Ruofei's POV:
Two years later - September
"Mommy's tired?"
I look down to find Liqin staring up at me with those unnervingly perceptive purple eyes—my eyes in her father's face. At two and a half, she's already mastered the art of the concerned look, a tiny furrow appearing between her eyebrows whenever she thinks something is wrong.
"Mommy's okay, baby," I assure her, though we both know it's a lie.
I'm exhausted. Have been for years now. The twins are past the infant stage—sleeping through the night most of the time, able to feed themselves with varying degrees of success, potty training slowly but surely. But raising twins alone is still overwhelming, especially when combined with the work I can't completely hand off to Wenlan.
The Huang family business doesn't run itself, even from Korea.
"Mommy should sleep," Mingyu adds from where he's building a tower with blocks. He's the quieter twin, but when he speaks, it's usually something surprisingly insightful for a toddler.
"Like Gege and Meimei at daycare. They sleep at nap time."
"I will, sweetheart. Later."
"Promise?" Liqin climbs onto my lap, her small hands framing my face. "Pinky promise?"
I hook my pinky with hers. "Pinky promise."
She seems satisfied with this and wriggles back down to return to her coloring.
The twins have adapted well to life in Korea. They're fluent in Korean and Chinese, switching between languages with the ease of children. They love their daycare, adore their extended family here, and seem happy despite having only one parent present.
But I've noticed them starting to ask questions. Subtle ones, the kind that break my heart.
Last week, Mingyu asked why his friend Jihoon has a mama and papa, but he and Liqin only have mommy.
I'd explained that families come in all shapes—some have two parents, some have one, some have grandparents raising them, some have two mamas or two papas.
He'd seemed to accept this, but I saw the wheels turning in his little head.
And yesterday, Liqin asked if she could draw a picture of "our whole family" and then carefully drew me, her, Mingyu, Wenli's family... and a blank space.
"Who's that for?" I'd asked, pointing to the empty spot.
She'd looked at me with those too-old eyes and said, "I don't know yet. But it feels like someone's missing."
I'd had to leave the room to cry.
The doorbell rings, and moments later I hear Wenli's cheerful voice. "Where are my favorite niece and nephew?"
"Pretty Uncle!" Both twins abandon their activities and race to the door.
It's become their nickname for him—Pretty Uncle—because Liqin declared one day that he was "the prettiest uncle" and it stuck. Wenli pretends to be annoyed by it but secretly loves it.
"Did you bring treats?" Liqin demands, while Mingyu wraps himself around Wenli's leg like a small, affectionate octopus.
"Maybe," Wenli teases, producing two small packages. "But only if you've been good for Mommy."
"We've been very good!" Liqin assures him solemnly. "Mingyu only cried once today, and I shared my crayons."
"That's twice today," Mingyu corrects matter-of-factly, because he's constitutionally incapable of letting inaccuracies stand. "I cried when I fell, and when Mommy said no more cookies."
I snort despite my exhaustion. "Thank you for the honesty, Mingyu."
Wenli comes over after distributing the treats—small toys, nothing that will create more chaos than already exists in my life. He takes one look at my face and frowns.
"You look terrible."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" I mutter.
"Because it's true." He settles onto the couch beside me. "When's the last time you slept a full night?"
"Define 'full night.'"
"More than six hours."
"I can't actually remember."
"Ruofei..." Wenli's voice goes gentle. "You need to take care of yourself. The twins need you healthy."
"I know." I press my hands over my face. "I know, I just... there's so much to do. Wenlan is handling most of the business, but there are things only I can authorize, decisions only I can make. And the twins, and the house, and—"
"And you're one person trying to do the job of three," Wenli finishes. "Let me help more. Or better yet—"
"Don't." I know where this is going.
"Ruofei, it's been almost three years. Three years of radio silence. Don't you think—"
"The twins are too young," I interrupt. "What if something happens? What if his enemies—"
"His enemies have been systematically eliminated," Wenli points out. "I've been keeping track. Qingyue has been ruthless about it. The Zhang family is barely functional anymore. The Chen family swore allegiance to him. The smaller threats have been neutralized."
I know this. I've been watching too, unable to stop myself from monitoring his activities even from a distance.
"They're still too young," I insist. "Maybe when they're older. Five, maybe. Or six. When they can understand—"
"Understand what? That their father doesn't know they exist because you're too afraid to tell him?"
