His comforting words had some effect, but not much.
“It’s complicated—can’t explain it all right now. Be good, my little Yaoyao treasure. I’ll tell you everything later, okay? Don’t be mad?” Yang Haoran’s tone was gentler than ever. He raised his right hand again to stroke her silky hair, and this time, Yaoyao didn’t push him away.
As her brother caressed her hair so tenderly, Yang Mengyao felt even more aggrieved. Tears spilled from her eyes. She threw herself into his arms, pounding his chest with her small fists. She said nothing, only letting out soft, kitten-like whimpers of hurt.
She hated her brother.
She loved her brother beyond reason.
Even though she wanted to blame him for shattering their family’s harmony, she couldn’t harden her heart under his gentle comfort.
She hated her own spineless softness, yet she drowned helplessly in the warmth of his embrace.
Humans were, after all, bundles of contradictions.
…
Liu Ruoxi’s face was etched with frost, her rage toward her son burning fiercely as she stormed back to her bedroom alone. With a resounding bang, she slammed the door shut.
She snatched up her phone and dialed her best friend Shen Qing without a second’s hesitation. The moment the call connected, she demanded coldly, “Shen Qing, did you tell Haoran who I am?”
Even in her fury, she hadn’t lost her head. If her son knew about her secret WeChat account, the most likely source was her friend spilling the beans.
On the other end, hearing Ruoxi’s immediate barrage of anger upon picking up, Shen Qing could sense the suppressed rage in her voice. She dropped her usual carefree attitude and replied calmly, “Hear me out first. Haoran already knows about me, so your identity isn’t a secret to him anymore—it’s just a matter of time, right?”
“Besides, that system task is almost up. It’s time for the final phase. Ruoxi, don’t hate me for saying this, but ever since we loaded that wicked Fallen Angel Game, we should’ve seen this day coming.”
Silence stretched from the other side, as if Ruoxi were digesting her words or had nothing to say in response.
Shen Qing pressed on. “I haven’t told Haoran anything about the Fallen Angel Game itself. Whether you tell him or not—that’s for you, as his mother, to decide.”
“Ruoxi, it’s time. Have a proper talk with Haoran.”
