Chapter 5: The Rain Between Us
1140 Words
It started raining sometime in the early hours of the morning.
Not the gentle kind that lulled the city into sleep, but a relentless, steady downpour that soaked through stone, metal, and silence. Wenqing stood by the kitchen window, hugging a mug of warm milk, watching raindrops race each other down the glass.
She hadn't slept much.
Not after last night.
Not after his voice, low and quiet, admitted: “Sometimes.”
Sometimes he forgot it was all pretend.
What did that mean? What didn’t it?
Was he just playing the role too well… or was something real beginning to bloom under the surface of their carefully scripted lives?
She didn’t know. And worse—she was starting to hope.
A dangerous thing, hope.
---
When she walked into the dining room that morning, Yichen was already there.
He was reading the paper, a black coffee beside him, dressed—per usual—in a crisp suit that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. She couldn’t help but notice his tie was slightly loose today. A rare sign of imperfection.
“Morning,” she said softly.
His eyes flicked up. “Morning.”
He didn’t ask if she’d slept well. Didn’t offer small talk. But when she poured herself a cup of coffee, he said, “You don’t usually drink that.”
She paused. “Maybe I’m changing.”
A faint arch of his brow. “Are you?”
“Are you?” she countered.
A moment passed.
Then he folded the paper. “I have a meeting at the office, but I’ll be back early.”
“Oh?” she asked. “Date night?”
He looked at her, unreadable. “My mother is coming.”
Wenqing froze, mug halfway to her lips. “Your... mother?”
He nodded. “She wants to meet you.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“You’re my wife. It was only a matter of time.”
“But... I thought we were keeping this quiet.”
“She’s not the media,” he said. “She’s family.”
“Does she know this marriage isn’t... real?”
He looked away. “No.”
Her heart skipped. “And you want me to lie to her?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
She put the mug down, harder than she meant to. “Do you lie to everyone, Liang Yichen?”
He stood, adjusting his cufflinks. “Only when it’s necessary.”
“Then maybe,” she said sharply, “you and I are more alike than I thought.”
He paused—just for a second—then turned and walked away.
The rain hadn’t stopped. And neither had the storm building inside her.
---
By 4 p.m., the stylist had returned.
Again.
This time, she was dressed in something more conservative—a pearl-white blouse, tailored navy skirt, minimal makeup. The image of a dutiful, elegant young wife.
Wenqing stared at her reflection in the mirror.
She didn’t recognize herself anymore. And maybe that was the point.
---
At 6 p.m., the front doors opened with the arrival of someone who filled the room with quiet power before even speaking.
Liang Yichen’s mother, Madam Lu, stepped into the foyer wearing a pale lavender cheongsam and an air of effortless authority. Her features were refined, her posture regal, her eyes sharp—like she missed nothing and forgave less.
Yichen greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Mother.”
She smiled thinly. “You didn’t tell me your wife was so young.”
“She’s twenty-four,” he replied.
“I know. I Googled her.”
Wenqing almost choked on her nerves.
“Xia Wenqing,” Madam Lu said, extending a hand. “Let’s see what kind of girl you are.”
Wenqing took her hand and bowed slightly. “It’s an honor, Madam Lu.”
“We’ll see.”
---
Dinner was served in the formal dining room—again—with the long table, the fancy cutlery, and enough tension to slice through bone.
Madam Lu watched Wenqing like a hawk.
“So,” she began. “Where are your parents from?”
“My father’s from Jiangsu,” Wenqing answered calmly. “My mother passed away when I was twelve.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“No. I’m an only child.”
“What do your family do?”
“My father was a teacher. He’s retired now… and unwell.”
Madam Lu sipped her soup slowly. “Do you plan to keep working?”
Wenqing hesitated. “If that’s acceptable.”
Yichen spoke before his mother could. “It is.”
Madam Lu’s gaze moved between them. “You two don’t touch.”
Wenqing blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“You don’t hold hands. Don’t sit close. You look more like colleagues than husband and wife.”
Yichen’s jaw tightened. “Not everyone performs affection like a stage show.”
“And some people don’t bother at all,” she replied.
Silence.
Then, quietly, Wenqing said, “We’re still learning.”
Madam Lu looked at her for a long moment. “Good answer.”
---
Later, as they saw her to the car, Madam Lu turned to her son.
“She’s better than I expected.”
Yichen gave a brief nod. “She’s not for show.”
“I can see that,” his mother said. Then added, softly, “Don’t do to her what your father did to me.”
He didn’t reply.
When the car drove away, he stood in silence.
Wenqing stepped beside him. “That was intense.”
“She’s always been like that,” he said.
“She’s proud of you, you know.”
He shook his head. “She’s proud of the empire I built, not the man I became.”
There was something heavy in his voice. Something raw.
Wenqing said nothing. Just stood with him in the cold drizzle, both of them wrapped in silence.
Then suddenly, he turned to her. “You handled her well.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Was that a compliment?”
“Observation,” he corrected.
She gave a half-smile. “Your mother thinks we’re too distant.”
He looked at her. “Do you?”
“I think…” she began, then hesitated. “I think it’s hard to keep playing a role when you don’t know what the truth is anymore.”
He didn’t answer.
But then, unexpectedly, he reached for her hand.
Warm. Solid. Real.
And not for show.
Just for a moment, they stood like that—fingers laced under the soft rain. No cameras. No contracts. No audience.
Just them.
And in that quiet space between thunder and breath, Wenqing let herself wonder—
What if pretending was no longer enough?
- Writer
