The skyline beyond the glass was a bruise of black and violet — clouds hanging low, lights bleeding faintly through the fog. Inside the office of Shen Baoliang, the air was sharper than the wind outside. Everything gleamed — marble floors, obsidian desk, gold-trimmed lamps — yet the man sitting behind it looked carved from shadow.
He leaned back in his leather chair, one hand tapping against the armrest, the other loosely holding a half-finished glass of whisky. The reflection of the city lights flickered across his pale, calculating eyes.
Opposite him sat his son — Shen Haoxuan.
Wolf-cut black hair brushed against his jaw, sharp eyes glinting under the dim light. There was boredom in his face, the kind that hinted at arrogance. He lounged lazily, like a predator waiting for something to break the silence.
Shen Baoliang spoke first — his voice low, brittle.
"What does he think of himself?"
He didn't name Niklas, but the venom was unmistakable.
"He thinks parading his son before cameras makes Him shine."
His lips curled in contempt. "He thinks success is a crown you can buy. But I built my empire from blood."
The words cracked like thunder in the quiet room. His son only tilted his head, amused.
"Father," Shen Haoxuan drawled, "why not just confront them? Tell them this rivalry has gone on long enough."
Shen Baoliang's gaze flicked up — a cold flame.
"You don't know him," he said softly. "You don't know how he place the fire in my chest. Do you think I'll let him walk away that easily?"
Haoxuan smirked — that same, unsettling smirk that once haunted Shu Yao's nightmares. It was crooked, deliberate, and cruel.
"You think I'd bend down that easily, Father?" he said, rising from the chair. "No. I have my own ways."
Baoliang's eyes narrowed. "Like what?"
Haoxuan's tone turned silk-smooth, dangerous.
"I know someone," he said. "Someone I nearly robbed once."
Baoliang arched an eyebrow, curiosity slicing through irritation.
"And who," he asked, "might that be?"
Haoxuan's smirk deepened — a serpent's grin.
"It's a secret, Father. Let's just say…" he paused, leaning close, voice dropping to a whisper, "my personal people has already started tearing down their walls — piece by piece."
For a moment, only the ticking of the office clock dared to move.
"Son," Baoliang said finally, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "you're meddling too deep in these games. You don't know what kind of trick—"
Haoxuan cut him off with a sharp laugh.
"No, Father. Let me finish what you started. Let me do things my way. And when it's done—" he leaned in, eyes glittering with cruel promise — "you'll feel proud to have me as your heir."
Baoliang stared at him in silence, the corners of his mouth tightening.
The elevator doors slid open with a hush of steel. Lu Zeyan stepped out into the hushed corridor, the world outside still dripping with rain. The marble floor gleamed under the soft light, reflecting the sleek lines of his black coat and the faint gleam of water that clung to his cuffs.
He wasn't soaked—he never would be careless enough for that. His driver had opened the car door, his umbrella had been precise. Every movement tonight had been deliberate, almost ceremonial.
Because this wasn't just another errand.
This was for him.
He stopped before the last office at the end of the hall, where a strip of gold light leaked from beneath the door. A muffled voice spoke beyond it—older, authoritative. Shen Haoxuan's father.
Lu Zeyan waited. Then, when the voices paused, he raised his hand and knocked once. Firm. Controlled.
Inside, the sound drew a sharp glance from Mr. Shen.
Haoxuan exhaled. "I'll handle it, Father."
He stood, smoothing the line of his cuffs as he crossed the room. The moment he opened the door, his eyes narrowed, and the fatigue that lingered in them sharpened into irritation.
"You," he said flatly.
Then he opened the door behind him softly,
Lu Zeyan lowered his gaze, but there was the faintest curve of obedience on his lips.
Shen Haoxuan stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him close.
"You know what you did, Lu."
The hallway swallowed the echo of his words.
Lu Zeyan didn't resist. His usual arrogance—the smirk, the casual disdain—was gone. Before Shen Haoxuan, he was something else entirely. The obedient dog. The devoted sinner.
His voice came low, almost reverent. "Shen Ge…"
Haoxuan's grip tightened. "Answer me, lu zeyan?"
Lu Zeyan's eyes flickered up, the faint light catching the edge of his irises. His hand came up slowly—hesitant, trembling just a little—and he brushed his fingers against the hand gripping his collar.
