Shen Haoxuan stepped into his private residence, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. The familiar scent of polished wood and faint cologne greeted him, yet the quiet held no warmth—only the residue of schemes past.
Before he could even set his bag down, Lu Zeyan was on him, arms shooting forward, hands pressing against Shen's chest in a mock attempt at aggression.
Shen rolled his eyes, unimpressed, a lazy smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Don't worry, Zeyan. I already cleaned up your mess," he drawled.
Lu Zeyan scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish glint in his eyes. "I swear, Shen Ge… if he hadn't seduced you, I wouldn't have done anything like that."
He leaned in closer, hand brushing Shen's cheek with a feather-light touch. His voice dropped, soft and dangerous. "Can't you see, Shen Ge? He actually dared to slap you. It was maddening. I… had to take revenge."
Shen smirked again, slow and deliberate, a predator in repose. He leaned into Lu Zeyan, his hands curling around the other's back, pulling him close. "But didn't I say? I already took my revenge."
Lu Zeyan's blush was immediate, warming his cheeks even in the cool interior. He spoke, voice shaky and weary, "Well… Shen Ge, you did…"
Shen's eyes half-lidded, lips brushing against Zeyan's collarbone as he buried his face into the warmth of his chest. "Let me stay like this for a while," he murmured.
Lu Zeyan swallowed, gulping against the rapid thrum of his heart. He pressed a hand into Shen's back, feeling the tension and the weight of quiet authority. "You can stay like this forever, if you want," he whispered, admiration laced with a subtle, unspoken possessiveness.
Shen exhaled, soft, content, wrapped in the sanctuary of Zeyan's presence. The distant memory of Shu Yao—of that audacious boy who had dared to raise his hand—flared in Lu Zeyan's mind, a faint echo of anger and protectiveness. But now, in this quiet cocoon, only Shen existed, untouchable, intoxicating, and entirely his.
Meanwhile, across the continent in Munich, the chill pressed against the windows of the upper office.
Niklas stood by the glass, his coat collar high, the cold brushing against his jaw like a whisper of the dangers that always seemed to follow. His expression was unreadable, as smooth and impenetrable as frost, but beneath it, a current of tension wound through him like a coiled spring.
Bai Mingzhu appeared silently, her presence as calm and grounding as a lighthouse in a storm. Her hand rested gently on his shoulder. "Don't worry, darling. I'm sure everything will be fine," she said, her voice warm, melodic—a balm against the steel of his thoughts.
Niklas clenched his jaw first, then allowed himself a long exhale. He looked down, fingers tightening into fists at his sides, the faint tremor of control barely hidden beneath his stoic facade.
Bai Mingzhu smiled, gentle and knowing. "Don't worry, dear," she murmured again, squeezing his shoulder with reassurance.
Niklas finally turned his eyes to her. Black obsidian, dark and luminous, they reflected his soul—hope, love, and an unyielding determination. He clenched his fingers tighter, voice low and firm. "Mingzhu… you know how he hurt you."
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him. The chill of the room dissipated with her warmth. "I know, Niklas," she whispered. "I know. You couldn't bear to see me like that. But now… Baoliang has no power over me. He has nothing left. Only karma."
Niklas tightened his arms around her, pressing his face into her hair. The ache of the past, of helplessness, of the rage he had long suppressed, all coiled into this one embrace. "I wish I could have killed him that time," he admitted, voice raw, vulnerable.
Bai Mingzhu raised a delicate finger to his lips, soft as moonlight. "No, dear. You wouldn't have. I want to see my husband as a hero, not a villain," she said, her voice infused with both love and quiet strength.
Niklas felt heat rise to his cheeks despite the cold, the embarrassment melting instantly into a deeper resolve. He adjusted, one hand resting at the nape of her neck, the other sliding to her slim waist, anchoring her to himself.
"I will protect you. All of you. My family," he said, voice unwavering now, each word a promise etched in steel and fire.
She rested her head against his chest, warmth meeting cold, strength meeting unspoken vulnerability. "I believe you would," she whispered. "Because you always do."
