Escaping from the Yandere Young Heiress - Chapter 18

The click of the door lock turning was startling in the unnaturally quiet apartment.

Jian Anji tensed almost instinctively, quickly stepping away from the window to stand beside the sofa. She lowered her gaze, adopting her usual waiting posture.

The fleeting glimpse of something unusual she had just witnessed was forcibly suppressed deep within her heart, her face returning to its usual weary blankness.

Leng Tan pushed the door open and casually tossed her black clutch onto the entryway cabinet with a soft thud.

Without bothering to change her shoes, she strode straight in, her sharp black heels clicking crisply against the marble floor at the edge of the living room. The hurried rhythm of her steps was markedly different from her usual steady, composed pace.

Jian Anji could feel the draft she brought in, a mix of the night’s chilly outdoor air and a faint, unfamiliar scent.

It wasn’t smoke or alcohol, but something more akin to the incense and leather of a high-end establishment, perhaps with a hint of… a cold metallic or gunpowder-like aftertaste?

The scent was faint, quickly diluted by the warm air inside, yet it created a subtle but undeniable difference from her usual cool fragrance.

Leng Tan paused briefly in the middle of the living room. Her gaze swept over Jian Anji, who stood with her head bowed, but didn’t linger, as if Jian Anji were merely a fixture in the room.

Then she turned and strode toward the master bedroom, her black suit jacket trailing behind her in sharp, clean lines.

Just as she was about to step into the short hallway leading to the bedroom, she stopped abruptly and turned halfway around.

“You’re still awake,” she said, her voice flat and dry, lower and huskier than usual, with a barely perceptible tension beneath its controlled tone.

“…Yes, Master,” Jian Anji replied softly, still not raising her head.

Leng Tan said nothing more.

She turned and continued toward the bedroom. The sound of her heels faded into the depths of the hallway.

Moments later, the master bedroom door closed with a distinct, though not particularly loud, thud.

It wasn’t a door slam, but the force behind it clearly exceeded the absolute control she usually maintained.

Then, utter silence descended.

A silence deeper and more oppressive than before Leng Tan had returned.

It was as if the tightly shut door had not only sealed Leng Tan inside but also trapped some unknown emotion or state fermenting behind it.

Jian Anji stood frozen, afraid to move. The sound of the door closing had been like a pebble tossed into the already troubled waters of her heart.

Leng Tan’s unfamiliar aura, her slightly hurried steps, her hoarse voice, and that final, decisive door slam… all these details whispered silently: tonight’s “outing” was anything but ordinary.

Was she angry?

Irritated?

Exhausted?

Or had she encountered some thorny problem?

These questions sprouted like vines, silently taking root.

But Jian Anji immediately warned herself: Don’t be curious. Curiosity is dangerous.

For the controlled, knowing the weaknesses or emotional fluctuations of the controller might not be a blessing. It could very well be playing with fire.

Yet human thoughts are notoriously difficult to control.

The silhouette standing by the car, rubbing his temples, and the faint, unusual “aura” he’d carried when he entered had already created a crack in the cold, unyielding image of Leng Tan she held in her mind.

The crack was subtle, but undeniably real.

She stood in the living room for several more minutes, until she was certain no further sounds came from the master bedroom. Then, moving with extreme slowness, as if afraid of disturbing something, she crept toward the guest room.

Each step was as light as treading on cotton. The wound on her back throbbed faintly from the tension and prolonged standing.

As she passed the tightly closed door of the master bedroom, she instinctively held her breath and pressed her ear against it, listening intently.

Inside, there was utter silence, not even the sound of water.

She hurried back to her own room, slammed the door shut, and locked it, though she knew it was futile, it was the only symbolic act of self-protection she could manage.

Leaning against the icy door, she finally allowed herself to exhale a long, silent breath.

The night of solitude had ended, but another, more complex and unsettling kind of “coexistence” seemed to have just begun.

The invisible weight Leng Tan brought back with her hung over the apartment like the heavy night outside, seeping into every corner and pressing down on Jian Anji’s heart.

She didn’t know if anything else would happen tonight. She didn’t know if, when she woke up tomorrow, she’d face the Leng Tan she knew, or… some unknown consequence of tonight’s “outing.”

Lying on the cold bed, she stared up at the ceiling, watching the faint shadows cast by the city lights, unable to fall asleep.

Outside the door, an unfathomable silence reigned. Inside, her own heartbeat grew louder, and the persistent, throbbing pain on her back refused to be ignored, a constant reminder of what had happened.

