Ruofei's POV:
Seven months later
"The twins are doing beautifully, Mr. Huang."
Dr. Park's voice is warm as she moves the ultrasound wand across my swollen belly, her eyes fixed on the monitor.
"The first baby is measuring right on track, and the second one is just slightly smaller, which is completely normal for twins."
I watch the screen, mesmerized by the two distinct forms moving within me.
Even after months of regular checkups, the sight never gets old.
These are my babies—real, alive, growing stronger every day.
"Their heartbeats?" Wenli asks from his position beside me, hand gripping mine tightly.
"Perfect. Strong and steady." Dr. Park smiles. "You're doing an excellent job taking care of them, Ruofei."
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
At seven and a half months pregnant, I cry at everything.
Happy news makes me cry.
Sad news makes me cry.
Commercials about puppies make me cry.
Pregnancy hormones are hell.
"Based on their current development and your progression," Dr. Park continues, clicking through measurements, "I'd estimate delivery around March 15th. Give or take a week, of course. Twins like to come on their own schedule."
March 15th. Less than six weeks away.
The reality hits me like a physical force, and I have to take several deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating.
"Six weeks," I whisper.
"Six weeks," Dr. Park confirms. She sets down the wand and hands me tissues to wipe the gel from my stomach. "Which brings me to something we need to discuss."
The seriousness in her tone makes my stomach clench.
"You're bonded," she says gently. "And you've been separated from your alpha for the entire pregnancy. That's... unusual. And potentially problematic."
"How problematic?" Wenli asks, his protective instincts kicking in.
"For the babies? Not at all. They're thriving." She pulls up a chair, sitting so we're at eye level. "But for Ruofei, the delivery is going to be more difficult than it would be otherwise."
"How much more difficult?" I manage.
"The bond wants you together, especially during major events like childbirth. Being separated during delivery goes against every biological imperative you have. Your body will fight it, even if your mind has accepted the situation." She pauses. "Even with a C-section, which I'm recommending given that you're carrying twins, you'll experience more pain than you would if your alpha were present."
"How much more pain?" Wenli presses.
"Significantly more. The bond will interpret the separation during such a vulnerable time as a threat, which will cause your body to tense up, making everything harder." She looks at me with sympathy. "I can manage it with medication, but I want you to be prepared. This won't be easy."
I press my hand to my stomach, feeling one of the twins shift under my palm. "I can handle pain."
"I know you can." Her expression softens. "But Ruofei, have you considered reaching out to your alpha? Even just to let him know about the pregnancy? Having him present for the birth would make everything safer and easier for you."
The suggestion sends panic spiraling through my chest. "No. I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both." I sit up carefully, accepting Wenli's help as I maneuver my ungainly body off the examination table. "It's
complicated."
"It usually is." Dr. Park doesn't push, just makes notes in my chart. "But the offer stands. If you change your mind, even at the last minute, having your alpha present would help."
I nod, but we both know I won't change my mind.
I can't.
The drive back to Wenli's family home is quiet.
I stare out the window, watching Seoul pass by in a blur of afternoon sunlight and cherry blossoms just beginning to bloom.
Seven months. I've been in Korea for seven months.
The pregnancy shows now—impossible to hide beneath even the loosest clothing.
My belly is round and prominent, the twins making their presence known with constant movement.
My back aches perpetually, my feet are swollen, and I'm exhausted all the time despite sleeping ten hours a night.
But I'm also happier than I've been in years.
The twins are real now.
Not just a concept or a complication, but actual tiny humans I'm going to meet soon.
I've spent hours imagining what they'll look like, whether they'll have my eyes or Qingyue's hair, if they'll be quiet or loud, calm or energetic.
I've started preparing a nursery in the room next to mine—soft yellow walls, two cribs, shelves already filling with books and toys that Auntie keeps buying despite my protests.
I'm building a life here.
A safe, peaceful life for me and my children.
Without Qingyue.
The thought still hurts, like pressing on a bruise that never quite heals.
The bond is a constant ache in my chest, worse now than it's ever been.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night gasping, feeling like I'm drowning in the need to go to him.
But I can't.
For everyone's safety, I remind myself. This is for everyone's safety.
"You okay?" Wenli asks quietly.
"Yeah." I force a smile. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"Everything. The twins, the delivery, what comes after..."
"Your parents are going to be thrilled about the due date," Wenli says, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "They'll finally get to meet their grandchildren."
My parents.
They arrived three days ago for a two-week visit, and seeing them had broken something open in my chest.
My mother had taken one look at my swollen belly and burst into tears.
My father had hugged me so carefully, like I might shatter.
They're staying at a hotel nearby to give me space, but they visit every day.
My mother brings food, my father brings books, and both of them bring an overwhelming amount of love and support.
They're also still furious at Qingyue.
Yesterday, my mother asked—completely seriously—if I wanted her to "deal with him."
I'm fairly certain she meant murder.
I declined.
