Bai Qi strode into the opulent boardroom, a fragile mask of control plastered over the raw misery he felt.
Ming Su, already seated, stood instantly, her movement fluid and graceful. Her smile, unsettlingly familiar, was aimed directly at his shattered composure. She missed nothing—the tension in his jaw, the faint redness around his eyes, the suppressed violence beneath the fine tailoring.
He sat heavily, dragging the high-backed chair.
Armin, who had been pacing by the window, quickly sat down, muttering under his breath,
"Where have you been this whole time?"
Bai Qi ignored him, taking a deep, shuddering breath. When he lifted his gaze, it was cold, professional.
"Continue."
Ming Su resumed her presentation, speaking sweetly, patiently, weaving corporate jargon with soft, comforting tones. She was waiting, her every gesture calibrated for maximum emotional impact.
Bai Qi kept his gaze rigidly fixed on the polished mahogany table. He couldn't look at her directly. The voice, the cadence, the perfect echo of Qing Yue—it was unbearable.
Ming Su sensed the precise moment his endurance snapped. She shifted tactics, adopting a sorrowful, concerned expression.
"It's okay, Mr. Bai," she said, her voice dropping to a sympathetic register.
Bai Qi stopped breathing. He clenched his jaw, the muscles twitching.
Ming Su, who was sitting only one chair away, looked pointedly at his white knuckles gripping the edge of the table. She blinked up at him, an image of borrowed innocence.
She reached out, her hand trembling—a deliberate, practiced tremor—and placed it gently on his.
Bai Qi froze. He swallowed hard, heat rising on his neck, not daring to look at the deceptive touch.
"It's alright, Mr. Bai," she murmured, slightly leaning in, a gesture of faux comfort. "If you didn't want to work with us, then it's fine."
She slowly stood up, letting her hand drift from his hand's his shoulder. Bai Qi tensed violently at the second point of contact. He was lost, his emotional compass spinning wildly.
"Take care of yourself, Mr. Bai," Ming Su continued, her voice heavy with feigned care. "You don't look good. Take care of your health; that matters. Work can wait."
Bai Qi suddenly stood, his chair scraping backward. He finally lifted his gaze to her face. She was perfect. Innocent. Exactly like her.
He felt a flush of confused shame and warmth creep onto his cheeks.
"I…" he began, stumbling over the single syllable.
Armin watched the devastating performance unfold, rooted to his seat, unwilling to risk interrupting the fragile sequence. He had never seen Bai Qi emotions changes so easily.
"Is there anything you want to speak of, Mr. Bai?" Ming Su asked, tilting her head with sweet concern.
Bai Qi fought a vicious, internal battle for control, but the ghost of Qing Yue was too powerful.
"Forgive me," he heard himself say, his voice thick. "I'd like to sign with you."
Ming Su's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine triumph beneath the innocent facade. Wow. Her charm actually cracked the sorrowful, complicated man.
She laughed—a light, echoing sound that Bai Qi immediately averted his gaze from.
"Well, Mr. Bai," she said, taking her hand from her lips. "I am truly happy to be your partner."
Armin pressed his lips into a thin line. It was done.
"Should we celebrate?" Ming Su suggested brightly.
Bai Qi shook his head, regaining a fraction of his composure. "No, Miss Ming. There is no need."
Ming Su, enjoying the formality of his address, smiled.
"It's fine, Mr. Bai," she insisted. "I'll treat you."
Bai Qi felt an odd compulsion. He had to regain control, to assert the male dominance of the invitation.
"No," he repeated, his gaze firmly on the wall.
"I'll… I'll treat you to dinner tonight."
Armin blinked, astonished by the sudden shift from cruelty to reckless gentlemanly behavior.
What the hell is he doing! again, Armin muttered silently.
Ming Su chuckled softly, satisfied. "Okay, Mr. Bai. If you are insisting, then I'll come."
The meeting, and the signing, was effectively over. Ming Su left with Naina, her footsteps clicking confidently down the hallway.
The moment they were gone, Bai Qi collapsed back into his chair, exhaling a long, defeated breath.
Armin stood up immediately. "What have you done, Bai Qi?"
Bai Qi looked at him, his face vacant. "She's just a lady. What's wrong with signing a deal?"
Armin rolled his eyes, frustration boiling over. "She is working with our rival! I don't think it's—"
"She is just working with Shen," Bai Qi cut him off sharply.
"That doesn't make her something to Shen. It's business."
Armin sighed. "Whatever." He knew arguing was pointless.
Meanwhile, in the unassuming stillness of his lower-floor office, Shu Yao was still mechanically processing emails. His hands moved, but his mind was trapped in the vacuum of his misery.
He decided he needed a moment—a cup of coffee, something warm to cut through the cold fear.
