After Marrying the Wrong Crazy Husband, I Ran Away with His Baby - Chapter 4

During the six months she’d been with Qin Mohuai, Xia Yuan had always lived at the grand Shenghai Estate. Fortunately, the estate was vast enough that she could play golf, drive around to admire the scenery, and find solace in its quiet corners.

This kind of gilded confinement wasn’t as unbearable as she had once feared. For someone like her—socially anxious and never fond of mingling—it was almost… suitable.

But Qin Mohuai’s affection meter had been stuck stubbornly at eighty percent for far too long. Xia Yuan realized that simply being obedient wasn’t going to change anything. If things went on like this, even after a year, his affection would still remain at eighty percent. Besides, she had never been one to yield under force—only under gentleness.

Her lips, swollen and bruised from his relentless kisses, curved with a faint, rebellious smile. “I moved out this time with no intention of going back.”

That single sentence utterly ignited Qin Mohuai’s fury. His damp, wounded eyes turned sharp and sinister. He couldn’t even wait until they reached the bedroom before tearing at her clothes, shredding a dress worth tens of thousands into pitiful fragments scattered across the floor.

Her waist-length black hair only emphasized her pale, porcelain skin, which in mere moments was covered in burning marks of red. Like a swan with its neck forced upward, Xia Yuan was trapped in his crushing embrace, left to endure his brutality.

Was this what eighty percent affection felt like? She couldn’t feel it at all.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before her stomach began growling, the sound finally dragging Qin Mohuai back to a shred of reason.

His crimson eyes narrowed, voice low and hoarse—dangerous yet seductive. “Admit you were wrong. Say you’ll come home with me.”

Face-down on the bed, Xia Yuan’s eyes were hollow. Her frail fingers clutched the sheets tighter around her trembling body. But no matter what, she would never say the words that would make Qin Mohuai smug with victory.

He had privately arranged an engagement—how could he still claim she was the one at fault?

Was it simply because he was the male lead, because he held power and status, that he thought he could twist truth into lies?

Xia Yuan was as gentle as water by nature, but once her stubborn streak surfaced, not even ten oxen could drag her back.

Qin Mohuai loomed over her, gazing coldly at her trembling legs and pitiful state. Normally, he would have scooped her into his arms, whispered sweet words, told her “no more” or coaxed her into a night of indulgence.

But if she dared to talk back now, then one day she might dare to betray him. He absolutely couldn’t allow her to live outside his control any longer.

Leaving the bedroom, Qin Mohuai called his secretary to send over food. Just then, his foot brushed against something.

He flicked on the hallway light—and there it was. A black dragon-headed ring, perfectly sized for his finger.

Not far away lay a small card. On it, in delicate handwriting, were the words:
To my love.

It was Xia Yuan’s script.

Holding the card between his fingers, Qin Mohuai’s heartbeat pounded erratically, his eyelids twitching violently.

So, his wife hadn’t run away at all. She had only gone out to buy him a ring?

But… he hadn’t received any spending notifications from her.

Could it be… she’d used her own allowance to buy it for him?

The realization struck deep. The tall, handsome man felt a rare pang of guilt.

He strode back into the bedroom, covering Xia Yuan’s eyes with one hand before switching on the warm bedside lamp. Kneeling at her side, there was none of the ferocity from earlier, only a man who could bend and yield when it came to her.

Xia Yuan understood immediately—he must have discovered the dragon-headed ring.

She had hesitated endlessly at the antique shop before finally swiping her card, wanting to surprise him. Who could have guessed that instead of surprising him, she had nearly been frightened to death beneath him?

“Go away. I don’t want to see you.” Her voice was weak, her body wrung dry by his demands. Qin Mohuai was nothing less than a seductive fox spirit!

Frustrated, Qin Mohuai raked a hand through his dark blue hair, before lowering his handsome face to rub against her cheeks and slender neck. His hoarse, sensual voice whispered, “Wife, you know I’m sick. I take so much medicine, I see the psychiatrist regularly…”

“I’m sorry, baby. When I came home to a pitch-black house without you, I thought you’d left me. I was terrified.”

“Please, just look at me. I can’t imagine a world without you—I’d go mad. Later, I’ll let you be on top. Vent it all out on me, alright?”

Xia Yuan couldn’t help but laugh in anger. Even now, he couldn’t forget to fish for benefits. Truly, he was living proof of the author’s obsessive, lustful character design.

