Chapter 7: Mr. Ji, today is not the eighth day

  No surgery was scheduled, and Zhan Yan spent the whole afternoon in a daze in her office. Before she knew it, night had fallen outside the window. Suddenly remembering the banquet that Ji Wei Yang wanted her to attend with him, she hastily got up, and suddenly felt dizzy, stumbling a few steps before barely managing to steady herself.

  Breakfast was just a mess, lunch wasn't eaten at all, her head was dizzy and heavy, her stomach hurt badly, and her heart also hurt badly. She took out her phone and dialed Ji Wei Yang's number.

  The phone rang for a long time before it was answered, and on the other end came a familiar, low-pitched voice with a magnetic tone. "What's up?" he asked.

  "I may not be able to accompany you to the banquet."

  A brief silence, and then the sound of breathing echoed at both ends of the line. "What's the reason?"

  I'm not feeling well.

  It was silent again, then he responded with an emotionless "uh-huh" before hanging up the phone.

  The receiver was filled with a busy tone, and Zhan Yan stared blankly at it before letting out a bitter laugh. She had long been accustomed to his indifference, and in the beginning, she would still cry sorrowfully. But three years later, today, she didn't even have the energy to cry anymore. Zhan Yan thought that if she were to die, he might perhaps show some reaction.

  After work, Xian Yan slowly took off her white coat and changed into a suspender skirt, sitting on the chair in a daze. For some reason, she was very resistant to going back to that cold and icy home. Then, Du Xiao Mo rushed in with a gust of wind, dragging her to go to the bar with her.

  With a drunken smile, she returned home at midnight. She fished out the key and entered without turning on the light. She walked along the wall towards the bedroom, moving with ease in the darkness. For three years, one thousand ninety-five days and nights, she had caressed every corner of this house alone.

  "Are you back?" A low, gloomy male voice suddenly emerged from the darkness, carrying a unique chill. Without any warning, it was indeed very startling, making one's hair stand on end.

  Zhan Yan's body trembled, and she subconsciously stopped in her tracks. With the weak moonlight casting through the window, she saw that on the oatmeal-colored sofa in the living room, the man was wearing a deep gray suit, blending perfectly into the darkness. His tall body sank into the sofa, slowly lighting up a cigarette, and as the flame flickered, Zhan Yan saw that three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his robust chest.

  Zhan Yan leaned her body against the cold wall, she was exhausted and really didn't have any extra energy to deal with him.

  The atmosphere suddenly fell into a dead silence, she didn't speak, he accompanied the silence, and between them was like a silent confrontation. In the end, Zhan Yan still couldn't hold his breath, and spoke first, his tone inevitably laced with mockery, "Mr. Ji, today isn't the eighth, is it?"

  "This is my home," he replied, meaning that no matter when he came back, her door must always be open to him.

  The corners of his mouth were slightly raised, with a sarcastic smile. What made him think he could come and go as he pleased? To him, this place was more like a hotel than home, and she was just a free bed companion.

  "You can do as you like, I'm tired." She said emotionlessly and turned around to walk towards the bedroom.

  She stretched out her hand to turn the door handle, and as soon as the door opened a crack, a force suddenly came from behind, bringing with it an icy chill. She was already pinned against the door by a heavy body.