The car rolled to a stop before an imposing steel gate, which opened soundlessly at the touch of a remote. Beyond stretched a sleek, glass-fronted mansion, its sharp lines cutting against the night sky.
Li Na pressed her palms together in her lap, her stomach tight. This was no home it was a fortress.
When the driver opened her door, the cool night air bit at her skin. She followed Yen Rui up the marble steps, her heels echoing like a hollow warning. Inside, the silence struck her first. No voices, no warmth, no signs of life. Only the faint hum of central air and the sterile scent of polished wood and stone.
The foyer soared high above her, its chandelier casting cold light that felt more like an interrogation lamp than a welcome. The living room, though lavish, was bare of personal touches with no photographs, no books, no hint of who Yen Rui was outside the suit.
"This is your home now," he said simply, handing instructions to a housekeeper who appeared quietly from the shadows. His tone made it sound more like an order than an invitation.
Li Na's gaze swept over the pristine walls, the carefully arranged furniture, the absence of color. *So this is the world of a man who lives for work,* she thought. It was beautiful, but suffocating, like a museum where nothing could be touched.
The housekeeper led her upstairs. A door opened to reveal a spacious bedroom. The bed was vast, the linens crisp and untouched. A dressing table had already been arranged for her belongings.
Yen Rui lingered at the doorway, his expression unreadable. "If there is anything you need, tell Gao Jie. I don't like disruptions."
Her throat tightened, but she forced her voice steady. "I don't plan to disrupt your life, Director Yen."
Something flickered in his gaze with amusement, but he said nothing more. He turned, his footsteps fading into the corridor until the silence swallowed her whole.
Li Na sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the flawless white sheets. This wasn't a marriage bed. It wasn't even a sanctuary. It was a cage gilded with wealth and bound by ink.
Under the same roof, they were husband and wife by law. But in reality, they were strangers with two abandoned souls tied together not by love, but by circumstance.
She drew her knees to her chest, whispering to herself in the stillness:
I will survive this. No matter how cold these walls are, I will survive.
And yet, deep inside, she wondered, could a heart really remain untouched in a house that echoed with silence, where one man's presence weighed heavier than stone?