Five years ago.
The first time Li Zeyan ever saw Su Jinyi, she was laughing.
Not politely, not the kind of laugh you rehearse at dinner tables. It was wild, unguarded—a moment stolen from a world that hadn't yet hurt her.
She stood outside the company elevator, holding two bubble teas and arguing with the intern beside her over who owed whom lunch.
And she was losing.
"You can't owe someone lunch if they didn't pay for your coffee first!" she said, tapping the cup against her colleague's head.
Zeyan, walking with his assistant behind him, paused for just a second longer than usual.
"Who is she?" he asked without looking away.
His assistant hesitated. "New entry-level analyst. Su Jinyi. Hired last week. Background in finance and advertising."
"Promote her department."
"Sir?"
"She brings joy. This company could use more of that."
---
That was how it began. With laughter.
But joy never stays long around powerful men.
By the time she'd moved from analyst to personal aide, her laughter had changed.
More poised. Measured. Rare.
She learned fast.
He was colder than the rumors claimed. But he wasn't cruel—just… careful. The kind of man who weighed every word before letting it leave his mouth. The kind of man who didn't like surprises.
She became his favorite surprise.
Until she wasn't.
---
"You still have the scar?" he asked in the present.
They were seated across from each other again—this time not in an office or event, but in an empty rooftop restaurant he'd rented out entirely. Rain tapped gently against the glass dome above.
Su Jinyi raised an eyebrow. "Which one? You left several."
"The one on your wrist," he said, gaze locked on her sleeve.
A memory flickered between them.
A broken wine glass. A night she cried in silence because she didn't want to show weakness in front of him. He had walked in unexpectedly. He had seen the blood.
He had done nothing.
"It healed," she said coolly, taking a sip of her tea. "Unlike other things."
"I should have taken you to the hospital."
"You should've taken me seriously."
---
There was a long silence.
And then Li Zeyan did something unexpected.
He removed his cufflinks, rolled up his sleeves, and showed her a thin white scar on his palm.
"I broke the glass cabinet that night after you left."
She blinked.
"And?"
"I bled too, Jinyi. You just never saw it."
She looked at the scar.
Then at him.
And for one second—just one—she almost believed him.
But belief was a dangerous luxury.
So instead, she smiled.
"Good. Maybe now you understand a fraction of what it means to be left bleeding alone."
---