The doorbell rang at 7:12 p.m.
Wanyin was at the dining table, laptop open, reviewing the revised Q3 campaign numbers. Ye Beichen was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, finishing dinner—something with lemongrass and ginger that filled the apartment with fragrance.
They both froze.
No one had the address.
Ye Beichen wiped his hands on a towel and walked to the door. Wanyin closed her laptop, every instinct on alert.
He checked the intercom screen. His expression hardened.
"It's Lin Meiqi," he said, voice flat.
Wanyin's stomach dropped. Lin Meiqi—only daughter of Lin Holdings, the old-money conglomerate Madam Ye had been trying to tie to the family for years.
He didn't open the door.
The bell rang again.
He pressed the intercom. "Miss Lin. This is unexpected."
A soft, cultured voice answered. "Beichen, Grandmother sent me. She said you were… unavailable for dinner tomorrow, so I thought I'd bring dinner to you."
Wanyin stood. "Open it."
He looked at her. "You sure?"
She wasn't. But running wasn't her style.
He opened the door.
Lin Meiqi stepped in like she belonged there. Early twenties, beautiful in that polished, old-money way—silk dress, pearls, hair in an elegant chignon. She carried a large insulated bag and a bottle of wine that probably cost more than most people's rent.
Her eyes flicked to Wanyin, polite surprise perfectly performed.
"Director Gu. I didn't realize you were… participating in the immersion program with Beichen."
Wanyin smiled, cold and perfect. "Random draw."
Lin Meiqi's gaze lingered on the open-plan living space, the two coffee mugs on the counter, the faint scent of Ye Beichen's cooking.
"How modern," she said.
Ye Beichen took the bag from her. "Thank you for the thought, Meiqi. But we've already eaten."
Lin Meiqi didn't move. "Grandmother insisted. She said you've been working too hard. And…" Her eyes slid to Wanyin again. "That you might need reminding of certain obligations."
Wanyin felt the hit land exactly where it was meant to.
Ye Beichen's voice went dangerously quiet. "Tell Grandmother I'm handling my obligations."
Lin Meiqi smiled, sweet and sharp. "She also said to remind you that the board is watching. Mergers require… alignment."
She set the wine on the counter. "I'll leave this. For later."
She turned to Wanyin. "Director Gu, I've followed your career. Impressive. For someone who started with so little."
The insult was wrapped in silk.
Wanyin didn't flinch. "Thank you. I've followed the Lin portfolio. Also impressive. For someone who started with so much."
Lin Meiqi's smile didn't waver. "Touché."
She left as gracefully as she'd arrived.
The door closed.
Silence.
Ye Beichen set the wine bottle down hard enough to make the glass ring.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be." Wanyin's voice was steady. "She's not wrong. The board is watching. And I'm the weakness they'll use."
He turned to her. "You're not a weakness."
She laughed, bitter. "To them, I am. The woman who climbed too high too fast. If we're seen as anything but professional, they'll say I slept my way here. And you'll be the brilliant CEO who couldn't keep it in his pants."
He stepped closer. "I don't care what they say."
"You should. Your position isn't as secure as you think. Lin Holdings has three board seats. If they pull support—"
"I'll handle it."
"How? By marrying their princess?"
His jaw tightened. "No."
She studied him. "Then why not tell your grandmother to back off?"
"Because she doesn't back off. She maneuvers."
"And you?"
He met her eyes. "I maneuver better."
She shook her head. "This is exactly why the program is dangerous. One photo. One rumor. My reputation—"
"I won't let that happen."
"You can't stop it."
He stepped closer still. "I can. And I will."
The air between them crackled.
She wanted to believe him.
She didn't.
"I'm going to bed," she said.
He didn't stop her.
In the guest room, she sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tight.
Lin Meiqi's words echoed.
For someone who started with so little.
She had started with nothing. Built everything from scratch. Every deal, every late night, every sacrifice.
And now one perfectly dressed woman with a bottle of wine threatened to unravel it all.
She heard him in the kitchen, cleaning up. Quiet. Methodical.
Then the soft clink of glass—the wine bottle being poured down the sink.
She closed her eyes.
Twenty-eight days left.
And the devil wasn't just at the door anymore.
He was inside the house.