"They're excited," I agree. "Dad's already talking about teaching them mahjong."
"They're going to be spoiled rotten."
"Absolutely." The thought makes me smile genuinely.
We pull into the driveway of Wenli's family home, and I see several cars already parked.
My parents' rental, Chenyu's sleek black one, and—
My breath catches.
I know that car.
"Wenli," I say slowly. "Is that—"
"Surprise?" He has the grace to look sheepish. "Wenlan brought someone to visit."
Inside, the living room is full of people.
My parents are sitting on the couch with Auntie and Uncle.
Chenyu is in an armchair, looking characteristically grumpy.
Minji is sprawled on the floor with her laptop.
And sitting in the chair by the window, looking nervous and determined, is Luo Qingxue.
Qingyue's twin sister.
Wenlan's wife.
The woman who helped us escape seven months ago.
"Ruofei!" My mother stands immediately, crossing to me with concern. "How was the appointment? Are the babies okay?"
"They're perfect," I assure her, letting her hug me carefully around my belly. "Dr. Park says they're right on track. Due date is March 15th."
"March 15th!" My father is beside us now, his hand gentle on my shoulder. "That's wonderful, son."
"It's also terrifying," I admit. "Six weeks."
"You're going to be amazing," my mother says firmly. "We'll be here to help with everything."
Over her shoulder, I see Qingxue standing.
She looks so much like Qingyue—the same dark blue eyes, black hair, the same elegant features—that for a moment, my heart stops.
But her expression is softer than her brother's ever is, full of sympathy and worry.
"Ruofei," she says quietly. "It's good to see you. You look... well."
"I look like I swallowed two watermelons," I correct, but I'm smiling slightly.
She laughs. "Pregnancy suits you."
There's an awkward pause, everyone suddenly very interested in their drinks or phones or literally anything but the elephant in the room.
Finally, my father clears his throat. "Why don't we give Ruofei and Qingxue some privacy? I'm sure they have things to discuss."
The exodus is swift.
Within minutes, the living room is empty except for me and Qingxue.
I lower myself carefully onto the couch—everything is careful now, every movement calculated to accommodate my changed center of gravity—and she takes the chair across from me.
"I'm sorry for showing up unannounced," she says. "Wenlan thought it would be better as a surprise, but I realize that might have been inconsiderate."
"It's fine." I wave off the apology. "I'm glad you're here, actually. I've been wanting to thank you."
"For what?"
"For helping us leave. For covering for us. For..." I gesture vaguely. "Everything."
"You don't need to thank me." Her expression grows more serious. "Ruofei, I need to tell you something. About Qingyue."
The name sends a jolt through my system, the bond flaring with desperate hope.
"What about him?"
She takes a breath. "He's still looking for you. He hasn't stopped. Every resource he has is dedicated to finding you."
"I know." I've been careful—staying off social media, not using my usual phone, keeping my location private. But I've always known it was only a matter of time.
"But that's not what I came to tell you." Qingxue leans forward. "Ruofei, he's... he's not doing well. The separation is destroying him."
"What do you mean?"
"You remember how he used to be? Before you got engaged? Cold, ruthless, completely detached from everything except business?"
I nod. Qingyue's reputation before our engagement was legendary—the Ice Prince of the Luo family, a man who felt nothing and cared for no one.
"He's becoming that person again," Qingxue says quietly. "Worse, even. He barely eats, doesn't sleep, spends all his time either working or locked in that room—" She stops abruptly.
"What room?"
She looks uncomfortable. "His... he has a room. In a house no one knows about. It's full of pictures of you. Hundreds of them, going back years. He was planning to propose there."
The information hits me like a punch to the gut.
A room full of pictures.
A proposal he never got to make.
"I shouldn't have told you that," Qingxue says, seeing my expression.
"But Ruofei, you need to understand—he loves you. Genuinely, completely loves you. This separation is killing him."
"It's killing me too," I whisper, hand pressed to my chest where the bond aches constantly.
"Then why—"
"Because it's not safe!" The words burst out, louder than I intended. "Qingxue, if I go back, if he knows about the babies, his enemies will use them against him. Use me against him. I'm trying to protect everyone by staying away."
"By breaking both your hearts?" She shakes her head. "Ruofei, hiding forever isn't protection. It's just a different kind of prison."
"I know." Tears are streaming down my face now, hormones and grief making it impossible to control. "I know, but I don't know what else to do. If anything happened to the babies because of me, because of this bond—"
"Nothing will happen to them," Qingxue says firmly. "Qingyue would burn the world down before he let anyone hurt you or his children."
His children.
She knows.
"How long have you known?" I ask.
"I suspected when you left so suddenly. Wenlan confirmed it a few months ago." She smiles slightly. "Congratulations, by the way. Twins. That's wonderful."
"Does Qingyue—"
"No. I haven't told him. That's your choice to make, not mine." She pauses. "But Ruofei, he deserves to know. Regardless of everything else, he deserves to know he's going to be a father."
