Escaping from the Yandere Young Heiress - Chapter 19

The steady click of high heels echoed down the hallway, heading toward the secondary study. Then came the soft sounds of a door opening and closing.

It was Leng Tan’s daytime rhythm: precise, orderly, as if the turmoil of the previous night and the strange events of dawn had never happened.

But Jian Anji knew they had.

A faint, almost imperceptible scent lingered in the air, like disinfectant or a strong air freshener. Though barely detectable, it felt like a tiny thorn pricking at the edge of her senses.

And then there were the fragments of memory: the silhouette of Leng Tan rubbing her forehead by the car, the slightly heavier slam of the door, and the persistent sound of running water in the early hours… These fragments persisted more stubbornly than any concrete evidence.

Jian Anji sat quietly in the guest room for a few more minutes until the faint, rhythmic tapping of a keyboard drifted from the secondary study. Only then did she rise and begin her morning routine.

She washed up and changed. Today’s outfit, laid out at the foot of the bed, was a cream-colored knit top and light gray trousers. The fabric was soft, yet the ensemble still carried that unique blend of meticulous fit and aloofness characteristic of Leng Tan’s selections.

The injury on her back reminded her of its presence with every movement. The pain had deepened into a dull ache and stiffness that spread across her shoulders and back, the bruises beneath her skin likely now more vivid. She moved carefully, avoiding the injured area, her movements slower than usual.

When she left the guest room, the door to the secondary study remained closed.

She walked toward the dining room.

Breakfast was already laid out on the table: a simple Western-style spread of toast, fried eggs, bacon, fruit, and a steaming pot of coffee.

There was only one set of utensils.

Leng Tan clearly had no intention of joining her for breakfast.

This wasn’t entirely unusual; she sometimes handled morning business in the study.

But given the circumstances, her absence seemed like a deliberate avoidance.

Jian Anji sat down in her usual spot and began eating.

The toast was slightly cold, and the coffee was scalding hot.

She ate distractedly, her attention drifting uncontrollably toward the tightly shut door of the secondary study.

Inside, the keyboard clicks alternated between rapid bursts and pauses, their rhythm almost coldly methodical.

Just as she was finishing breakfast, the door to the secondary study opened.

Leng Tan emerged.

She had changed out of last night’s black suit into a light gray cashmere knit dress paired with a matching cardigan. Her long hair hung loosely over her shoulders, and her face showed no trace of makeup, appearing almost pale.

Her steps were steady, her expression as calm and detached as ever. Her eyes betrayed no lingering emotion, as if she were simply moving from one workspace to another living area.

She walked to the dining table but didn’t sit down. Instead, she picked up the coffee pot and poured herself a cup of black coffee.

Her movements were smooth and natural, her fingers steady.

“This morning,” she said, holding the coffee cup, her gaze fixed on the brightening sky outside the window rather than on Jian Anji, her tone flat and even, “wipe the inside of all the windows in the living room and study. Use the blue cleaner from the third shelf of the study cabinet and the chamois cloth.”

Another specific, time-consuming task requiring focused physical effort.

Just like yesterday’s work of organizing documents and putting away account books.

Filling time with trivial labor, confining the body, and occupying the mind.

“…Yes, Master,” Jian Anji replied softly, setting down her knife and fork.

Leng Tan seemed to only then notice that she had finished eating.

“Hmm,” she acknowledged, picked up her coffee cup, and turned to return to the secondary study.

At the doorway, she paused, tilted her head slightly, and added, “Be careful. Don’t leave any water marks.”

With that, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, the door closing behind her.

Jian Anji remained seated, staring at the empty chair across from her and the coffee pot Leng Tan had just used.

Wiping windows.

A household chore so ordinary in a normal home, yet here, it felt like a precise command, a role to be played.

Leng Tan’s final instruction about “water marks” wasn’t really about cleanliness. It was more of a metaphor: erase all unnecessary traces, whether on the glass or anywhere else.

She slowly gathered her dishes and took them to the kitchen. Then she went to the study to get the cleaning supplies.

When she opened the study door, morning light flooded in.

Her gaze drifted involuntarily to the top bookshelf near the window.

The three old ledgers lay quietly in the shadows, as if they had never been moved or revealed any secrets.

The desk was completely empty. Any scraps of paper that might have been there yesterday were gone.

From the third compartment of the storage cabinet, she took out the specified blue cleaning solution and several soft, dry chamois cloths.

The cleaning solution had a faint, artificial lemon scent, completely different from the faint aroma she had detected earlier that morning.

Holding the supplies, she walked to the living room. The massive floor-to-ceiling window reflected her and the empty apartment behind her.

She began working, spraying the cleaning solution on the glass and carefully wiping it with a chamois cloth.

Her movements were stiff at first. The injury on her back made each arm raise and stretch uncomfortable.

