Bai Qi pressed his fingertips to his temples, breath hitching between his teeth. The quiet in his office was too loud, too sharp, every second scraping against the inside of his skull. He leaned back in his chair, then forward again as if the movement might calm the chaos clawing inside his chest.
It didn't.
The glossy mahogany desk blurred before him.
He bowed his head over it.
His eyes burned.
He squeezed them shut.
Not because he knew what he felt.
But because he absolutely did not.
His mind betrayed him with memories he did not invite.
Qing Yue's voice—bright and exasperated—calling his name in the rain.
The way she scolded him for forgetting his umbrella again.
Her holding it over Shu Yao's head instead, fussing over him because the boy refused to complain about the cold.
The three of them on that terrace, drenched and laughing at something he couldn't even remember now.
Bai Qi exhaled sharply, a broken sound catching in the back of his throat.
He opened his eyes.
The twin silver bands on his finger shimmered faintly under the office light.
A symbol of loyalty.
A symbol of a promise.
Now—just hollow metal.
There was no Qing Yue to stand beside him.
No dynasty left to protect.
No warm voice gently pulling him back when he drifted too far.
And Shu Yao—
No. No. That thought twisted deeper than he allowed.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, swallowing down the sting behind his eyes.
He refused to mourn the boy who had become someone he didn't recognize.
He refused to acknowledge the void forming in his chest every time the boy walked away with lowered eyes.
He refused to accept that the one who once held everything together was now the one he pushed away the hardest.
He lowered his head to the desk again. His breath trembled.
He told himself it was exhaustion.
He told himself it was Qing Yue.
He told himself the tightening in his chest was only grief for the past.
He never once considered the truth inches from his heart.
He didn't know the name for the ache spreading through him.
And he would never guess it was Shu Yao.
Not when he refused to see him.
Not when he believed the faint throbbing echo in his heart belonged to Qing Yue's memory—and to the girl Ming Su who resembled her.
Not when he told himself again and again that anything else was impossible.
He squeezed his eyes shut harder.
But the ache didn't fade.
It only sharpened.
Meanwhile outside the elevator…
George's heartbeat was louder than the wailing alarm above the elevator.
The moment the metal doors creaked open, his breath stopped—completely.
Shu Yao lay on the cold elevator floor, limbs slack, chest rising in thin, uneven gasps.
His phone was abandoned on the ground.
His hair was a mess—strands undone, clinging to his damp forehead.
Despite the cold, sweat beaded along his temples.
He looked impossibly small.
The emergency workers froze at the sight.
An employee stepped forward, paling. "IT's … It's assistant shu…"
But before anyone else could move—
George surged into the elevator.
"Shu Yao!" His voice cracked.
He dropped to his knees beside the boy, hands shaking uncontrollably as he gathered Shu Yao's limp form into his arms. Their size difference made it look even worse—Shu Yao weighed nothing, his body folding helplessly.
George tapped Shu Yao's cheek gently.
"Shu Yao—come on, open your eyes," he whispered, voice breaking. "Shu yao."
Shu Yao's head lolled to the side, landing weakly against George's chest.
No response.
George pressed an ear to Shu Yao's chest—
There.
A heartbeat.
Too fast.
Too faint.
His throat tightened.
Outside, staff members gathered, wide-eyed, whispering.
Someone murmured, "did he just faint ."
George swallowed hard.
He remembered the boy's polite bows.
His too-quiet voice.
The pain he always hide.
The way he always obeyed Bai Qi no matter how harshly he was treated.
A fragile creature carrying storms no one bothered to see.
"Hold on," George whispered, voice trembling. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Shu Yao suddenly jolted as if stabbed by a sharp breath—then stilled again.
George's heart nearly stopped.
He gathered Shu Yao closer.
"I can't wait for anything else," he hissed. "We're leaving—now."
He lifted Shu Yao in his arms. The boy's head dropped weakly against his shoulder, his limbs dangling like they had no strength left.
As George stepped out of the elevator, the crowd instinctively parted in silence.
He carried Shu Yao like a prince carrying a fallen angel—protectively, desperately, as if the boy might vanish from his arms at any second.
His steps shook.
His throat burned.
But he didn't stop.
Not even once.
"Now back to Bai qi's office, A soft knock shattered the quiet.
Bai Qi straightened instantly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his wrist. His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable when he called out:
"Who… who is it?"
"Sir… it is important," an employee answered softly.
Bai Qi hesitated before muttering, "Come in."
The door opened. The employee stepped inside, bowing low in respect and fear.
He stole a glance at Bai Qi's reddened eyes—then quickly looked away.
"Speak," Bai Qi said, clipped.
"Sir… it is regarding Assistant Shu."
Bai Qi stiffened. A pulse of something ugly,
cracked through his chest.
"What about him?" His tone turned sharp. "Did I not forbid everyone from approaching him?"
The employee flinched. "Sir, forgive me—but the situation is urgent."
Bai Qi's jaw flexed.
The man swallowed and forced the words out:
"Assistant Shu was… stuck. Inside the elevator. It malfunctioned."
Bai Qi went still.
Completely, still.
"He was unresponsive when emergency services arrived," the employee continued quietly. "When the doors were opened… he had already lost consciousness."
Bai Qi's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk until the wood groaned.
Silence strangled the room.
The employee's voice faded into nothing.
The hum of the AC drifted away.
Even the pounding of Bai Qi's own heart seemed to vanish.
The only thing left was a thin, cold ringing in his ears.
His eyes lifted—slowly, heavily—to meet the employee's.
Unfocused.
Empty.
Dangerously unreadable.
Then—
With a cold, brittle voice that almost cracked:
"…It's none of anyone's concern."
