Whatever Yang Manli was saying, Su Liang barely registered it. Her entire focus was on the pregnancy report in front of her.

Once, a long time ago, she had held a similar piece of paper. But the child it represented was gone now, and it remained the greatest regret of her life. She often wondered—if she had insisted on keeping the baby back then, the child would now be running around calling her "Mom." But life doesn’t entertain “what-ifs.”

“Sister Su, are you listening?” Yang Manli’s expression darkened, but she forced herself to remain composed.

Suppressing the sorrow deep within her heart, Su Liang slowly unclenched her fingers, which had been tightly gripping her palm. Her expression composed, she raised her head and gave a faint smile. “Ms. Yang, if Aze wants a divorce, he can tell me himself. As for your claims, I’ll take them under advisement.”

Her gaze dropped, pausing deliberately at Yang Manli’s stomach. A faint, mocking smile tugged at her lips. “As for whether the child in your womb is Aze’s—that remains to be seen. For all we know, it could belong to some man who refuses to take responsibility, and you’re trying to pin it on Aze.”

“You—!” Yang Manli’s eyes widened with rage. She never expected such biting words from someone who seemed so gentle and kind.

Her mask of innocence dropped instantly, and she glared at Su Liang with disdain. “A hen that can’t lay eggs—what’s so great about you? Aze’s been tired of you for ages. Do you honestly think he’s going to adopt a child with you? Ha! You’re so naive, Su Liang.”

As she spoke, Yang Manli picked up the glass of water on the table and flung it at Su Liang.

“Sister Su, I hope this wakes you up. Aze doesn’t love you anymore. Otherwise, why would he be with me?”

Even after Yang Manli strode away with an air of triumph, Su Liang remained seated in silence. It was as though her soul had been drained. Her once-bright eyes had turned hollow, like a barren wasteland, desolate and lifeless.

Warm water trickled down her cheeks, drop by drop, soaking the front of her blouse.

She was a mess.

Feeling the weight of strangers’ curious stares around her, Su Liang let out a bitter smile. It was usually the wife who threw water at the mistress in situations like this. Yet here she was—a wife humiliated by the other woman.

“Here, you should dry off. You might catch a cold,” a deep, velvety voice interrupted her thoughts.

Su Liang looked up slightly and froze. A long, slender hand held out a tissue. She hesitated for a moment before calmly taking it, her voice soft. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” the man replied with a faint smile, his tone gentle and magnetic.

As Su Liang carefully wiped her face, her features—delicate and refined—emerged from beneath the water. There wasn’t a trace of disarray left. She looked exactly as serene as she had months ago when Shen Nancheng had first seen her. But he doubted she remembered him.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked, her brows slightly furrowed.

Shen Nancheng paused, then offered kindly, “Would you like me to give you a ride home?”

“Sir, is this how you usually try to pick up women?” Su Liang’s tone was laced with sarcasm as she gave a cold smile.

Picking up her bag, she brushed past him without another word. She needed some time alone to gather her thoughts.