"You're not the type to stop a pregnant wife from spending quality time with their husband, right?"
The question settles into the space between us.
Xue Lian's face does something interesting then, not a dramatic shift, more like watching ice crack under pressure. Color creeps up his neck in patches, spreading across his cheeks, and I can't tell if it's anger making him flush or embarrassment at being cornered so neatly in front of Bael.
His fingers press white against the file he's holding, knuckles standing out for a breath before he forces them to relax, smoothing his grip like he can smooth away what just happened.
Bael is still sitting there looking perfectly composed, but there's a slight curve at the corner of his mouth that he's not quite hiding, the kind of almost-smile that says he's enjoying every second of this.
