Escaping from the Yandere Young Heiress - Chapter 12

The last rays of sunset finally faded, swallowed by the thick clouds and the city’s own light pollution.

The bedroom remained dark, the gloom creeping like a tide, slowly engulfing the outlines of the furniture and reducing Jian Anji, sitting on the edge of the bed, to a blurry silhouette.

Outside in the hallway, the footsteps that had paused and then receded served as a silent punctuation mark, officially ending the afternoon’s empty hours.

What followed was another, more concrete sound, signaling the imminent resumption of the daily routine: the faint chime of the elevator arriving downstairs, followed by the rhythmic footsteps of someone who didn’t live in the apartment building. The footsteps grew louder as they approached, finally stopping outside the front door.

A key turned, the door opened, and then closed. A brief murmur, the soft clink of a food container being gently placed down, and then the footsteps retreated again.

The delivery person had come and gone.

The process was precise and silent, like the meshing gears of a clock.

Almost simultaneously, distinct sounds came from the master bedroom.

The faint sound of running water from the shower persisted for quite some time.

Then came the low hum of a hair dryer. These sounds, usually confined to private spaces, were amplified in the quiet twilight apartment, carrying an undeniable declaration: the mistress of the night was preparing for the hours ahead.

Jian Anji remained motionless in the dimness.

Her body felt like an old, rusty machine, every joint stiff and aching.

But even heavier than her body were her thoughts. The “Tantan” on the swing, like an uninvited ghost, quietly surfaced whenever she tried to clear her mind or numb herself. It overlapped and intertwined with Leng Tan’s icy expression and everything she had endured the previous night, creating a dizzying sense of fragmentation.

The sound of water stopped.

The hair dryer fell silent too. The apartment sank into an even deeper quiet, broken only by the nearly imperceptible hum of the central air conditioning.

Then, the door to the master bedroom opened.

Light spilled out first, much brighter than the dimness inside the bedroom, casting a warm yellow glow across the floor.

Leng Tan emerged.

She had changed out of her morning robe and was now wearing a long, dark green velvet dress. The simple design, combined with the luxurious fabric and impeccable tailoring, gave her an air of extraordinary elegance and composure.

Her long hair was styled into a low bun, with a few loose strands softly framing her neck.

She wore no jewelry, and her face, free of makeup, looked smooth and flawless in the warm light.

She seemed… calm, even relaxed, as if she’d just taken a bath. She was a completely different person from the whip-wielding punisher of the night before.

Her gaze swept across the dimly lit bedroom, easily finding Jian Anji sitting in the shadows at the edge of the bed.

“Let’s go to the living room,” she said, her voice clear and steady in the silence, devoid of emotion, simply stating a fact.

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked straight toward the living room, the dark green hem of her dress sweeping in an elegant arc behind her.

Jian Anji took a deep breath and slowly stood up. Her legs, stiff from sitting for so long, paused for a moment before she stepped forward, following Leng Tan out of the dim bedroom and into the brightly lit living room, where the aroma of food was beginning to fill the air.

The main lights in the living room weren’t on, only a few ambient lamps and a pendant light above the dining table, casting a warm but focused glow.

The table was already set for two, the silver cutlery gleaming coldly under the light. Several elegant insulated food containers, their lids still on, sat in the center of the table.

Leng Tan was already seated in her usual spot, a financial brief that seemed to have come with the meal in her hand, her gaze lowered as she scanned the pages.

She didn’t even glance up to see if Jian Anji had followed, as if certain she would appear and take her customary seat.

That seat was to Leng Tan’s right, neither too close nor too far, positioned just at the edge of the lamplight’s glow and within the periphery of Leng Tan’s vision.

Jian Anji walked to her designated spot, pulled out the chair, and sat down.

The slight scraping of the wooden chair against the floor seemed jarring in the unnaturally quiet dining room.

Leng Tan’s gaze lifted from the brief, flicking across Jian Anji with a fleeting, emotionless glance, as if passing over a familiar piece of furniture, before returning to the papers in her hands.

The air carried the aroma of food: a delicate, refined cuisine mingled with the faint metallic and insulating scents of the thermal food containers.

The pendant lamp cast a bright, isolated pool of light over the dining table, making the surrounding shadows seem even deeper.

Outside the window, the city’s neon lights had begun to flicker, resembling a distant, icy galaxy, creating two starkly contrasting worlds: the deliberately warm, amber glow within the room and the cold, distant shimmer beyond.

Leng Tan closed the briefing and set it aside. Instead of immediately signaling for the meal to begin, she picked up her tall glass of water and took a small sip.

Her movements were unhurried, radiating a deep-seated elegance and sense of control cultivated over years.

The soft light flowed across her dark green velvet dress, creating a gentle sheen that accentuated the sharp angles of her profile.

“Let’s eat,” she finally said, her voice low but carrying the weight of ending the wait.

She moved first, lifting the lid of the food box in front of her.

Jian Anji followed suit, revealing her own portion: steamed sea bass, blanched choy sum, a small bowl of cordyceps flower chicken soup, and a bowl of glistening white rice.

The meal was simple, but the quality of the ingredients and the careful presentation spoke of meticulous preparation. Her appetite seemed consistently small.

Jian Anji picked up her chopsticks.

Her fingertips brushed against the cool ivory chopsticks, her movements slightly sluggish.

The pain in her back had intensified upon sitting, especially where the chair’s back pressed against her wound, creating a constant pressure.

She had to lean forward slightly to ease the discomfort, but this posture made her look stiff and awkward.

She picked up a small piece of fish and brought it to her mouth.

The food tasted light and fresh, but she could barely taste it. Chewing and swallowing felt mechanical and difficult, her throat tight, her stomach cramping from prolonged tension and pain.

She ate very slowly, taking tiny bites as if performing a difficult task.

Leng Tan didn’t eat quickly either, but her movements were calm and graceful. She made almost no sound, occasionally scooping up a spoonful of soup or picking up a piece of vegetable.

Most of the time, her gaze was fixed on her own plate or some distant point ahead, as if lost in thought, completely ignoring Jian Anji’s stiffness and slowness.

Only once, when Jian Anji unconsciously shifted in her seat to ease her back pain, causing the chair to creak softly, did Leng Tan’s gaze snap over to her, lingering on her slightly furrowed brow and rigidly straight spine.

The look lasted only two seconds.

Jian Anji immediately froze, her chopsticks suspended in mid-air, holding her breath.

She braced herself for a barrage of questions, or worse.

But Leng Tan said nothing.

She simply held Jian Anji’s gaze for two seconds, then casually looked away, as if it had been nothing more than a fleeting glance, and continued sipping her soup.

Yet those two seconds of silent scrutiny carried more weight than any words could have.

It was like a cold, piercing light that instantly exposed Jian Anji’s carefully concealed discomfort, reminding her that every move she made never escaped those watchful eyes.

The peaceful dining table, the delicious food, the warm lighting—all were mere illusions.

Control was omnipresent, even during the most mundane act of eating.

Jian Anji lowered her gaze, staring at the nearly invisible specks of oil glistening on her rice. She continued to swallow mechanically, the food tasting like nothing.

The lamplight cast small shadows from her lowered lashes, also illuminating the slightly pale knuckles of her hand gripping the chopsticks.

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