He dropped his gaze, feigning disinterest, feigning stone.
"He deserves it," he muttered under his breath. "He… always takes what was mine."
The employee bowed again, unsure, and retreated out the door.
The moment it shut—
Bai Qi's hands trembled.
He clamped them together until the shaking stopped. Or pretended to.
But the ache in his chest only grew heavier.
And somewhere far beneath the weight of denial…
A faint, frantic heartbeat echoed inside him.
One he refused to name.
Hours slipped by like water through trembling fingers.
Morning dissolved into a pale, exhausted evening, the sky outside the hospital windows bruised with fading gold. In the quiet room, only one sound persisted:
Beep… beep… beep…
George sat rigidly in the chair beside Shu Yao's bed, one hand tangled in his own hair, the other resting near the boy's limp fingers. The harsh fluorescent lights softened over Shu Yao's fragile frame, making him look even smaller than when George first carried him out of the elevator.
The doctor's voice still haunted the edges of his mind.
Trauma. Depression. Anxiety.
Severe.
George couldn't forget the way the doctor sighed before adding:
"He's been handling everything alone for far too long."
That truth hit harder than any blow.
Shu Yao's breathing had evened out, fragile but steady. His face, however, still carried the residue of fear—creases between his brows, lips parted as if whispering a plea even unconscious.
George lowered his gaze, voice barely above a whisper.
"Why can't you move on, Shu Yao…?"
The question held no accusation—only heartbreak.
The monitor kept its steady rhythm.
Until—
Shu Yao's head jerked slightly to the side.
His fingers twitched.
George didn't notice at first. He was rubbing his own eyes, exhausted.
Then—the beeping spiked.
Abrupt. Sharp. Wrong.
George's head snapped up.
The machine spiked again.
His gaze darted to Shu Yao.
The boy was twisting faintly, side to side, breath catching in his throat as if drowning in air.
"Shu Yao?" George leaned forward, panic tightening his voice. "Shu Yao, hey—open your eyes. It's just a nightmare."
But Shu Yao didn't wake.
---
INSIDE THE NIGHTMARE
Shen Haoxuan's smirk glinted like a blade.
Shu Yao staggered back, hitting an invisible wall. His legs refused to move, muscles locking with terror.
"Don't—don't come any closer," he whispered, voice cracking.
Shen only arched a brow, amusement dripping from him like poison.
In a heartbeat, he dragged Shu Yao by the waist, pulling him flush against him.
Shu Yao jerked with shock and terror. He pushed—weakly, desperately—but he was helpless.
Shen leaned in, breath cold against his ear.
"What will you do now, Shu Yao?"
"Let… go," Shu Yao choked out, eyes burning.
"What are you talking about?" Shen mocked, fingers gripping Shu Yao's chin, forcing his face upward. "You're trembling so beautifully."
"I said—let go!"
Shen's smirk widened.
"Well, well. Such a delicate toy. Ruined so easily. Ruined by everyone." His grip tightened cruelly. "Since Bai Qi misunderstood you… from now on, he'll think you're mine."
Shu Yao's heart plummeted.
"What… what do you mean?"
Shen's eyes glittered with vicious delight.
"Bai Qi's father humiliated my father. Now I'll destroy Bai Qi piece by piece. Starting with you."
Shu Yao shook his head violently. "Bai Qi never did anything to you—!"
"But his father did," Shen snapped. "And if I remove Bai Qi from the board, my father can breathes easier."
"You—can't," Shu Yao whispered, horrified. "Do that ."
Shen forced his chin back again, the pain sharp.
"You know you won't."
The world tightened.
Cold.
Suffocating.
Shu Yao twisted, trying to escape the grasp of the nightmare, breath choking, mind spiraling.
BACK TO REALITY
"Shu Yao—wake up!" George tapped his cheek again and again. "It's not real!"
But Shu Yao's body only writhed harder, his breath shallow and panicked.
The door burst open.
The doctor and nurse rushed in.
The monitor beeped in frantic spikes.
"Prepare the sedative," the doctor ordered, scanning the numbers with swift eyes.
George swallowed hard. "He's trapped in something—he can't wake up."
"I can see that," the doctor muttered. "Hold him steady."
George slid onto the bed without hesitation, arms wrapping around Shu Yao's trembling body, pinning him gently but securely.
Shu Yao gasped, twisting as though someone was gripping him in the dark. His fingers clawed at the air.
The nurse injected the sedative.
"Just a few seconds—" the doctor murmured.
Shu Yao's breath hitched.
Then slowed.
Then eased.
His body went still.
George exhaled shakily, brushing a palm through Shu Yao's damp hair.
The room fell into a hushed stillness.
"Will he get better?" George asked, voice hoarse with worry.
The doctor paused, eyes softening. "We can hope. His mind is overloaded. He's witnessed or carried something that keeps dragging him back into fear. Right now, he needs stability more than anything."
George nodded weakly.
The doctor and nurse left, closing the door gently behind them.
George remained seated on the edge of the bed, unwilling to move even an inch.
He looked at Shu Yao—
The way his eyelashes clung together from sweat.
The way his breathing eased only after a drug forced rest upon him.
The way his small frame seemed trapped under an invisible weight.
"You'll get better," George whispered, brushing Shu Yao's cheek lightly. "I won't let you drown in Bai Qi's darkness anymore."
His voice trembled.
"You need air. You need peace."
Shu Yao lay motionless, unaware, fragile.
But something about the stillness made George's chest tighten all over again—because it looked like the stillness of someone who had fought too long, and had finally collapsed under everything he never said.
George leaned closer, resting his forehead gently against Shu Yao's arm.
"I'm not leaving you alone," he promised.