The words are harsh, but Wenli's tone is gentle.
"I'm not afraid," I lie.
"Yes, you are. And that's okay. But Ruofei, you can't keep this up forever. Something has to give."
I look over at the twins. Liqin is showing Mingyu her new toy—some kind of small plush animal—and he's examining it with his characteristic seriousness, pointing out its features.
They're so young. So vulnerable. So perfect.
"I want to," I admit quietly. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately. About reaching out. About... going home."
"Yeah?"
"I've decided to forgive him." The words feel monumental, even though I've been carrying this decision for months. "For the marking, for everything. I understand why he did it—or I think I do. And I've remembered enough now to know that I wanted it too, even if I was drugged."
"That's huge, Ruofei."
"But I still need to know why," I continue. "Why he marked me without waiting until I could give clear consent. Why he didn't talk to me first, tell me how he felt. I need to understand his reasoning, even if I've already forgiven the action."
"That's fair."
"And even with forgiveness..." I swallow hard. "I can't go back yet. Not until I'm sure. Not until they're old enough to protect themselves if something goes wrong."
Wenli doesn't argue, just squeezes my shoulder in silent support.
"I miss him," I whisper. "I miss him so much I can barely breathe sometimes. And I hate that the twins are growing up without him. Hate that he's missing all of this. But I don't know how to make it safe."
"Maybe there's no such thing as completely safe," Wenli says quietly. "Maybe at some point, you have to choose between safe and happy."
The words stick with me long after he leaves.
That night, I can't sleep.
Not unusual, but tonight it's worse than normal. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything and nothing.
The twins are asleep in their room—they graduated to their own beds a few months ago, though Liqin still occasionally sneaks into Mingyu's bed in the middle of the night. They're growing so fast. Too fast.
Mingyu is already reading simple words. Liqin can count to twenty in three languages. They're smart, curious, loving children who deserve better than a father who's running on empty and another father who doesn't know they exist.
I give up on sleep and pad downstairs to my office.
The work is always there, waiting. Reports to review, contracts to approve, decisions to make. Wenlan handles the day-to-day operations now, but the big stuff still falls to me.
It's easier this way. Keeps me busy, keeps me from thinking too much about what I've lost.
I'm halfway through a contract review when my personal phone buzzes.
It's not the one I used China—I still can't bring myself to look at that one regularly, though I charge it sometimes just to see the message count climb. It's the Korean number, the one only family has.
A message from my mother.
Mum: Can't sleep either? 💙
I smile despite everything and call her.
"Hi, Mum."
"Hi, sweetheart." Her voice is warm, familiar. "I had a feeling you'd be up. How are my grandbabies?"
"Perfect. Asleep. Growing too fast."
"They always do." A pause. "And you? How are you really?"
I could lie. Should lie, probably. But it's my mother, and I'm too tired to maintain the pretense.
"Homesick," I admit. "And sad. And so tired I can barely think straight most days. But managing."
"Have you thought any more about coming home? Even just for a visit?"
"All the time." I lean back in my chair. "But I can't. Not yet."
"Because you're still afraid."
"Because the twins are still too young," I correct.
"Ruofei..." She sighs. "My love, they're going to ask soon. Really ask. And you're going to have to tell them about their father. Wouldn't it be better if you could introduce them rather than just explain his absence?"
"I know. I know you're right. But I can't—"
My voice breaks, and I have to stop.
"I've forgiven him, Mum. I have. But I need to hear it from him. Need to understand why he made the choices he did. And even then, I don't know if I can risk bringing the twins back. What if something happens? What if I'm wrong about it being safe?"
"Then we'll handle it," she says firmly. "Ruofei, you're not alone in this. You have an entire family ready to protect those children. But you can't protect them from everything. At some point, you have to let them live."
I know she's right. But knowing and accepting are different things.
We talk for another hour—about nothing and everything. The twins' latest antics, family news from China, her upcoming visit in a few months. By the time we hang up, I feel slightly more human.
But sleep still won't come.
I return to the contracts, to the endless work that keeps the family business running and keeps my mind occupied.
Somewhere in China, Qingyue is probably sleeping. Or maybe he's awake too, staring at his own ceiling, thinking about the omega who left him.
Does he still send daily messages?
I haven't checked in months.
Does he still hope I'll come back?