The city lights outside gradually faded from the thick darkness of night, tinged with the cold, lonely gray-blue of dawn.

Jian Anji didn’t know when she finally drifted off, or if she ever truly slept. Perhaps her consciousness had merely slipped into a fitful, fragmented daze, caught in the tug-of-war between exhaustion and tension.

She was awakened by an extremely faint yet persistent sound.

Not an alarm clock, and not the natural light of dawn.

It was the sound of water.

Not the rushing sound of a shower, but something lighter, more intermittent, as if the water flow were being carefully controlled, turned on and off, faintly audible from the master bedroom’s en-suite bathroom.

In the dead of night, when all was still, any sound was amplified, especially one coming from the master bedroom, separated by only a wall and clearly the site of some disturbance the previous night.

Jian Anji opened her eyes. The room was still dark. She lay motionless, listening intently.

The sound of water persisted for quite some time, pausing several times before resuming.

It didn’t sound like a simple morning wash. It was more like… a repeated, almost compulsive cleansing?

The thought sent a chill down her spine.

Leng Tan’s strange behavior upon returning last night, the slightly forceful way she closed the door, and now this unusual, prolonged sound of water… the pieces were beginning to fit together, pointing to a situation Jian Anji couldn’t quite grasp but instinctively felt uneasy about.

The water finally stopped.

Then came an even longer stretch of silence.

Finally, the master bedroom door creaked open, and footsteps padded toward the kitchen.

The footsteps were light, muffled by soft slippers, yet still distinct in the pre-dawn stillness.

Jian Anji glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand: 4:47 a.m.

What could Leng Tan be doing in the kitchen at this hour?

Curiosity, like a creeping vine, entwined with caution, silently growing.

After a few moments of hesitation, she finally sat up with extreme slowness and quietness, draped her robe over her shoulders, and padded barefoot across the icy floor to the door.

She didn’t open it, instead pressing her ear against the panel.

Silence.

No cooking sounds, no clatter of utensils.

Only the faint hum of the refrigerator door opening, and… the barely audible clink of glassware being set gently on the counter.

After a while, the footsteps returned, heading back to the master bedroom. The door closed.

Silence descended once more.

Jian Anji stood by the door for a while, leaning against the cold panel.

The pre-dawn air seemed to carry a chill, seeping through her thin robe and making her shiver slightly.

The wound on her back felt particularly stiff and achy this morning.

Finally, she quietly turned the lock, cracked the door open a sliver, and peered out.

The hallway was deserted, lit only by the faint dawn light filtering through the window at the far end.

The living room was shrouded in deep blue twilight.

A faint, unfamiliar scent hung in the air.

It wasn’t food, nor was it cleaning fluid. It smelled vaguely like… disinfectant?

Or perhaps some kind of strong air freshener, meant to mask other odors?

The scent was barely detectable, mingling with the warm air from the central air conditioning. Almost imperceptible, yet undeniably present.

She hesitated, wondering if she should check the kitchen.

But reason quickly sounded the alarm.

Prying into Leng Tan’s privacy, especially when she was clearly in an unusual mood or state, would be extremely dangerous.

That spilled milk bottle, or any other unnecessary trace, could become the spark that set her own life ablaze.

She quietly closed the door and locked it again. Leaning against the door, her heart raced.

The brief, unusual activity in the kitchen, the suspicious scent in the air, and all the strange signs from last night… they were like pieces of a puzzle. But she was missing the crucial pieces, unable to complete the picture.

She didn’t know what Leng Tan was cleaning or why she was doing it at this hour.

Nor did she understand the purpose of that brief trip to the kitchen. Was it to get water? Ice? Or something else entirely?

The unknown brought an even deeper chill, one that seeped into her bones, far colder than the morning air.

She walked back to the bed but didn’t lie down. Instead, she sat on the edge, gazing at the gradually brightening sky through the gap in the curtains.

A new day was about to begin, but after the events of the previous night and this strange early morning, this “new day” was shrouded in an even darker and more uncertain shadow.

In what state would Leng Tan appear? How would last night’s outing and this morning’s odd behavior affect everything today?

Time stretched out endlessly as she waited.

Each minute and second felt like a gentle scrape across the taut strings of anxiety.

When the sky outside had completely turned gray-white, the familiar, steady footsteps finally echoed from the end of the corridor again. This time, it was the rhythm of high heels approaching the Secondary Study, the rhythm of daylight.

A new day had begun.

Carrying unresolved mysteries and a deeper sense of unease.

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