MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 239: You are finally mine

Chapter 239: You are finally mine

Fu Jing Rong’s eyes widened as he stared at the empty bed, his hand tightening around the doorframe as if he needed something to hold him upright.

She was gone.

Gone.

His breathing became shallow, and his chest felt tight. His feet moved before he could think, rushing toward the nearest nurse’s station. A young woman in light pink scrubs was just passing the corridor. He caught her by the arm.

"Where is the patient in this room?" he asked, voice barely steady.

The nurse, startled by the sudden movement, turned around. When her eyes met his, they grew as wide as saucers.

"You—You’re awake?" she gasped.

Fu Jing Rong’s brows creased. "Where is the patient?" he repeated, ignoring her shock.

The nurse blinked several times, clearly shaken. "I... I can’t believe it. You’re really awake... Fu Jing Rong... Oh my god."

Her voice dropped to a whisper like she was sharing a sacred secret with herself. For a moment, her awe clouded her sense of duty. But then she remembered what he had asked, and her eyes darted back to the room.

"She was discharged," she said quickly.

Fu Jing Rong froze. "Discharged?" he echoed, his voice hoarse.

The nurse nodded, still nervously trying to compose herself. "Yes... about two hours ago. Her family signed the papers. They arranged for her to receive private home care."

Two hours ago?

Two hours ago!

A sudden tremble ran through his fingertips. His heart, which had been thundering with hope, suddenly flipped into dread.

He was still late, even when he woke up he was still late.

"Which family?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

The nurse hesitated. "The Hua family, of course..."

Fu Jing Rong closed his eyes for a second.

Of course.

Taken by them.

The worst hands she could possibly be in.

He did not speak again. He didn’t yell or ask more questions. He only nodded slightly and turned back toward the hallway.

The nurse looked after him, confused. "Mister Fu...? Are you okay?"

He didn’t answer.

Inside, he was burning.

They had taken her. Back to that house.

That house filled with cold walls, heavy secrets, and fake smiles.

The Hua family—her family in name only—had never truly cared for her. Not in this world. Not in the other one. He knew exactly what kind of people they were. Keeping her in their care wasn’t kindness. It was a cage. Maybe worse.

His steps quickened.

She was in danger!

....

A house stood parched in the woods.

It was a remote place. Isolated. The kind of place you’d never find unless you were deliberately searching for it—or unless someone wanted you never to be found again.

No other house could be seen nearby. Not for miles. It stood in the middle of the forest, surrounded by thick, tangled trees that leaned in like nosy neighbors. The mansion itself was massive, with sprawling, aged stone walls that were smothered in moss and creeping ivy. Cracks ran along the columns like old scars, and the windows were grimy, nearly blacked out with dust and time.

It looked abandoned.

And perhaps, once, it had been.

Suddenly, a black van appeared, its tires crunching loudly over the gravel path that wound through the trees. The wrought-iron gate was already unlocked, swinging open with a metallic creak as the vehicle passed through. The van rolled to a halt just in front of the weather-beaten mansion steps.

The driver’s side door opened with a clunk, and two men stepped out. Their movements were sharp, practiced. They said nothing to each other, yet moved in perfect sync—clearly, this was not their first time.

They rushed to the back of the van and swung the doors wide open. Inside, strapped to a narrow gurney, was a woman.

Unconscious.

Her face—beautiful.

So ethereally beautiful, in fact, that it made the sight even more disturbing. Her skin was pale, flawless. Her long lashes rested delicately against her cheeks. She looked not dead, not even sick—but like she was in the middle of a deep, serene slumber. Like someone who might awaken at any moment.

Without saying a word, the two men wheeled her out of the van and into the house.

Two medical personnel followed closely behind, carrying equipment—monitors, IV drips, oxygen tanks. But there was a stiffness in the way they moved. Cold, mechanical. Not a trace of empathy passed their faces.

They were not here to heal.

They were here to keep her alive—nothing more.

Minutes later, the soft hum of another engine sliced through the silence.

A sleek, charcoal-gray Mercedes-Benz glided up the path and parked just behind the van. From it stepped a woman.

Young. Striking. Sinister.

She was dressed in red—a long, body-hugging gown that flared slightly at her ankles. Fiery. The same red painted her lips, so precise it looked carved. Her black hair was curled to perfection, cascading over one shoulder in deliberate waves.

Six-inch heels clicked against the stone steps as she made her way into the mansion. She walked without falter, the heels an extension of her spine—elegant, cruel, confident. Her aura left no room for softness.

Inside, she found the medical team already at work.

The unconscious woman was now lying on a bed in one of the mansion’s cold, dimly lit rooms. Wires stretched from her arms, IV bags hanging above her like glass specters. Monitors blinked steadily, confirming her heartbeat.

The doctors stepped back as she entered.

"It’s done," one of them said, bowing lightly.

The woman in red smiled.

A cruel smile.

Small, almost lazy—but poisonous. "Good job," she said lightly, voice as sweet as honey and just as sticky. "You may leave."

The doctors nodded and exited without another word. The guards were gone too. Just like that, the house was silent again. Just the soft beeping, and the breath of two women—one standing, one sleeping.

Or was it a coma?

The red-dressed woman approached the bed slowly.

Her heels didn’t click anymore. The carpet here swallowed every sound. Her gaze swept across the woman’s face—peaceful, serene, untouched.

Almost like a doll.

"Who would think," she whispered, a cruel smirk spreading on her face, "that you would fall into my hands so easily like this?"

She leaned down slowly, her smile never wavering.

"Hua Jing... ah, Hua Jing..." she cooed, drawing the name out as if tasting it. "The empire’s darling. The goddess on screen. The people’s flower. And now..." Her eyes gleamed. "Mine."

The room stood still.

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