The moment the car rolled away from the scene, 'Xin Mei' instinctively shrank back from Han Xiyuan's arms. The warmth that had felt like safety just moments ago now seemed too close, too fragile. She pressed herself into the corner of the seat, wrapping her arms around her trembling body as if to guard what little strength she had left. Her torn sleeves clung to her blood-streaked skin, and faint traces of smoke still clung to her hair— a haunting scent of what she had just escaped.
Han Xiyuan leaned back against the seat, his expression unreadable beneath the dim lights flickering through the tinted windows. The silence between them was heavy, only broken by the low hum of the engine. For a while, he simply watched her— this woman who had appeared before him like a ghost, half-broken yet composed, her eyes distant as though part of her soul was still trapped in the chaos they'd left behind.
Finally, his voice broke through the still air, low and steady, "What happened back there?"
The question startled her more than she expected. She raised her head, her fingers still gripping her arm tightly. For a moment, she thought about lying. But the lies had cost her everything once. Her entire life had burned because of them. She would not walk that same path again.
Her lips parted, her English crisp though her voice slightly hoarse, "She's the daughter of the CEO of AM International. She wanted to cripple me… so that I'd stay under their control. And the property deeds— they're in Xin Mei's name. So they wanted me alive… but only as a puppet."
Han Xiyuan tilted his head slightly, his amber-hazel eyes glinting beneath the faint light. His tone was calm but probing, his English tinged with a heavy American accent. "Xin Mei? Aren't you Xin Mei?"
Her gaze met his — those eyes of his held an intensity that stripped away any illusion she could hide behind. Slowly, her lips curved into a soft, ironic smile. "I'm not Xin Mei."
That small confession carried the weight of years— of lies lived, pain endured, and truths buried so deep they'd nearly consumed her. The name 'Xin Mei' wasn't hers, but it had become her cage.
Han Xiyuan's brows lifted slightly, curiosity sparking beneath his calm exterior. "Then who are you?"
She hesitated. Then, with a faint exhale, she straightened her back despite the pain that rippled through her side. When she spoke again, her tone was steady and resolute.
"I'm Evelina," She said softly, switching to Mandarin, her pronunciation elegant and careful, "Xin Mei's good friend."
The name rolled off her tongue like a forgotten melody. For the first time since the night began, she allowed herself to own it, the real her. The sound of it drew the eyes of everyone in the car. Rong Xiu, sitting in the passenger seat, briefly turned, his expression one of surprise. Even Xiao Yu, usually reserved, glanced at her reflection in the rear view mirror.
"Evelina?" Han Xiyuan repeated, tasting the name. "Then why was she calling you Xin Mei? Who is she really?"
Evelina lowered her eyes, her lashes trembling faintly. She spoke quietly, switching between English and Chinese, her accent a soft blend that carried both grace and pain.
"Xin Mei was Xin Siyue's half-sister. Daughter of Xin Zhaowen and Anna. She was sent abroad when she was little— to Europe, with a maid. We were the same age. I was… a patient at the same hospital. She didn't make it. I did."
Her voice faltered slightly, as if even now, the memory was still too raw, "She gave me hope when I had nothing. So I… took her name, to find out what really happened to her. I wanted justice for the friend who saved me."
Her lips curved in a faint, weary smile, "But who knew it would lead me here?"
The car fell silent again. Even the air seemed to still. Her words carried no self-pity, no melodrama, only quiet resolve.
Han Xiyuan studied her for a long moment.
"You're not Chinese." He finally said, picking up on the smooth, foreign lilt in her British-accented English.
"Bonjour." She said with a faint playful glint in her eyes.
That one word made him chuckle softly, a sound she hadn't expected from him. "French?"
She nodded slightly. "My mother's from Country X, raised abroad. My father's French."
Something unspoken passed between them in that moment, an odd sense of understanding. Despite their differences, they both carried the kind of composure that only came from surviving too much too young.
By the time the car arrived at the hospital, the tension between them had eased slightly, replaced by a fragile, unspoken truce. Evelina allowed the doctors to examine her without resistance. Her movements were obedient, but there was an eerie calm in her demeanour, like someone who had already endured far worse.