Seeing the Love Value jump by 83%, she let out a soft “mm,” as though granting him forgiveness.

Qin Mohuai’s lips curved into a rare, unrestrained smile. The man who had always lived in luxury actually bent down to clean up the mess himself. He was the first grandson of the Qin family, born with a silver spoon in his mouth—“housework” had never once appeared in his dictionary.

But ever since Xia Yuan came into his life, his overwhelming possessiveness wouldn’t allow anyone else to even touch her undergarments. And so, Qin Mohuai learned to do laundry.

Once, when a maid was helping them pack luggage for a trip, she picked up Xia Yuan’s silk nightdress. Qin Mohuai’s face instantly darkened.
“Why are you touching my wife’s clothes? Put it down. I’ll pack the suitcase.”

From that day on, Qin Mohuai became frighteningly adept at housework.

Another time, when he caught Xia Yuan hiding in the bathroom trying to hand-wash her own underwear, he bit her ear with great grievance.
“Why are you stealing my rights away? If I dirtied it, then I’m the one who washes it. Look—your fingers are all red and irritated. Baby, you don’t know how to do laundry. Don’t force yourself. Let your husband wash your underwear for the rest of your life.”

Xia Yuan huffed, “And what if we have a fight?”

“I can wash with a cold face.”

…

The secretary drove Qin Mohuai back to Shenghai Manor. His work schedule was packed; after work he either exercised, read, or occasionally attended social gatherings. His life was highly disciplined. If Xia Yuan hadn’t knocked on his Maybach one night, boldly stripping away her restraint, their “progress bar” would never have advanced this smoothly.

Qin Mohuai opened the car’s minibar, poured himself a glass of wine, and idly twirled the black dragon-head ring on his finger. His posture was arrogant and noble.

How lonely must a man be, to drink alone night after night? Yet without Xia Yuan by his side, he was just that—lonely, hollow, like a demon abandoned in the abyss, waiting tens of thousands of years for his wife to return to him.

“She looks so innocent and silly… yet every time I end up defeated. Tch. Playing hard to get, little temptress.”

The secretary: …
Sir, isn’t this exactly what you love?

—

That morning, Xia Yuan sat on the balcony with a steaming cup of cocoa and finished writing the full lyrics to Rainy Day. On paper, it was a heartbreak song.

Strange, wasn’t it?

Back in her original world, every lyric she had ever written was about growth, sacrifice, or inspiration. She had dated her ex for four or five years and hadn’t been able to produce even one love song.

But with Qin Mohuai—just six months together—and love songs flowed endlessly.
Perhaps because her past romance was a Platonic one, while with Qin Mohuai, there was nothing pure or reserved about their days and nights together…

That same morning, Zhou Mao’er, who lived in the luxury villas near the manor, received the lyrics. Her eyes lit up with surprise.

At an industry gathering, Zhou Mao’er had seen Xia Yuan by Qin Mohuai’s side. Later, after learning from her brother that Xia Yuan wanted to write for singers, she had deliberately reached out.

A top-tier singer had no reason to seek songs from an unknown writer—her true aim had been to curry favor with the Qin family’s young master.

But she hadn’t expected Xia Yuan to actually have real talent.

“Yuan Yuan, once I make Rainy Day a hit, I’ll definitely share the profits with you!”

“This is my first love song,” Xia Yuan replied calmly. “I’m not sure about its quality. If the label isn’t satisfied, you don’t have to use it.”

“No, no, no!” Zhou Mao’er waved her hands frantically. “The CEO of my label, Gu Xiuzhe, is my cousin. I have influence—I want to sing this one!”

Fearing Xia Yuan would refuse, she immediately ordered her assistant to bring over a contract for Xia Yuan to sign.

Xia Yuan would only be in this world for one year. She never planned to build a career, but boredom gnawed at her—and she dreaded truly becoming a pampered, useless canary under Qin Mohuai’s care.

Later that afternoon, after a long nap, Xia Yuan answered Qin Mohuai’s call. Without fail, he phoned her at this hour every day. If she didn’t pick up, he would obsessively redial until she did.

“Wife, open your laptop camera. Let me see some **.” Qin Mohuai delivered shameless lines with a straight face—even while handling official business.

Expressionless, Xia Yuan hung up. Her cheeks, however, burned crimson.

This—this was exactly why she insisted on keeping her Nokia.