Quick Wear: Child Bearing System

Shen Wenyu hadn’t moved much from his earlier position, sitting upright in bed, his face pale and expression cold as always.

Lin Meixue walked forward with a soft, careful smile on her lips one that Harriet had already learned to recognize as completely false.

“I have some matters to handle in the company,” Meixue announced while placing the fruit tray on the nearby table. “So I’ll be stepping out for now. Harriet can stay and keep you company. She’s quiet and obedient.”

She turned her head slightly, speaking without warmth. “She’ll take care of you.”

Shen Wenyu didn’t respond. His gaze remained steady, his silence a usual weapon of dismissal.

With a final look one meant more for Harriet than for her husband, Lin Meixue gathered her purse and walked out of the room, her heels echoing softly on the tiles.

The moment the door clicked shut, silence returned.

Harriet stood by the table for a moment, her hands loosely folded in front of her. She didn’t rush to move. She knew better than to speak first in front of a man like him.

But Shen Wenyu did turn to look at her. For the first time. His eyes is sharp, probing and emotionless settled on her face.

There was a flicker and faint shift in his gaze.

Harriet felt it too. She saw the small crease in his brow, the slight narrowing of his eyes. He had noticed.

Her resemblance to Zhu Bailian.

It wasn’t exact. Harriet’s features, while delicate, carried the sharper definition of southern lineage. A refined sharpness in the arch of her brows, the curve of her cheekbones, and the slope of her nose. Where Bailian was soft, sunlit, and sweet while Harriet was cooler, sharper, and more subdued.

She wasn’t Bailian.

But there was enough similarity to spark a memory.

Still, Shen Wenyu said nothing. The flicker vanished, and he looked away, as if uninterested.

Harriet exhaled slowly and walked to the side of the bed. She noted the way his posture sagged ever so slightly, how the pillows no longer fully supported his back.

Silently, she reached forward to adjust them. Her fingers brushed against the edge of the pillow, her movements gentle and measured.

Then—

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The cold snap of his voice cut through the air like a whip. It was startling and  direct. Sharp enough to freeze her in place. Harriet eyes blinked. Her fingers stilled as her back straightened as she absorbed the unexpected jolt. But her composure held.

She reminded herself of the basics, her training as a teacher, her adaptability in sudden and awkward scenarios. This wasn’t her classroom, but the principle remained the same: assess, adjust, respond without overreacting.

She calmly withdrew her hand and took a single step back.

“I noticed your pillows were slipping. I only meant to help, that’s all.”

Her voice was even, low, and non-threatening. Neither meek nor challenging. A tone meant to neither provoke nor submit.

She saw the way his gaze lingered just for a second longer than expected before it turned away again. He neither thanked her nor scolded her further.

Harriet pulled up a chair and sat quietly near the bed, not too close, not too far. Her presence was careful and neutral like air. There if needed, gone if ignored. As the minutes passed, neither spoke.