For a moment, the world shrank to the space they occupied. The hum of the city, the cold biting at the windows, the weight of betrayal and intrigue outside—none of it reached them here. Here, there was only safety. Only trust. Only the rhythm of hearts beating in quiet synchrony.
Niklas's hands tightened imperceptibly, an almost possessive need to keep her close, to shield her from every shadow, every threat lurking beyond glass and steel.
Bai Mingzhu's lips curved in a small, knowing smile. She felt it too—the promise, the unspoken pledge that no matter what storms came, they would weather them together.
Now meanwhile in Beijing, George's steps pounded against the polished floor, each one echoing down the corridor like a muted drumbeat of impending disaster.
He didn't pause, didn't think. The urgency had stolen all pretense of caution. The office door loomed ahead, and George moved to push it open.
The threshold resisted.
He tried again. Locking mechanism. Stubborn. His mind raced.
Bai Qi. He did this on purpose.
A cold spike of fear twisted in his gut. If I don't get inside…
He barked Bai Qi's name. "Bai Qi! Open this damn door!"
Nothing. Silence answered.
Inside, Bai Qi's office was a storm contained within four walls. Shu Yao's body hit the floor hard, not gently, the sound of impact ringing sharp in the air. His lungs burned as he looked up, raw, terrified.
"I thought we could be friends," Bai Qi barked, his voice a whip crack of anger. "I was your best friend. I tried so hard to help you! But you… you always shoved me away, like my help was a burden!"
Shu Yao's gaze dropped instinctively. The weight of memory pressed down: the bright laughter of Qing Yue, the gentle comfort she offered when sickness had stolen his strength. Now all of it felt like ash in his mouth.
He sniffled, trembling. Tears threatened, a quiet betrayal of his composure.
Bai Qi's eyes darkened further, glassy with grief, untethered and wild. His hand shot out, yanking Shu Yao upright by the hair. A sharp hiss escaped Shu Yao's throat; his scalp stung, and his shoulders tensed instinctively. He winced, a tremor running through his body.
But even in the pain, he didn't speak. Didn't resist. Only lowered his gaze, letting the sting mark him silently as Bai Qi leaned closer, voice jagged with lunacy.
"You… you've been behind my back. Not just once, Shu Yao."
Shu Yao gasped, eyes wide with terror.
"You even knew who Shen is," Bai Qi continued, a low growl curling around each word. Shu Yao's throat constricted. One word, and everything would shatter—every fragile connection, every shadow of trust. He stayed silent.
"Why did you do that?" Bai Qi demanded. "Was it to frame me? To humiliate me in front of my father?"
Shu Yao shook his head faintly, lips pressed tight.
Bai Qi growled, stepping even closer. "Then why? You think you can play me?"
"Then why the hell did you do it?" Bai Qi barked again, stepping closer, the air between them thick with fury.
Shu Yao didn't answer.
"You want to humiliate me?" Bai Qi's words thundered now, every syllable a blade. "Fine. Do it. But don't forget—I can humiliate too."
He yanked Shu Yao by the wrist, dragging him across the office floor. Each step left marks of control and rage.
"I won't just stand by and let myself be humiliated!" Bai Qi shouted, voice raw, echoing off the walls.
Shu Yao gasped for air as he was yanked along, his frame barely resisting the force.
"Sir—" he choked, voice fragile.
At that precise moment, a knock rapped sharply against the office door. Bai Qi glanced at it but didn't break stride. The handle twisted. Locked.
Then the door clicked.
Bai Qi's hand had turned the handle himself, the lock giving way under his force. In one swift motion, he yanked Shu Yao forward and, without a moment's hesitation, threw him toward George.
"From now on, Uncle…" Bai Qi barked, voice slicing through the air.
George held Shu Yao tightly, gaze darting up to Bai Qi.
"I promise," Bai Qi continued, voice low and dangerous, " I will make you regret your every move.
George held him tight, heart pounding, eyes darting to Bai Qi. "Bai Qi—" he began, mouth opening to scold, to demand, to challenge the cruelty he had just witnessed.
