Zhaoyi holdings (an hour before).
"Clear my schedule for today," Yifan muttered, his voice low and rough from exhaustion as he sat slouched in his chair, fingers pressing into his temples.
"Yes, sir," Secretary Shen Rui replied with a nod before quietly exiting the office.
Moments later, Yifan's phone buzzed to life. He picked it up, his tone composed and cool. "I'm listening."
A soft chuckle echoed from the other end.
"I sent Li Lian your way. She should be heading to your mansion as we speak."
Before Yifan could say a word, the line went dead. Yufan had already hung up.
Yifan froze.
Then, in one swift motion, he shot up from his chair, hand reaching for the desk phone.
"Ready the car. Now."
He grabbed his blazer, slipping it on while striding toward the elevator, his pace urgent but composed.
By the time he reached the car, the engine was already running. He slid into the back seat, and without needing a word, the driver pulled out, heading straight for Zhaoyue Pavilion.
Present.
Li Lian stood before the grand entrance, files clutched tightly in her hands, her heartbeat louder than the soft breeze rustling through the evening air. The mansion towered over her, elegant, imposing, and steeped in memories she'd fought hard to bury. Her fingers curled tighter around the folder Lin Xue had entrusted her with.
She drew in a shaky breath and raised her hand to the door bell again.
But before her knuckles could meet the polished wood, the door opened smoothly from within.
"Come in, ma'am," a maid greeted politely with a small smile.
Li Lian gave a slight nod and stepped inside. The air was cool and scented faintly of jasmine and polished oak. The maid gestured to a seat in the lounge and disappeared briefly, returning moments later with a chilled drink and a tray of neatly arranged snacks.
Li Lian offered a faint smile in thanks, her fingers wrapping around the icy can. She took a long sip, letting the coldness settle in her chest like a temporary shield against the anxiety crawling up her spine.
Time ticked by slowly. Every second she waited felt like it stretched into hours. And with each one, the weight of the past grew heavier, settling over her like an invisible storm cloud.
Footsteps. Sharp, steady, unhurried.
The sound echoed lightly through the wide corridor before the man himself appeared, tall, commanding, and cloaked in the same quiet power that once made her heart flutter and now made her pulse stutter for a completely different reason.
Zhao Yifan entered the room like he owned not just the space, but the silence itself.
Their eyes met. The calm mask he wore cracked just slightly when he saw her, just for a heartbeat, before the indifference returned.
Li Lian stood slowly, every movement stiff, composed. The file was pressed tightly to her chest like a shield.
"I came to deliver these, sir," she said, voice calm—controlled to the point of being almost cold. She extended the folder toward him, eyes averted, tone strictly business.
Zhao Yifan didn't take it right away.
His eyes remained on her, searching, almost disbelieving. "…You're really here," he murmured, more to himself than to her.
"Take it, sir." Her voice cut a little sharper this time, brushing off the weight of his gaze. No cracks. No room for old ghosts.
Finally, he reached out and took the folder from her hands—his fingers brushing against hers. The contact was brief, not deliberate, but neither of them moved fast enough to avoid it.
A silence settled. Uncomfortable. Heavy.
"If that's all, then I'll get going." She turned away, quickly gathering her bag, clutching it like armor as she headed toward the door.
But just as she passed him, his hand shot out and caught her wrist.
She froze. Slowly, she turned her head, brows slightly raised, her eyes questioning but guarded.
That look was enough. His fingers loosened at once, his hand falling back as if burned.
"…Sorry," he said softly, but the word lingered between them like something more than an apology.
Li Lian didn't reply.
She turned and walked away, each step steady, deliberate, as if rehearsed. As if she had promised herself not to look back. And she didn't.
Zhao Yifan stood frozen, watching her retreating figure disappear beyond the door, just like she had all those years ago. His hand hung loosely by his side, the warmth of her wrist already fading.
He exhaled slowly, then slumped into the couch behind him.
A low chuckle slipped past his lips rough, empty, and bitter. It echoed faintly in the grand room, swallowed by the silence that settled around him like a weight.
Sadness edged his features but deeper than that; REGRET.
Meanwhile, Li Lian walked down the quiet road that chilly night, the world around her hushed and empty. Her arms hugged her sides, a folder clutched loosely at her side, forgotten. The cold bit into her skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
She tilted her head up to the sky, lips parting as if pleading, let it rain. Let something fall to blur the pain. But the skies remained dry and unbothered.
"I HATE YOU" she suddenly screamed into the silence, her voice cracking in the middle. She stopped walking, standing there alone in the night.
And then, in a whisper that trembled with everything she'd buried. "Yifan…"
A single tear rolled down her cheek, trailing a path of silent grief. She didn't wipe it away.
Back at the Zhaoyue Pavilion.
Yifan sat alone in the dim glow of his study. The folder she brought lay unopened on the table, forgotten.
Glass after glass, he drowned himself in amber bitterness. A drinker he was not, but tonight, it was the only thing that numbed what her presence had resurrected.
The room spun slowly around him, shadows swaying against the walls. Eventually, Yifan let himself collapse onto the cold marble floor, blazer tossed aside, eyes heavy with liquor and sorrow.
He drifted into unconsciousness.
…
"Lian… Lian," he murmured, breath shallow, lost in the haze of a dream.
His brows twisted in anguish. His fists clenched at his sides.
"I'm sorry… please, forgive me… Lian…"
His voice cracked. "Lian. I–I love you… Please forgive me…"
Tears leaked from the corners of his closed eyes.
"Don't go…". But even in his dreams, she was already gone.
Next morning.
Li Lian woke up with a pounding heart and eyes that burned from lack of sleep. The memory of last night clung to her like a second skin, but she forced herself out of bed.
She moved through her morning routine with quiet determination, preparing a simple breakfast, neatly plating it, and leaving a handwritten note for her brother on the kitchen counter. A gentle reminder to eat and take care of himself.
By the time she stepped out of the house, the morning air was cool, the streets still wrapped in a fragile hush.
She arrived at Yang Capital earlier than usual, eager to lose herself in the rhythm of work, to dull the ache inside her chest with spreadsheets and data points.
The building was already stirring, early staff trickling in, and the usual hum of morning activity beginning to rise. She made a quick stop at the coffee machine, gripping the warm cup like an anchor.
Then, settling into her seat, she took a breath and began to work burying her heart beneath numbers and reports.
"Boss wants you in the meeting room," Zhang Wei said as he passed by, settling into his seat like it was any other day.
Li Lian paused mid-sip, blinking. "Me?"
He gave a nonchalant nod, already opening his laptop. "Yeah. Didn't say why."
A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but she quickly masked it. Setting her coffee down, she stood, straightened her blouse, and grabbed her notepad, heart thudding with uncertainty.