But she forced herself to focus on the glass before her, wiping away condensation, erasing dust, making the cityscape outside crystal clear yet impossibly distant.

The wiping motions were repetitive and monotonous.

Despite the rhythmic back-and-forth, her thoughts refused to quiet.

What was Leng Tan doing in the secondary study right now?

Beneath her pale, composed face, did the shadows of last night still linger?

That black suit, the unfamiliar scent, the sound of water in the early hours… what did they all mean?

And here she was, like a programmed cleaner, polishing the edges of this gilded cage, trying to erase every visible stain while utterly powerless against the deeper cracks and hidden secrets.

The suede cloth glided across the cold, smooth glass, emitting the faintest whisper of friction.

Outside, the sunlight grew brighter, making the glass almost blinding.

She saw her own blurred reflection in the glass: a calm face, empty eyes, meticulously carrying out orders.

And with each stroke, those orders were slowly erasing the last traces of vitality that remained of Jian Anji.

The glass hissed softly under the suede cloth. Jian Anji’s movements were mechanical yet focused, as if she could wipe away all her chaotic thoughts along with the water marks.

The sun grew stronger, its rays streaming unhindered through the spotless glass, casting bright, almost blinding patches of light across the polished floor. Every cold, expensive object in the living room stood out in sharp detail.

She had just finished wiping the middle section of a floor-to-ceiling window and had to stretch up a bit to reach the top.

The movement strained her back muscles, sending a sharp, aching pain through her. Her hand froze, and a few drops of cleaning solution spilled from the spray bottle, landing on the dark wooden frame and leaving small, dark circles.

Her heart tightened, and she glanced instinctively at the closed door of the secondary study.

No sound.

She quickly wiped the spots with a corner of the chamois cloth.

The wood absorbed the water, darkening slightly. Though she wiped away the surface liquid, a faint damp stain remained.

Leng Tan’s warning echoed in her mind: “Don’t leave water marks.”

This tiny mistake, in this place and at this moment, felt like a small, ominous sign.

She stared at the damp stain, her heart clenching slightly.

Just then, the door to the secondary study swung open without warning.

Leng Tan emerged, holding an empty ceramic cup, likely having finished her coffee.

She walked straight toward the kitchen, her steps still steady, but her face, under the bright sunlight, looked even paler than it had at breakfast. There was even a faint, dark shadow beneath her eyes, perhaps from lack of sleep.

The soft, light gray cashmere dress clung to her body, yet somehow made her seem even more fragile.

As she passed the living room, her gaze flicked over Jian Anji, who was wiping the windows, but didn’t linger, as if Jian Anji were just another appliance humming away.

But just as she was about to step into the hallway between the dining room and kitchen, her foot paused almost imperceptibly.

Her eyes seemed drawn to a spot on the window frame Jian Anji had just wiped, where a faint, barely visible damp patch remained.

Her gaze lingered there for about half a second.

So brief that Jian Anji almost thought she’d imagined it.

But Leng Tan’s brow furrowed ever so slightly.

Not in anger, but more like… an unconscious sensitivity to any imperfection, or perhaps a subtle leak of some deeper irritation.

Then she looked away and continued toward the kitchen, her back straight, her steps steady.

Jian Anji froze, the damp chamois cloth still clutched in her hand, her fingertips cold.

That half-second of scrutiny and the almost imperceptible frown carried a colder weight than any scolding.

It confirmed that Leng Tan’s attention never truly wavered, even when she appeared focused on her own tasks.

Any tiny water mark, whether on glass, wood, or any other surface, any imperfection or mistake, was under the watchful gaze of those eyes.

The sound of water rinsing a cup came from the kitchen, brief and efficient.

Then Leng Tan emerged.

Without glancing at Jian Anji or the window, she returned directly to the secondary study and closed the door again.

Silence settled back into the living room, broken only by the silent flow of sunlight.

The damp patch on the window frame gradually evaporated under the rising room temperature, fading at a rate barely perceptible to the naked eye. Soon, it would likely disappear completely.

But Jian Anji knew some things couldn’t be erased.

Like the scars on her back, the secrets hidden in the ledgers, the turmoil Leng Tan might be concealing beneath her pale complexion from the night before, and… the deeper unease now tightening in her heart, triggered by a minor mistake and its detection.

She took a deep breath, picked up the spray bottle and chamois cloth again, and began wiping the next pane of glass with even greater care and force.

Her movements were precise, her pressure even, as if she were trying to make the glass so transparent it would vanish altogether.

The sunlight cast her working shadow long across the carpet.

The shadow silently mirrored her every motion, yet seemed more like a lifeless, precisely functioning machine than she did.

Outside the window, the city remained noisy and distant behind the overly clean glass, like a massive yet artificial backdrop.

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