I know she's right. But the fear is paralyzing.
"I can't," I whisper. "Not yet."
Qingxue stands, crossing to sit beside me on the couch. She takes my hand gently.
"I'm not going to push you. But please, think about it. For your sake and his." She squeezes my hand. "And if you ever want to reach out, I can help. Safely. Without putting anyone at risk."
She stays for another hour, updating me on family news, carefully avoiding any more mentions of Qingyue.
When she leaves, she hugs me carefully around my belly.
"Take care of yourself, Ruofei. And those babies."
"I will."
That night, I can't sleep.
The conversation with Qingxue keeps replaying in my mind.
The image of Qingyue in that room, surrounded by pictures of me, planning a proposal that never happened.
He's becoming that person again.
The separation is destroying him.
I roll over—as much as I can with my enormous belly—and stare at my bedside table.
Where my old phone sits, powered off, exactly where I left it seven months ago.
I haven't touched it since arriving in Korea.
Haven't turned it on, haven't checked messages, haven't looked at anything that might connect me to my old life.
But now...
Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach over and grab it.
The screen is dark, the battery dead. I plug it into the charger I brought from China and wait.
It takes a few minutes to power on, and when it does, the notifications start flooding in.
Messages. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.
Most are from Qingyue.
My hand trembles as I open the message app.
Qingyue: "Princess, where are you? Please come home."
Qingyue: "I'm sorry if I scared you. Please just let me know you're safe."
Qingyue: "Ruofei, please. I'm begging you. Just one message to let me know you're okay."
The early messages are desperate, frantic. Sent multiple times a day, sometimes multiple times an hour.
Qingyue: "I love you. I should have said it when you could hear me. I love you so much it terrifies me."
Qingyue: "Whatever I did wrong, I'll fix it. Just come back."
Qingyue: "The house is empty without you. Everything is empty without you."
I scroll through weeks of messages, each one more heartbreaking than the last.
Around the two-month mark, the tone shifts.
Less begging, more worry.
Qingyue: "Are you eating enough? Sleeping okay? Please take care of yourself, princess."
Qingyue: "I don't know where you are, but I hope you're safe. I hope you're happy."
Qingyue: "I miss you. Every second of every day, I miss you."
There are voice messages too.
I press play on one, and Qingyue's voice fills my room.
"Princess, I—" His voice cracks. "I don't know if you're ever going to hear this. Maybe you've blocked my number. Maybe you've thrown away your phone. But I need to say it anyway."
There's a pause, and I hear him take a shaky breath.
"I'm sorry. For everything. For marking you without making sure you understood what was happening. For not being there when you woke up. For not explaining how much I love you before any of this happened."
Another pause.
"I've loved you since we were children, Ruofei. Since you were seven and I carried you home after that tiger attack. You don't remember, but I do. I remember thinking you were the bravest person I'd ever met, even bleeding and terrified."
My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a sob.
"I've been in love with you for fifteen years," Qingyue continues, voice thick with emotion. "And I'll love you for fifteen more. For fifty more. For however long I have."
The message ends.
I scroll further, finding more recent messages.
Qingyue: "It's been five months. I'm starting to accept that you might never come back."
Qingyue: "But I'll keep looking. I'll never stop looking."
Qingyue: "Wherever you are, princess, I hope you're safe. I hope you're loved. I hope you're everything you deserve to be."
The most recent message was sent yesterday.
Qingyue: "Good morning, princess. Day 214 without you. Still breathing. Still hoping. Still loving you with everything I am."
I'm sobbing now, phone clutched to my chest as seven months of grief and longing and love pour out of me.
"I'm sorry," I whisper to the empty room, to the phone, to Qingyue who can't hear me. "I'm so sorry."
But I can't go back.
The realization settles over me like a shroud.
No matter how much I love him, no matter how much he loves me, I can't risk it. Can't risk the babies, can't risk giving his enemies a target.
I have to stay here.
For years, probably.
Until the twins are old enough to protect themselves, until the political situation stabilizes, until something changes.
Even if it destroys us both.
I type out a message, then delete it.
Type another, delete it.
Finally, I settle on something simple:
Ruofei: "I'm safe. I'm sorry. I love you. But I can't come back. Please don't look for me anymore."
I stare at the words for a long time.
Then, before I can change my mind, I delete the message without sending it.
I can't even give him that much.
Because if I respond, he'll trace it.
He'll find me.
And then all of this—all the pain, all the sacrifice—will have been for nothing.
I turn off the phone and shove it back in the drawer.
Then I curl up on my side, hands pressed to my belly where the twins are moving, and cry until I have nothing left.
"I'm sorry," I whisper again. "I'm so, so sorry."
To Qingyue, for leaving without explanation.
To the twins, for depriving them of their father.
To myself, for choosing duty over love.
But it's the only choice I can make.
The only way to keep everyone safe.
Even if it kills me.