Lily stared at the glowing screen, her hands trembling as message after message piled up.
This was going too fast. Too much.
Just yesterday, she had found out about her engagement to Lihyun Shulong.
Now, it felt like the walls of her world were closing in.
With a shaky exhale, she tossed her phone aside and buried her face in her hands. Why is everything always decided for me? Why can't I just… choose?
Ever since she stepped into the Liang mansion at six years old, her life had never belonged to her. It was a contract, not a life.
Her chest burned, her throat tightened—until she felt it.
A soft, steady gaze on her.
When Lily lifted her head, Jinhai was there. His expression wasn't pitying or mocking—just quiet, warm concern.
"You mind if I ask what's wrong?" His voice was low, careful, as if he didn't want to scare the words out of her.
Lily's lips parted. For a moment, she thought she'd stay silent. But she needed someone to hear her. To see her.
"No," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Remember in the elevator… when you asked me what I thought about marriage? How you said daughters from rich families are married off like business deals?"
Jinhai's head dipped in a slow nod. His eyes stayed on hers, patient.
"Well… yesterday, my dad announced my engagement. To someone I've never even met. The son of a rival group."
Her voice broke. "I feel like a pawn, Jinhai. Like I'm being pushed around a chessboard I never agreed to play on. Everything's happening so fast, I… I can't breathe."
Tears stung her eyes, but she forced them back, ashamed of how weak she must look.
Jinhai's lips pressed into a line, but he didn't rush in with answers or solutions. Instead, he reached quietly for the tissue box on the table and slid one toward her.
"It's okay," he murmured. "You don't have to hold it in. If you want to cry, cry. I'll stay right here."
Lily's throat wobbled as she took the tissue, clutching it like a lifeline. His words—so simple, so steady—gave her permission to break, and yet also the strength to breathe.
"I just…" Her voice came out raw. "I just want to run away from all of this. I don't want to marry a stranger. I don't want to be a merger on legs. I want—" Her breath hitched. "I want to marry for love."
Silence followed. The kind that usually felt heavy. But with Jinhai, it wasn't. He let her words linger, let them exist, without smothering them with empty reassurances.
Finally, he hummed softly, as though her confession deserved a place in the air.
"I get that," he said. "More than you think. If it were me, I'd want the same thing."
His voice was calm, but there was a thread of longing in it that made Lily glance at him. His eyes had wandered to the night sky outside the window, stars scattered like fragile hope.
Something inside her eased at the sight. Without meaning to, she leaned back in her seat, her head tilting toward the same window. For the first time that evening, she let her shoulders relax.
"Three kids," she whispered suddenly.
Jinhai's brows lifted, and for the first time that night, a small laugh escaped him. Not loud, not mocking—gentle, like he didn't want to break the fragile space between them.
"That's… definitely not where I thought you were going with this. But tell me why."
Lily wiped her cheeks with the crumpled tissue and almost smiled. "Three feels perfect. When two fight, there's always a third to balance it out. Like a triangle. The most stable shape."
Jinhai's mouth curved into a smile that softened his whole face. "You really do surprise me, Lily."
Her chest warmed at the way he said it—like it wasn't a bad thing, like she wasn't strange for wanting something so simple.
She tilted her head, suddenly curious. "What about you? How many kids would you want?"
Jinhai looked thoughtful, his eyes returning to hers. His voice was quiet but firm when he spoke.
"As many as my wife wants. No more, no less."
Lily's heart gave a strange, traitorous flutter. How sweet. How rare, for someone to think like that.
And even though she knew she shouldn't, she found herself wondering.
Wondering about him. About things she wasn't supposed to wonder about.
"You ever dated anyone?" she asked before she could stop herself.
The tips of Jinhai's ears turned red instantly, and he looked away, clearing his throat.
For the first time all night, Lily's tears gave way to a tiny laugh.
Jinhai's ears were crimson now, his gaze darting anywhere but her. He rubbed the back of his neck, then fiddled with the hem of his sleeve.
"I… no. I've never dated anyone," he admitted, his voice quieter than before.
Lily blinked. Somehow, she hadn't expected that. "Never?"
He shook his head, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Between school and idol training, I barely had time to breathe, let alone… you know." He trailed off, exhaling a soft laugh that was more self-mockery than amusement. "And I guess I've always been… too shy. I could never get the words out when I liked someone."
Lily tilted her head, studying him. "You? Shy?"
He gave her a helpless look. "Painfully. I fall too easily, and then I freeze up. It's pathetic, really."
There was no bitterness in his tone—just an honesty that startled her. His shoulders were slouched, his hands resting open on his knees, as though he was laying his heart bare in the small space between them.
For a moment, she forgot about her tears. Her chest ached for him instead.
"You make it sound like a flaw," she said softly. "But I don't think it is."
Jinhai glanced at her, caught off guard.
"If you fall easily, it just means you feel deeply. It means you don't need a thousand reasons to care about someone—you just… do." Her voice wavered, and she looked down, fiddling with the tissue in her hands. "That sounds more genuine than most people I know."
Silence stretched, but not uncomfortably. She could feel his presence beside her—the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the warmth radiating from his arm, the faint citrus scent that clung to him. It made her painfully aware of how close he was.
Jinhai finally broke the stillness, his tone gentle. "I think you give me too much credit, Lily."
"No," she murmured, daring to lift her gaze. "I don't think I do."
His eyes caught hers then—dark, steady, but vulnerable in a way she hadn't seen before. For once, he wasn't Jinhai the golden boy, the one people looked up to. He was just… a boy. A boy who didn't know if he was enough, a boy who confessed he fell too easily, a boy sitting in the dark beside her.
Lily's chest tightened. She shouldn't be noticing the way his lashes cast shadows under the dim light, or how his voice seemed to curl gently around her name. She shouldn't—but she did.
"You ever regret it?" she asked softly. "Not dating? Not confessing?"
Jinhai leaned back against the seat, his shoulders brushing the edge of hers, just barely. The contact made her skin prickle with awareness.
"Sometimes," he admitted. "But… part of me thinks if someone really mattered, I'd know. I'd find a way to say it, no matter how scared I was." He turned his face slightly toward her, his expression unreadable in the half-light. "Some people are worth being brave for."
Lily's heart skipped. His words lingered in the air between them, heavier than they should have been. She forced her eyes away, staring at the night sky beyond the window, though all she could think of was how close his shoulder was to hers.