The Tide Inside
The next morning, the unease that had clung to Yu Chen the night before still lingered, like a thin fog unwilling to lift. The alpha-male aura that usually went unquestioned now showed cracks, imperfections. Every movement, every glance, seemed forced to contain the storm of emotion raging within him.
On the bright set, studio lights reflecting soft gleams onto the camera, Yu Chen tried to immerse himself in the scene. But the eyes that normally pierced the lens drifted away now and then, unfocused. Take after take had to be redone because his concentration faltered. The professional crew held their breath and adjusted the rhythm, but the shaken dominance of Yu Chen was palpable and hard to hide.
Each passing second felt heavy. From the sidelines, Jiang Fan watched Yu Chen, noting the lines of a face that should be resolute but was now veiled by anxiety. In his heart he could not help a mix of admiration and frustration:
"Why is he like this? Why so fragile…"
Yu Chen didn't notice that look. There was only one thing filling his mind: the email from Li Yuan Bo. That letter had scorched his calm, tossed his heart into turmoil, demanding answers he was not ready to give. The thought pressed against his chest, making every movement weigh more, every spoken word feel deeper and sharper.
An assistant approached hesitantly, but Yu Chen raised a hand—a brief, simple gesture that still radiated authority. His voice came low, deep, elegant:
"Continue with the next scene."
The tone reaffirmed his power and poise, but there was a fine crack that only those close to him could detect. A vulnerability that was at once compelling and tense.
From a distance, Jing An watched Yu Chen closely. Every move, every glance, even the barely audible sighs were noted. She sensed the lingering unrest clinging to him, like a shadow that would not let go despite the studio lights shining brightly.
Jing An drew a steady breath and, with calm steps, moved toward Yu Chen, trying to bring a bit of simple warmth into the pressurized professional atmosphere.
"Gege… come on, let's go."
Yu Chen turned, expression still glassy and unreadable. The cold aura that always accompanied him did not fade. But in those sharp eyes, Jing An caught the hidden tension, the discomfort he tried to hide behind professionalism.
Shooting went on. Scene after scene, the cameras rolled and the lights stayed on. Yu Chen executed each movement with precision, though the unease never fully left him. Time sped up, yet felt slow for those who sensed the shadow hovering over him.
Night grew late. The studio lights began to dim, but shooting wasn't yet done. Until ten at night, Yu Chen stood on set—upright, face unchanged—perfect and cold, yet clearly disturbed beneath those eyes.
Jing An stayed by his side, silent but watchful. There was admiration she could not hide, and also a subtle concern. No words were necessary—her presence alone soothed him, even as he chose to hold everything within.
When shooting finally wrapped, Yu Chen returned to his penthouse with steady steps, his posture erect, his aura still cool—but his heart unbalanced. As the door closed behind him, the shadow of Li Yuan Bo reappeared in his mind.
Flashbacks of their farewell night struck—full of passion and tension he could not easily forget. Each second, each touch, burned into his memory, leaving marks he could not erase.
Yu Chen closed the door, looked at the laptop waiting on his desk. With hands trembling yet purposeful, he opened Li Yuan Bo's email. Instantly his face changed—eyes that usually pierced and remained calm now filled with a blazing anger.
In one quick motion he hurled his jacket aside; the heavy fabric slammed against the wall. His elegant room suddenly felt confined, charged with chaotic energy. He panted; his heart raced uncontrollably, yet Yu Chen maintained a composed dignity—chaos felt, not outwardly visible.
Without delay he left his room. His strides were firm, his body upright, but the chaotic aura was obvious—like a storm that had not yet found a way to subside. The once-tranquil penthouse bore witness to the anger and unease spilling from him.
With determined steps but a turbulent aura, Yu Chen descended to the penthouse basement. Soft corridor lights reflected off the marble floor, casting long shadows that seemed to follow his every move.
In the center of the basement his pride sat poised: a Ferrari 488 Spider in metallic red, its glossy body mirroring lights and shadows. The smooth black leather interior added to its premium feel. Yu Chen opened the door, slid in, sitting tall though tense. Every motion still hinted at control, despite the turmoil in his chest.
The engine hummed low, resonant against the basement walls—an echo of the anger and restlessness contained within. With no clear destination, he turned the key, engaged the gear, and drove out of the basement.
On the empty night roads, the speed climbed. The engine's roar filled the cabin, saturating the air with tension. Streetlights flickered across the windshield like dancing lightning, reflecting Yu Chen's uncertainty and emotion. He pressed the pedal to the floor, letting the car serve as a physical escape from the chaos inside him—directionless, aimless, simply seeking a violent freedom.
Every corner, every jolt of suspension felt like his own heart—uncontrolled, wild, desperate to be released. The calm night bore witness to the storm ripping at Yu Chen from within.
After driving without aim, he finally reached a coastal road. The road was built above the shore, stretching over waves that glittered under moonlight and soft street lamps. Below the road, a small rest area invited people to enjoy the sea view: the steady roar of waves, dark sands wet with tide, and faint lights creating a serene, lonely scene.
Yu Chen stopped the car at the roadside. The engine still purred, blending with the ocean's rumble. He pressed his hands hard on the steering wheel, gripping it with a force that reflected his boiling anxiety and anger. Each fist and thump felt like an attempt to beat the chaos out of his chest.
Suddenly, at the corner of his eye, he noticed a single tear fall. Yet his face remained expressionless—cool and composed on the surface. That tear was neither a breakdown nor weakness—merely a silent witness to the storm churning in his heart.
Yu Chen sat motionless, gazing at the dark sea and the slow-moving waves. Only the engine's purr, the wind's breath, and his own heartbeat could be heard. The tear slid gently, slipping between the control and prestige he always upheld—a tiny crack in the perfect image he had forced upon himself.
The car's lights reflected across his rigid features, highlighting his sharp jawline. That night, faced with his raw emotion, Yu Chen remained elegant amid the chaos—an aura both alluring and frightening.
Suddenly, the dashboard phone rang. Xiaoxi's name flashed on the screen, and for a moment Yu Chen's expression shifted. He answered quickly.
On the other end, Xiaoxi's voice came through in muffled fragments—unclear, broken, like a fog hard to grasp. But before Yu Chen could calm himself, her voice cut off—gone from his ear.
"Xiao…!" he called, his low voice echoing in the cabin, full of anger and panic, but no answer returned.
He spun the wheel sharply and stomped on the gas; the car leapt along the coastal road. His heart pounded wildly, filled with questions and one single purpose: to reach Xiaoxi's home.
Yet as the car sped, a stark but critical fact struck him—he didn't know where Xiaoxi lived. His heart raced faster. Panic crept in, but he could not stop. The car sped on without a fixed course; one compulsion drove him: find Xiaoxi, restore the lost voice from his phone.
Streetlights blurred across the windshield; the waves beneath the road reflected the fractured moonlight. That night, Yu Chen's world contracted to a single point: Xiaoxi, and the sudden silence of her voice.
In the quiet cabin, save for the engine's roar, Yu Chen gripped the wheel tighter. His lips set in a firm line; his eyes burned sharp.