Transmigration; Married to My Ex-Fiancé's Uncle-Chapter 255; Lu Yuze 7
"You don’t have to pretend to be asleep," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His voice was a low, soothing vibration against her spine. "I’ll stay with you for a while. You can rest now and wake up later for dinner." His lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her temple, a seal of unspoken care.
A flicker of practical, flustered protest arose. "I haven’t taken a shower," she muttered into the pillow, her voice muffled but tinged with a self-consciousness that felt oddly human.
A soft rumble of amusement passed through his chest into hers. "You don’t stink," he said, as a matter of fact, his arm tightening just slightly around her. "You can shower later." The unspoken part hung in the air, simple and profound: Whether you do it now or later makes no difference. You belong here, now, just as you are.
"Hmph!" She gave a rough, dismissive little sound, burying her face deeper. But beneath the layers of silk and stubbornness, a warmth bloomed, sweet and unexpected, like a sunbeam finding its way to the ocean floor.
His concern was a silent hum she could feel in his steady heartbeat against her back. He was thinking of the day’s onslaught, the strangeness, the negotiations, the children, the sheer overwhelming weight of a new world. He believed she needed the anchor of rest, and so he offered his own body as that anchor.
Cradled in his warmth, surrounded by his scent, the performative tension drained from her. The artifice of the statue, the princess, the siren, all dissolved into a simple, weary truth. Her breathing, syncing with his deeper rhythm, slowed and evened out.
In no time at all, the profound quiet of genuine sleep claimed her.
He felt the precise moment she slipped away, the subtle melt of her muscles, the breath becoming a soft, steady tide against his arm. He held her for several minutes longer, ensuring the depths of her slumber. Then, with movements so careful they were reverent, he disentangled himself. He gently arranged her head on the pillow, smoothed the duvet around her shoulders, tucking her in with a meticulousness he usually reserved for high-stakes contracts.
Satisfied she was settled, he slid from the bed. The cool air of the room met his skin where her warmth had been. He picked up his mobile phone from the nightstand; the screen lit up, a silent frenzy of missed calls and urgent notifications, the relentless pulse of the empire he commanded.
He glanced at the sleeping form in his bed, a creature of deep water resting in a pool of silk, then back at the demanding light in his hand.
Without a second thought, he held down the power button. The screen went dark, a flat, black mirror.
After all, all his family members were in the house sleeping, so he didn’t need to keep it on, as he wouldn’t have any other emergencies.
Silencing the world outside, he left the bedroom, closing the door with a soft, definitive click. The palace could wait. The deals could wait. For now, his only duty was to ensure the quiet remained unbroken, guarding the sleep of the wife who, in her vulnerability, had finally given him a gift more precious than any surrender: her trust.
Lu Yuze closed the bedroom door behind him with infinite care, the soft snick of the lock engaging a final note of security. He stood for a moment in the hushed corridor, the silence of the mansion a stark contrast to the world that clawed at its doors.
His steps were silent on the plush runner as he moved first to Yuyan’s room. Pushing the door open just enough to slip inside, he found the nightlight glowing softly. A maid, seated in a corner chair, looked up and began to rise. He motioned her to stay with a slight gesture.
He moved to the bed. His daughter was a small, peaceful mound under a comforter patterned with stars, her breath a gentle whisper. He brushed a stray curl from her forehead, his touch feather-light. In the adjoining nursery, visible through an open archway, Chen Xiao slept just as soundly in his bed, a tiny fist curled near his cheek.
Satisfaction, deep and quiet, settled in his chest. They were safe. They were here.
"Once she wakes, notify me immediately," he murmured to the maid, who nodded. He lingered a moment longer, imprinting the scene, before withdrawing.
His path took him down the sweeping staircase, its modern lines softened by the low, ambient lighting. The vast living area sprawled below, all cool marble and curated art. Ah Ling and Ah Ying were stationed there like elegant sentinels, their presence a familiar anchor in the quiet luxury.
But business came first. He detoured into the kitchen, a realm of stainless steel and pristine surfaces. The chef and a sous-chef looked up from their meticulous prep. "The congee for Miss Yuyan," Lu Yuze said, his voice low but carrying. "The dashi must be clear. And for Madam," he continued, "the sea urchin, the abalone, only the best. I will taste it myself before she eats!" The chefs nodded, understanding the unspoken weight of the orders. These were not mere meals; they were offerings, reassurances, woven into the fabric of care he was building.
Only then did he approach the sitting area, the casual power in his stride belying the late hour. He tossed his silenced mobile phone onto the empty expanse of the dark-colored sofa as if discarding a nuisance before settling into a deep armchair. He crossed one leg over the other, the picture of controlled ease, but his eyes were sharp, parsing the room.
"Have you sent them away?" The question was directed at Ah Ling.
Ah Ling didn’t look up from his tablet, his fingers scrolling through a stream of urgent emails. "They are in the external security waiting lodge. They have stated they will not leave until they speak with you and see Yuyan."