After several tests, the attending physician approached Han Xiyuan with a report. "There's no major internal injury," He said in careful tone, "but she has a mild concussion and severe skin trauma. She needs to be hospitalized for observation."
Evelina nodded faintly, understanding his tone if not all his words. When the nurse brought the antiseptic, the doctor warned gently, "It will sting, please bear with it."
She simply nodded again, expression unreadable. When the cotton swab brushed against her raw skin, the sting was sharp and cold. Yet not a single sound escaped her lips. Her eyes remained calm, focused on the ceiling, detached, distant, almost frighteningly serene.
Both the doctor and Han Xiyuan paused.
He had seen countless women before, Actresses, heiresses, models. To them, even a paper cut was a performance. But this woman, half-covered in blood and bruises, did not flinch. Her silence was not born from pride, but from something far older — the kind of pain that had already hollowed her out long ago.
Han Xiyuan found himself… unsettled. And intrigued.
For a man like him— surrounded by lights, fame, and facades, true composure was rare. But this woman possessed it like armour. Her calm was haunting, and for the first time in years, he felt something stir inside him, a flicker of warmth where he thought there was none.
When the doctor finally left, the room fell quiet again. Evelina sat upright on the hospital bed, her hair falling loosely around her face. She turned her head slightly toward Han Xiyuan, who was sitting by the chair near the bedside, his long legs crossed, his gaze fixed on her.
"Thank you, Young Master Han." She said softly, her tone sincere.
Her voice, despite being faint, carried a clarity that seemed to linger in the air.
He looked at her for a long while before answering.
"Evelina," He repeated her name like a secret. Then, with a faint chuckle, he leaned back lazily in his chair. "You want to thank me? I'm expensive, you know. How do you plan to do that?"
His teasing tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, testing, searching.
Evelina blinked, momentarily stunned. Of all things, she hadn't expected this. He was smiling, truly smiling. It transformed his entire face. The cold, stoic lines softened into something dangerously charming. His eyes glimmered like molten amber, and the corner of his lips curved in a way that could easily make a woman forget to breathe.
For a second, she did.
She had only seen him in newspapers before— aloof, untouchable, the young emperor of the Elite circle. Seeing that rare, genuine smile up close was like watching ice melt into sunlight.
Her heart skipped before she caught herself and looked away, forcing composure back into her trembling hands.
"...Young Master Han," She said, her tone modest but steady, "there's nothing I own that you'd find valuable. I have no money, no possessions— not even my ID. All I can offer is my gratitude."
Her smile was faint, but it carried both dignity and exhaustion.
Han Xiyuan's gaze darkened, amused and intrigued all at once.
"You think you can just walk away with a simple 'thank you' after using me?" He leaned slightly forward, voice low. "Dream on."
The words caught her off-guard. She stared at him, unsure if he was serious or simply teasing. His expression didn't help— calm, unreadable, yet somehow predatory.
A small laugh escaped her, unbidden. It wasn't a cheerful sound, more of disbelief. "I really don't have anything." She replied softly, her tone fearless despite her exhaustion.
Han Xiyuan's smile deepened, lazy but dangerous. He rose from the chair, his tall frame casting a long shadow over her. Step by step, he closed the distance between them, his gaze never leaving hers.
Evelina instinctively tensed. Her heart thudded once, hard.
He bent down— slowly, deliberately until his face hovered mere inches from hers. She could feel his breath, warm and steady, mingling with the faint scent of cool mint and something darker, the kind of scent that lingered long after the man was gone.
Her pulse quickened, but she did not move. Her eyes stayed locked on his.
Han Xiyuan didn't touch her. He didn't have to. His presence alone was enough to blur the air between them.
For a long, breathless second, neither spoke.
Then, Evelina's lips curved faintly, the kind of smile that was both fragile and defiant. "You won't," she whispered, almost daring him. "You're not that kind of man."
Something flickered in his eyes, surprise, maybe even admiration.
For the first time that night, he realized, this woman was not afraid of him. Not his power, not his gaze, not even his silence. And for a man like Han Xiyuan, that alone made her far more dangerous than anyone he'd ever met.