It was always the same—the suffocating silence that hung over the family of the comatose patient like a funeral shroud. Everyone clung to hope, desperate to see him wake up.
Everyone, that is, except Lin Ming—his so-called girlfriend.
The most infuriating part? That brat had the audacity to make out with another man right in front of Zhang Bing's hospital bed. As if her carefully cultivated image of the devoted partner, the perfect girlfriend, didn't matter anymore.
Disgusting.
In front of a comatose man?
Too much.
"Ugh…" A sensual moan slipped from Lin Ming's lips as she pulled away from the kiss, panting softly. "That was so hot… Why don't we do this more often?" she giggled, already flushed despite the fact their clothes were still intact.
"Here? Tch. You're always a horny little thing. Aren't you afraid we'll get caught?" the man asked, but it wasn't out of fear. He already knew the answer.
"That man's practically dead," she replied with a smirk, nodding toward the unconscious Zhang Bing. "He's not waking up any time soon."
"What if he does?"
"You worry too much," she mocked. "I'm still playing the perfect girlfriend, remember?"
Her voice dripped with sarcasm, mocking the helpless man on the bed—bedridden for over three months now.
"Besides," she added with a devilish glint in her eye, "once he's gone, his parents will be next."
"…You have a plan?"
"Hm?" She dragged her finger along her lover's angular jaw. "Why don't you give me an idea? Maybe I'll obey. Just like you obey mine."
"Killing him in his sleep might actually be romantic," he mused.
She threw her head back and laughed. "God, you're twisted. But I like that. Still, we haven't won the family's trust yet. One wrong move and we're finished. Trust me, I'm planning the same thing—but not until they hand everything over."
Just then, a voice crackled from the man's phone. "Yes, Ms. Zhang. I'm at the hospital now."
It was the voice of Mian-man, Zhang Bing's manager. Her unexpected presence jolted them back to reality.
In an instant, they snapped back into character. Clothes straightened, expressions arranged, Lin Ming's eyes welled with fake tears as she threw a pitiful glance at the unconscious man.
The door swung open.
"Oh?" Mian-man stepped in, surprised. "You two are still here?"
Almost on cue, Lin Ming burst into tears. Her shriek followed like a stage cue. "How could I leave? My love needs me!"
It was a performance. A damn good one—except it made the manager's skin crawl.
"You should go home and rest," Mian-man said, voice steady. "We're all worried about him too. Don't exhaust yourself. What would Mr. Zhang Bing say when he wakes up?"
The words were gentle, but her tone was laced with steel. Calm—deadly calm. The kind of calm that makes thunder rumble in a cloudless sky.
The two schemers felt it. The unspoken command buried beneath the sweetness.
Lin Ming stood abruptly, her expression souring. She left without another word.
In the dim hospital room, Mian-man could still see the flush on her cheeks.
Not from desire.
Not from shame.
But from barely contained fury.
Maybe she'd gone too far.
Maybe.
But one thing was certain—
She wasn't sorry.
Zhang Bing deserved better.
Not a conniving snake.
Not a cheap flirt in designer heels.
Not a hot-bodied brat with dollar signs in her eyes.
"Bastards," she muttered. Not to them. Not to anyone. Just the cold, still room around her.