Chapter 91: Then, if I go down on one knee and propose, it wouldn’t be beneath me, would it?

A dozen minutes later, inside the man's car.

This was Song Mi’s second time sitting in his vehicle, the same model as her own dark green Land Rover. One had to admit, they truly matched in every way, even down to their taste in cars.

Thus, Song Mi understood perfectly well that the man’s urgency to propose was simply because he had sensed her desire to break things off. He didn’t know her past, nor her role as a tool, but he grasped her emotions with uncanny precision.

Her decision to withdraw had begun after the Wang Lisha incident. It was a Monday then; today was Saturday. Barely a week had passed! Yet, how long had they even been together? Song Mi knew he had genuine feelings, but regardless, their relationship only spanned two months—even counting from that night in Sorrento, three at most.

Three months—nothing more. How many more three-month stretches would his life hold? Cutting losses promptly, drawing a clear line, gradually letting her fade from memory—so that in the future, whatever he heard about her would be as irrelevant as news of a stranger. That, she believed, was best for him.

Song Mi was confident: with her unwavering determination, it would not be difficult to disappoint him utterly, until they became strangers for life. Yet, she liked this man; she wanted him. More than once, she’d imagined spending every day with him ever after.

She was a tool, but not a saint. She had her own desires and weaknesses, and in this moment, she wondered—not for the first time—whether there was any way to change the fate of Four Seas Group and herself three years hence, to carve out a possibility for them.

Too risky. Too arduous.

In truth, she was not free even now. No matter how much Old Master Shen trusted her, he would never fully relinquish control. A face flashed across her mind, but she severed that thought harshly.

Quickly, Song Mi turned to the man in the driver’s seat. “Lawyer Wen, what is it you wish to say to me?”

Wen Yanli’s expression was cold and austere, his aura almost chilling in its isolation. Hearing her voice, he didn’t turn to look at her.

Everyone has their dignity. Especially him—pride and aloofness ran deep in his bones. To be neglected, rejected, mocked for being lovesick, even dumped—these were all experiences he’d never had before.

Last night, he parked outside her apartment and sat in his car all night. By dawn, he had made up his mind. Yet, when Lu Zhiyuan called, saying she was there too, he sped over without hesitation.

Even if she hadn’t been there, he would have come. But at the very moment he glimpsed her silhouette, something inside him collapsed.

The decision he’d made at dawn had been in vain.

That morning, Shen Yanye had come to see him about the IOU and the case, making it clear there was no room for negotiation. But Shen Yanye dangled a secret before him.

He asked if Wen Yanli wanted to know why Old Master Shen had chosen Song Mi as chairman of Four Seas Group. If he wanted to know why Song Mi’s term in the will was three years. Why Old Master Shen hadn’t entrusted the so-called second will, scheduled for three years later, to Lawyer Wen Yuan for safekeeping.

Knowing it was a trap, Wen Yanli did not ask. Shen Yanye said no more, but left a hook with confidence: “No rush. Before I step into the defendant’s seat, Lawyer Wen can ask me anytime.”

“I guarantee you’ll be interested,” Shen Yanye added. “Oh, and I advise you not to get too deep with Song Mi. There’ll be no outcome!”

What did Shen Yanye know? What did that final “no outcome” mean?

He thought that once he made his decision, Song Mi would become irrelevant to him. But upon seeing her again, just one glance told him he was incapable of letting go.

Whether he was caught up in the excitement of this phase, driven by a man’s desire to conquer, or she was right and he was simply lovesick—it didn’t matter.

At least, he wanted clarity.

With that in mind, he kept his gaze fixed ahead, though in truth his eyes focused on nothing. He parted his thin lips and asked, “Why did you come to the hospital?”

Since at least two minutes passed after Song Mi’s initial question before he replied, she thought he might say something decisive. But unexpectedly, he just asked matter-of-factly.

Yet, as cold as his demeanor, his voice seemed to have been soaked in icy water.

Song Mi answered without hesitation, “A follow-up check.”

“There’s something I never told you,” she continued, not from doubt but as if steeling herself for what had to be said. “Even if that night, I hadn’t drunk the drugged champagne Lu Zhizhi handed me, even if I hadn’t clung to you under the influence, causing that bloody scene…”

“The child’s fate would have been the same.” As she spoke, she recalled the little yellow bean spotted on the ultrasound in Qiao Weiwei’s belly. “Because I never intended to keep that child.”

Her tone was flat, devoid of emotion. Anyone listening would think her cold and heartless.

At that moment, the man finally turned, his deep, icy gaze fixed upon her.

Song Mi, unfazed, went on, “You should remember, after Sorrento, I took the pill.”

“If it was an accident, it should have been dealt with immediately.” She frowned briefly, then relaxed—a clear sign she considered it merely a minor inconvenience.