He stepped out of his office and into the adjacent hallway. He stopped dead.
He heard it. A familiar, melodic voice that, despite his trauma, instantly triggered the ghost of Qing Yue.
It's her.
Shu Yao froze, retreating a step, the initial shock of the resemblance hitting him. He prepared to turn away, but then he heard her voice change—it was low, calculating, and chillingly devoid of the sweet sorrow she had used on Bai Qi. She was on the phone.
Shu Yao stayed rooted to the spot, listening as his world tilted again.
"Yes," Ming Su was saying, her voice a precise weapon. "And how are we gonna end it? Ah, simple. It's not that hard. Yes, he is already drowning."
Shu Yao's blood ran cold. Drowning? Bai Qi?
He heard the next words, and his body turned rigid with horror.
"Yes, Shen. I know what to do next."
Shen Haoxuan.
First, Me Now their target is Bai Qi.
He stumbled back into his office, the thought of coffee forgotten, his chest heaving.
"What? What should I do?" he whispered into the empty air. "Should I tell Bai Qi that she is not the right person?"
He tried to sit, but the rooted thought of the conspiracy—Shen and Ming Su working together to destroy Bai Qi—kept him standing, shaking.
Miles away, in a stark, luxury penthouse, Shen Haoxuan was leaning back on a velvet couch, the smoke from a cigarette curling lazily from his lips.
His phone rested on the table, having just finished the call with Ming Su.
Lu Zeyan, the lackey and admirer, was down on his knees on the rug, a posture of pathetic devotion.
Shen inhaled deeply, the red tip of the cigarette glowing, and exhaled the toxic cloud.
"Now," Shen drawled, his voice laced with cruel satisfaction.
"The real game will begin."
"Ge," Lu Zeyan murmured, slowly lifting his head.
Shen opened one eye, his expression sharp and indifferent.
"What is it?"
Lu Zeyan slowly stood, his movements hesitant. "I am worried about you."
Shen frowned, a flicker of genuine annoyance crossing his face. "Worried about me?"
"I know you want revenge," Lu Zeyan continued, his gaze lowered.
"But…"
"But what?" Shen barked, tapping ash onto the tray.
"If they somehow found out everything about me," Lu Zeyan stammered, his cheeks flushing crimson, "you will be in danger, Ge."
Shen smirked, finding the devotion pathetic. "Lu Zeyan, how pitiful you are."
He rolled his eyes internally at the declaration of concern. "They wouldn't find anything. As long as I am alive, everything can go on according to my plan."
Lu Zeyan immediately crouched down again, resting his head lightly on Shen Haoxuan's thigh. "I love you, Ge."
Meanwhile, Shu Yao sat in the dim light of his office, his hands trembling violently as he gripped his phone.
The terrifying conversation he had overheard in the hallway replayed in his mind. Ming Su. Shen Haoxuan. A trap for Bai Qi.
He couldn't sit still. He couldn't be silent. But he couldn't tell Bai Qi directly; the man wouldn't believe a word from his lips. There was only one person left.
Mr, George.
Shu Yao dialed the number, pressing the phone to his ear with white-knuckled desperation. He waited, his breath hitching in his throat.
One ring.
"Hello, Shu Yao?" George's voice came through, warm and steady.
Shu Yao stiffened, his posture rigid. "Hello… Mr. George."
"What happened, Shu Yao?" George asked, concern coloring his tone immediately. "Are you okay? I hope you are resting."
Shu Yao lowered his head. He hated lying. He wasn't resting; he was working himself to the bone to atone for sins he hadn't committed.
"Yes, Mr. George," Shu Yao flinched, guilt gnawing at him.
"Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere?" George asked, his voice paternal and anxious. He knew about Shu Yao's fragile health, the trauma, the fainting.
"No, no," Shu Yao stammered softy. "I… I am fine."
Outside the door, Bai Qi stood frozen.
His hand had been hovering over the handle. He had come to tell Shu Yao to go home—a rare, begrudging mercy.
But then he heard it.
"Uncomfortable."
The word slithered into Bai Qi's ear, twisting into something vile. His cheeks flushed a dark, angry red.
Uncomfortable? Resting?
Bai Qi's mind, already poisoned by the morning's revelation that Shu Yao "liked men," sprinted to the darkest conclusion. his uncle was generous, pure, untouchable. But now? Was Shu Yao seducing him? Was there a sordid, secret relationship between his innocent uncle and his manipulative secretary?
The rage returned, hotter than before. He gripped the door handle until the metal groaned.
Inside, George continued, oblivious to the storm gathering outside.
"Have you eaten properly?" George asked.
Shu Yao hesitated. He hadn't eaten. His stomach was a knotted cramping mess. But he couldn't worry the man.