I will, I think toward him, knowing he can't hear. Someday. When I'm ready. When it's safe. I'll come back, and I'll tell you everything, and I'll hope you can forgive me for keeping your children from you.
Please wait for me.
Please don't give up.
Please still love me when I finally come home.
Qingyue's POV:
Same night - China
The shrine room is almost unrecognizable.
I've spent the last month systematically dismantling it—removing the more obsessive elements, taking down the excessive photos, making it look less like the workspace of a stalker and more like... what? A memorial? A hope chest?
I don't know what to call it.
The photos that remain are tasteful ones. Ruofei at family events, official photos, a few candid shots that feel more nostalgic than creepy. The ring box still sits on the table, solitary and waiting.
The room has transformed from obsession into hope.
I'm getting ready. For what, I'm not entirely sure. But I'm getting ready.
My checklist is coming along.
Things to do before Ruofei returns:
1. Eliminate remaining threats from the Zhang family - COMPLETE
2. Strengthen alliance with the Chen family - COMPLETE
3. Secure all properties against potential attacks - COMPLETE
4. Have "the talk" with parents about boundaries and support - COMPLETE
5. Clear schedule for at least a month to be available - COMPLETE
6. Buy new clothes that don't smell like stress and desperation - COMPLETE
7. Clean the shrine room (it's getting creepy even by my standards) - IN PROGRESS
8. Practice apology until it sounds genuine - 847 attempts and counting
9. Prepare guest room in case he won't stay in mine - PENDING
10. Stock kitchen with all his favorite foods - COMPLETE (refreshed monthly)
11. Figure out how to not immediately propose (save ring for later) - STILL WORKING ON IT
12. BREATHE - ATTEMPTING DAILY
13. Remember that he owes me nothing - TATTOOED ON MY SOUL AT THIS POINT
Most of it is done. The threats have been neutralized—methodically, ruthlessly, without mercy.
My parents know to give us space when he returns, to offer support without interference.
I've become the version of myself that can keep him safe. That can be worthy of a second chance.
If he ever gives me one.
It's been 1,095 days since he left.
I still send daily messages. They've evolved over time, from desperate pleas to updates on my day to simple affirmations of love.
Today's message was: Day 1,095. I eliminated the last of the Zhang family's inner circle today. You're safer now, princess. I hope wherever you are, you're safe too. I love you.
He never responds. I don't expect him to anymore.
But I can't stop sending them. It's become ritual, prayer, the one constant in a life that's felt unmoored without him.
"I'll be ready," I promise the empty room. "Whenever you come back, princess, I'll be ready. I'll be everything you need. Everything you deserve."
Then I sit at the table, pulling out my notebook—the one with all the scenarios, all the contingencies.
I've added new ones over the years. Scenarios for if he comes back with a child. For if he's moved on. For if he never comes back at all.
But the core remains the same: love him, respect his choices, prove I've changed.
Scenario F: He comes back and gives me a second chance.
Response: Don't fuck it up. Be patient. Listen. Let him set the pace. Show him every day that he made the right choice.
Backup: When in doubt, refer to response.
Goal: Forever.
I close the notebook and lean back, exhausted but unable to sleep.
Somewhere, Ruofei is living his life. Maybe he's happy. Maybe he's found someone else. Maybe he's forgotten all about the alpha who marked him without clear consent.
Or maybe—and this is the hope I cling to—maybe he still thinks about me sometimes. Maybe he still loves me, even a little.
Maybe someday, he'll forgive me.
"I'm sorry, princess," I whisper to the room, to the universe, to Ruofei who can't hear me. "I'm so sorry for everything. I'll spend the rest of my life proving it if you give me the chance."
The bond aches in my chest—dull, constant, a reminder of what I lost.
But also a reminder that somewhere out there, he's still alive. Still breathing. Still connected to me, even if he doesn't want to be.
"Come home when you're ready," I say softly. "I'll be here. Waiting. Always waiting."
I stand and take one last look around the room before turning off the lights.
Tomorrow, I'll continue the work. Continue building a world safe enough for him to return to. Continue preparing for a reunion that may never come.
But tonight, I let myself hope.
Hope that forgiveness is possible. That love is enough. That someday, somehow, we'll find our way back to each other.
"I love you, Ruofei," I say to the darkness. "I'll never stop loving you."
And then I close the door, leaving the room—leaving the past—behind me.
Ready to face tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.
Until he comes home.