Shu Yao clung to George, shaking his head slowly, a quiet plea: Don't say anything. Don't intervene.
Bai Qi didn't wait. The office door swung closed with a sharp, unforgiving snap.
George froze, heart clenched, caught between anger and the raw terror in Shu Yao's eyes. Slowly, carefully, he allowed the silence to stretch.
Shu Yao finally pulled back, voice soft, hollow but steady. "He can hate me… it's fine."
George's jaw clenched. "You… you actually lied about the file, didn't you?" His voice trembled between disbelief and anger.
Shu Yao's lips curved into a serene, almost fragile smile.
George's grip loosened as comprehension settled in. "I can't believe you," he muttered, voice tight. "You actually let Bai Qi blame you?"
He studied Shu Yao's composed, pale frame, the quiet dignity that belied all the chaos he had endured.
"It's fine, Mr. George. He wouldn't fire me… he'll punish me. That's all."
George's fists tightened. Rage bubbled, unchecked. "No, Shu Yao. You're wrong. I can't let him do that!"
Shu Yao shook his head, calm and deliberate, almost imperious in its serenity. "You can't do anything about it, Mr. George."
His voice, though quiet, carried a weight that pressed against George's ribs like iron.
George's chest tightened. He had everything—wealth, influence, connections. Yet none of it mattered now. He could not shield the one he cared for most.
"Mr. George… you promise me," Shu Yao whispered, fingers clutching the fabric of his coat sleeves. "Promise me you won't tell him anything… or confront him."
George's knuckles whitened. Anger rose, searing, but he forced himself to inhale, to slow the pulse of panic. "I… I don't know how to make you understand," he muttered, voice low, strained.
Shu Yao's gaze was steady, almost tender, and yet it was filled with a surrender that tore at George's soul. No matter his power, no matter his influence… he was powerless here.
Shu Yao stepped away, each footfall measured, careful. George opened his mouth to call him back, but Shu Yao didn't stop.
He lowered his gaze, brushing at the corner of his eyes with the back of his hand. Quiet, almost imperceptible. "Thank you… for always understanding me, Mr. George," he whispered.
George remained silent, chest tight, eyes following him as he disappeared into the hallway.
Shu Yao reached the lift, pressed the button, and watched as the doors slid open with a mechanical sigh. He stepped inside, shoulders hunched, and the doors closed behind him.
The confined space felt colder than usual, the polished steel walls reflecting his pale, tense frame. He leaned back, forehead against the cold metal, breathing uneven.
Memories assaulted him—the accusations, Bai Qi's fury, the searing grip as he had yanked Shu Yao's hair. He hadn't spoken. Couldn't. He had only absorbed it, taken the punishment silently, like he always did.
A shiver ran down his spine as the weight of it all pressed in. He shook his head, willing the dark thoughts to disperse. I won't let Shen do worse… he told himself.
Then the lights flickered.
Shu Yao's lashes lifted, blinking against the sudden darkness, the faint hum of the lift faltering around him.
A jerk. The elevator shuddered violently, his knees nearly buckling beneath him.
The hum died. Silence swallowed the space.
He pressed the button again. Nothing.
"W-what… what just happened?" His voice barely reached the steel walls. "The power… it's… gone."
He pressed again. The buttons remained dead. The red glow of the emergency light pulsed weakly, casting jagged shadows across his tense features.
Shu Yao swallowed hard. Breath hitching. Fingers trembling as he pressed the panel one last time. Nothing.
The confined space pressed closer, walls cold and indifferent. He hugged his knees, wrapping his arms around them, pressing his forehead against the hard steel.
"Why… why is it always me?" His voice cracked, small and raw, swallowed almost instantly by the oppressive silence.
No one answered. No one came. No one could help him.
The elevator remained still, dark, unyielding. Trapped. Alone.
Shu Yao's chest rose and fell rapidly, shoulders trembling under the weight of exhaustion, fear, and the invisible chains of every accusation he had endured.
And for the first time in hours, maybe days, he allowed himself to feel entirely exposed—helpless, small, entirely alone.