Dr. Tingting had already clocked out.

After the pinkie swear with the maid, my mood lifted.
I turned on the TV, watching a bland idol drama, unsure what was appealing about it.

The maid was engrossed, completely absorbed.

In the show, a guy pinned a girl to a table, delivering cheesy lines.
He didn’t seem tired, and they were practically kissing—the heroine looked like she was about to be assaulted!

If it were me, I’d stab him to protect my dignity.

I faced a dilemma I couldn’t resolve: I didn’t want to return to the mansion—it felt oppressive.
But I wanted to go to school, to make something of myself, to buy my own big house!

And I missed Zeng Xin—it’d been five days.

Caught in indecision, I sighed, grabbed my clothes, and went to shower.

The warm water cascaded from head to toe.
I’d grown to enjoy showers—unlike winter days when, unless filthy, I wouldn’t risk a cold by bathing in the river.

I showered for a long time.
When I came out, the maid had ordered dessert.
She was unpacking it: “Zhixia, hungry? Come eat.”

Knowing I loved taro, she got me taro sago dessert and some braised chicken wings.

The sago was warm, not too hot, perfect for my slight hunger.
Wearing disposable gloves, I savored the meaty wings.

The maid’s lips curved slightly: “Like it?”

I licked my lips: “Love it!”

My heart felt sweet—she was so good to me!

She wiped my mouth with a tissue, smiling gently: “When our little Zhixia’s okay, I’ll make you braised beef slices and fish balls at home.”

I froze, panicking: “I don’t want to go back!”

She frowned: “Because of the Young Master?”

Biting my lip, I nodded.
I had to face this issue eventually.

She looked thoughtful, her face clouded: “I’ll call the Young Master and talk it over.”

It wasn’t about talking.
I feared him to my core.
Every time I saw him, I saw Grandma collapsing five years ago, that night when I was too cowardly to fight him.

Surviving five years, fighting him now was pointless.
When I hit and kicked him earlier, he stood unmoved, indifferent to my scratches.

I’d attacked with a do-or-die mindset, fearless.
But his uncaring expression afterward—that’s what terrified me.

He’d said killing me was as easy as crushing an ant.
Would he care about an ant?
That’s what he meant.

I hunched my shoulders.
The maid went to make the call.
I hoped for good news, but what would “good” even mean?

Being let go meant returning to the streets, facing dangers like the bun shop owner.
Staying meant facing his terror daily.

Utterly confused, I kept eating the dessert and wings—eat him broke!

She was gone a while.
When she returned, only one wing remained—I’d saved it for her.

Seeing it, she recalled what I’d said during the day: I’d share food with those I trusted.

She brightened: “Zhixia, I’m not hungry. You eat.”

“Really?” I asked, half-doubting.

She nodded: “I ate dinner, and I have dessert too.”

I smiled sweetly: “Thanks, Sister!”

I nibbled the slightly cool wing.
She tilted her head, smiling warmly: “Good girl.”

I blinked, returning her smile.

By midnight, I was ready to sleep.
She reminded me to brush my teeth properly.
I got up, heading to the bathroom.

While brushing, I wondered how her call with the wolf went.

Curious and anxious.

Back in bed, she tucked me in, adjusting the AC with the remote: “Goodnight, Zhixia.”

Clutching the blanket, I nodded obediently: “Goodnight.”

I tossed for half an hour before sleeping.

The next morning, after breakfast with the maid, Dr. Tingting came for therapy, praising my improved state and asking if I wanted to go out in the afternoon.

I was about to nod when the door opened.
The wolf stormed in, face blank, repeating yesterday’s words: “Discharge. You too.”
He pointed at Dr. Tingting.

His sudden move shattered my fragile defenses.
I dove under the blanket, curling up.

He meant business this time—too sudden.
I wasn’t ready to go back, to face a murderer!

Trembling under the blanket, I hugged myself.
A loud bang—Dr. Tingting threw her clipboard aside, glaring at him: “Still haven’t made that appointment? Zhixia needs a few more days.”

She was implying he was sick!

His face twitched, fist clenched.
The maid stepped in: “Young Master, Zhixia can’t go back yet.”

He slowly turned to her, eyes brimming with menace, then glared at Dr. Tingting: “Discharge now.”

The maid’s heart sank, looking to Dr. Tingting: “Doctor, can you stay at our place a few days? We’ll pay a month’s salary daily.”

Dr. Tingting glanced at the wolf, then asked: “Why treat her at home?”

The maid’s eyes flicked: “Better environment. I can cook for Zhixia, and she can play her favorite basketball.”

She sold me out!

What communication?
It was useless, all nonsense!
If no one stopped him, I’d be dragged back to the mansion!

I had to rely on myself.

I threw off the blanket, my small frame facing him despite my fear: “I… I’m not well! My… my head hurts!”

He listened to my weak excuse, his murderous gaze unchanged, identical to that despairing night five years ago—ruthless, as if he’d pull a gun and inflict irreparable harm, killing me.

Grandma’s blood-splattered death replayed in my mind, over and over.

Dr. Tingting’s hesitation mirrored Grandma’s helplessness back then.

My heart raced, fear consuming me, limbs trembling.
My mind held only Grandma’s death, nothing else.
Suffocation hit, I couldn’t breathe, pounding my chest to keep my breath from stopping.

“No amount of money changes this!” Dr. Tingting hugged me: “Zhixia, don’t panic, relax. I won’t let him hurt you…”

My shaking hands clutched my head, fear intensifying.
Slowly, I stopped hearing, the world silent, blank.

The maid’s face changed: “Young Master, let it go. Zhixia’s not ready to leave.”

“Overdramatic,” the wolf snapped, ignoring them.
He pried Dr. Tingting’s hands off, pushed her shoulder, and forcibly carried me away!

Dr. Tingting stumbled into the bedside table, knocking over a thermos, losing balance and sitting down.

She froze, then stood: “Do this again, and I’ll call the police for illegal detention.”

He stopped, glancing back: “She’s in my household registry.”

Meaning we were listed as siblings.

“You!” Dr. Tingting fumed.
The maid blocked him, distressed: “Young Master, can’t you see Zhixia’s trembling?”

“So what?” he countered.

It was out of control.
Dr. Tingting followed behind.

My eyes were vacant, like a dead person’s.
I didn’t know what happened, lying in the backseat under Dr. Tingting’s care.

“Zhixia?” She patted my face.

No response.
I stared blankly at the car roof, thoughtless, a puppet at their mercy.

She froze, shouting: “Stop! Back to the hospital!”

The wolf drove, ignoring her, not even glancing back.

The maid, in the front passenger seat, asked urgently: “Doctor, what’s wrong?”

“Possible autism. Turn back to the hospital!” Dr. Tingting was frantic.
The wolf didn’t react, focused ahead.
She slapped his seat: “Turn around! She’s in trouble!”

No matter how she shouted, it was useless.
She was dragged to the mansion with us.