"Yes," Shu Yao lied, his voice barely a whisper. "I… I already had lunch, Mr. George."
"Are you sure about that, Shu Yao?" George pressed gentle but firm. "You shouldn't tire yourself. You ate last night, that doesn't mean you won't eat again."
Bai Qi, listening through the crack, felt like
he had been slapped.
Last night.
The memory of Suzhou crashed into him. Bai Qi had sent a tray of food to Shu Yao's room—a silent, awkward peace offering to show he wasn't a complete monster.
But Shu Yao had left it cold. He hadn't touched it.
He refused my food, Bai Qi thought, his eyes narrowing into slits. But he eats with my uncle?
Bai Qi couldn't understand it, and because he couldn't understand it, he couldn't trust it.
"Mr. George," Shu Yao spoke again, his voice dropping to a soft, worried tremor.
He was trying to pivot to the danger, to the warning. "I… I need to tell you…"
The softness of his tone—the way he said the name George—snapped Bai Qi's last thread of restraint.
Bai Qi shoved the door open.
Shu Yao jolted up, the phone nearly slipping from his sweat-slicked fingers.
Bai Qi stood in the doorway, a looming shadow of judgment.
Shu Yao's eyes went wide with terror.
"Sir…
Panic seized him. If Bai Qi heard him talking about Ming Su, he would think Shu Yao was sabotaging the deal. He would think Shu Yao was jealous.
Click.
Shu Yao cut the call instantly, shoving the phone onto the desk.
Bai Qi saw the fear. He saw the frantic guilt. And he saw the way Shu Yao ended the call as if he had been caught in the act of a crime.
"You were talking to who?" Bai Qi demanded, stepping into the small room. The air suddenly felt suffocating.
Shu Yao shook his head frantically. "I… I was…" He stammered, his throat closing up.
He was relieved Bai Qi hadn't heard the warning, but he didn't realize he had stepped into a different trap.
"Shu Yao," Bai Qi said, his voice low and vibrating with danger.
Shu Yao lowered his gaze to the floor, unable to meet the obsidian fury.
"Don't tell me," Bai Qi began, stepping closer until his expensive shoes were inches from Shu Yao's.
"That you have something between you and my uncle."
Shu Yao's head snapped up. The accusation was so absurd, so horrifying, he momentarily forgot his fear.
"What? What are you talking about?" he breathed, shaking his head. "I don't have anything! He is—"
"If you didn't," Bai Qi cut him off, his voice rising, "then why?"
He stopped. It was too embarrassing to ask if they were sleeping together. He pivoted to the other hurt, the one that stung his pride.
"Then why did you eat with him?"
Shu Yao blinked, confused.
"Eat?
"When I offered the food," Bai Qi hissed, the hurt bleeding through the anger, "you didn't eat it.
You let it rot. Then why? Was it because he made it himself?"
Shu Yao shook his head vigorously, tears springing to his eyes.
"No! It's not… it was…"
It was because I was weak. It was because I was terrified from the elevator.
"Enough!" Bai Qi shouted.
Shu Yao flinched, shrinking into himself.
"That night in Suzhou," Bai Qi continued, relentlessly dragging up the disaster.
"I sent the food. A peace offering. But you? You didn't eat it until I forced you. And even then, you simply threw up my food."
"I didn't mean to!" Shu Yao cried out softly. "I don't feel like eating!"
"Then what does this mean?" Bai Qi gestured violently at the phone. "Secret calls? Private meals? 'Uncomfortable' conversations?"
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I can't believe it. You make everything too hard, Shu Yao. Everything."
Shu Yao stood silent, defeated. The truth about the plot against Bai Qi died in his throat.
"You want punishment, right?" Bai Qi asked coldly.
Shu Yao looked at him, his eyes dull and accepting.
"Today," Bai Qi declared, pointing a finger at the desk piled with files.
"You won't go home until you finish all the three days' work. Every single file. Tonight."
It was a cruel sentence. Shu Yao was already pale, already trembling from lack of food and sleep.
Shu Yao took a shallow breath. He looked at the impossible mountain of work, then back at the man who hated him.
"Do you understand that?"
Shu Yao nodded slowly. "Just as you say, sir."
Bai Qi narrowed his eyes. He didn't feel the satisfaction of a victory. He felt empty. He felt disappointed—always disappointed in Shu Yao.
He turned sharply toward the door. "Don't let me see you leave before it's done."
He slammed the door shut behind him.
Shu Yao flinched at the bang.
He stood alone in the silence, trapped by the work, terrified by the secret he failed to tell, and crushed by the weight of a misunderstanding he couldn't fix.
He is in danger, Shu Yao thought, looking at the closed door through his tears. And he won't let me save him.