Wen Yanli stared at her, studying her intently.

Seeing her lips move again, defining their feelings and relationship with a detached voice, “You needn’t feel our relationship ought to change because of this fleeting child, nor that you must make amends to me.”

“The child is gone. You bear no responsibility and owe me nothing,” Song Mi smiled, carefree. “And I owe you nothing in return.”

“Even if I had the operation to remove the child, I don’t need to explain it to you.” Song Mi met his gaze with clear amber eyes, her face calm, as if she felt no guilt or pain.

For a moment, Wen Yanli felt only one thing: defeat.

Meeting her, he had lost utterly.

She called them evenly matched, masters in a duel. But in truth, he was not her equal.

In coldness and detachment, he fell far short.

He had always known this.

So, his internal shock now was not as great as she imagined. He also knew she said these things precisely to wound him.

“I know.” It was the first time they spoke of the child, or admitted to having had one between them. Wen Yanli felt his heart lose warmth at an unnatural speed. “Why do you think the surgery was suddenly canceled that day?”

Song Mi felt a jolt inside.

“That night, before I knew you’d been drugged, I even thought your passion was just a ploy to make me send away the child myself—so I acted without hesitation!”

His dark eyes were frozen, lifeless.

He thought he could lose, and accept losing, because perhaps from the start, he had known the imbalance in their relationship.

But now he realized he was far less magnanimous than he’d imagined. In matters of the heart, he was not only stubborn, but counted every ounce.

He gave his heart, and wanted hers in return.

He hurt, and wanted her to hurt too. “Was I too immersed in the role?”

Soon, Wen Yanli mimicked her earlier smile, raising the corner of his lips. “But you can’t blame me, Ms. Song—you truly are a formidable opponent.”

“Why did you take Lu Zhizhi’s stab?”

“Why did you risk your wound reopening the next day to see Yin Kaifeng?”

“You’re a businesswoman, I’m a lawyer,” his handsome lips moved, his face displaying the sharpness and coldness she had seen in the Shen family’s mourning hall and in the hotel elevator—an expression absent for so long. “In cunning and calculation, neither of us is lacking.”

“Since you were willing to risk your life to play this game of love with me, then my kneeling to propose can hardly be considered beneath me!”

He lowered his gaze and laughed quietly. “After all, I have truly reached above my station!”

Song Mi said nothing, watching him.

He spoke again, “I won’t see you off, Ms. Song.”

…

She opened the door and stepped out.

Behind her, the man’s car started, speeding away.

When she returned to her own Phantom, Song Mi’s face showed no excess emotion.

Yet her heart wavered uncontrollably.

It was over.

She knew with absolute clarity—their relationship had ended.

Wasn’t this exactly what she had wanted?

To get what she sought.

Why, then, did she feel so… rootless?

So uncertain.

So unreal.

As if her heart had a hole, something leaking out in haste.

After Ye Zhao started driving, Qiao Weiwei, seated beside her, put down her phone and spoke, “Mi, what did Lawyer Wen say to you?”

“Did you settle things? Are you two alright now?”

Song Mi glanced at her. “Where shall I take you?”

Qiao Weiwei frowned, “Mi, have you forgotten? We agreed to visit my brother.”

Song Mi curved her lips, saying nothing.

She tried to adjust herself all the way, but clearly, with little effect.

The man’s desolate gaze, his mocking and sharp words, lingered in her subconscious—banished from her brow, but returning to her heart, never truly gone.

Qiao Weiwei talked to her, but she was mostly distracted.

She received a call from Lin Shen on the way—Mrs. Shen Yanfeng wanted to see her.

Assistant Lin also messaged, saying arrangements were made: tomorrow noon she would visit Lin Shuxiang, then meet Fang Chengyan to discuss the transfer of shares.

Song Mi found it hard to focus.

In the end, she chose to close her eyes and rest.

But as soon as she did, the man’s face filled her mind.

For the first time, Song Mi felt as if all rationality had failed her, lost in a boundless void with no way out.

It was not good.

Yet she had no power to change it.

Let her be weak for a while, indulge for a moment, like any ordinary woman fresh from heartbreak.

…

Elsewhere, Wen Yanli floored the accelerator, his car speeding away without slowing.

Saturday, the roads were clear enough; without breaking any rules, he pushed his speed to the limit.

At an intersection, seeing the light turn yellow, his eyes narrowed, and with a screech, the brakes brought the car to a halt just at the line.

There were no pedestrians crossing.

His seatbelt pulled him back sharply, but he remained steady. Throughout, his frozen heart did not thaw with the rush of adrenaline.

It was over.

Between him and Song Mi.

There would be no further contact.

No ties remained.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, until the cars behind honked, snapping him back to reality. He restarted the car.

Just then, his phone rang for the second time, bringing him back to himself. He looked down at the number on the screen.