"It was his fault," he murmured. "He dared to lay his worthless hand on my Shen Ge."
Haoxuan's breath hitched. "Didn't I already tell you," he said through his teeth, "that I settle that already?"
But Zeyan only tilted his head, his expression calm—beautiful in its defiance. "I know. But I couldn't help it. My hands… they moved before my mind did."
Haoxuan clicked his tongue, eyes darkening. "Tch."
The sound hung between them. Then, with a low sigh, he released his grip.
Zeyan's body dropped slightly with the sudden absence of force, his knees bending until he crouched half-down, one hand still clutching his collar. His eyes never left Haoxuan. There was no shame there. Only something quieter. Fiercer.
Haoxuan turned away, rubbing the bridge of his nose as though the sight of him caused a headache he couldn't quite cure.
"I already cleaned up the mess you made," he said finally. "Do you even know what kind of line you crossed tonight?"
Zeyan blinked up, feigning innocence. "A line?"
Haoxuan turned, his voice cutting. "You're working under the mafia's shadow, Zeyan. That's not something we can erase with money and charm. One mistake, and they'll trace it back here."
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hum of the lights. Then Zeyan gave a soft laugh—quiet, edged with something almost boyish.
"How would they know?" he asked. "It was dark. Raining. I left no trace. I don't think those dogs will sniff me out so easily."
Haoxuan pinched the bridge of his nose harder, exhaling through clenched teeth. "You really don't understand, do you?"
Zeyan's tone softened, almost teasing. "Unless Shen Ge teaches me… how could I ever understand?"
That did it. A flicker of heat rose in Haoxuan's chest, equal parts fury and something less nameable.
"Enough of your play," he snapped.
Zeyan straightened slowly, brushing invisible dust from his lapel, the faintest smirk curling at his mouth. "Okay, okay… my bad." He lifted his hands slightly, as if in surrender. "I won't speak unless Shen Ge tells me to."
Haoxuan's gaze lingered on him for a long, charged moment. Then his tone dropped, soft and sharp at once. "Good."
The word carried weight—an ending, a warning, a leash.
Zeyan lowered his head again, eyes hidden by the fall of his hair. But his lips curved—just barely. Because obedience was easy when it was him giving the command.
Shen Haoxuan turn his back on lu zeyan, the glow from the city casting fractured light across the floor. The rain had thinned to a whisper beyond the glass, and the smell of smoke still clung faintly to Lu Zeyan's coat.
"Stay out of the company for a while," Shen said, voice cool, clipped. "No one should recognize you that easily."
Lu Zeyan lowered his head. "Just like Shen Ge said."
"Stop making excuses," Shen replied, rubbing his temple. "Go."
But when Zeyan didn't move, Shen glanced up—and froze. The younger man's hand was wrapped around his wrist, trembling faintly, warmth pressing against his skin.
"Promise me, Shen Ge," Zeyan said quietly. "Promise me you'll come to visit me."
Shen sighed. "You're impossible."
"Promise."
A pause. Then the faintest exhale. "Fine."
That was all it took for Lu Zeyan to smile. Not the arrogant smirk the world knew—but something smaller, softer, almost human.
"Then I'll wait," he murmured, and released him.
His footsteps faded down the corridor, the echo swallowed by the sound of distant thunder. When the elevator doors slid shut, Shen Haoxuan exhaled and muttered under his breath—
"How childish."
He turned back to his office, unaware that outside, the city was bleeding itself into night.
---
The rain was relentless.
It blurred the streetlights into halos, it soaked the pavement, it turned the air heavy with grief.
And in the middle of that dying night, Shu Yao was still there—kneeling in the street, Qing Yue's body draped across his lap.
Her ivory shirt was drenched in scarlet, the blood mingling with rainwater, the faint perfume was now replaced by something metallic and sharp. Her lips still carried the ghost of a smile, as though she had fallen asleep in a dream she refused to leave.
Shu Yao's breath came in tremors.
His hands shook as they brushed the wet strands from her cheek.
"Qing Yue…" His voice cracked. "I'm sorry."
No answer. Only the rain.
His ribs throbbed with every inhale; the bruises burned like coals beneath his skin. The taste of blood lingered at the corner of his mouth, faint and bitter. His heart was numb, yet the world around him screamed with unbearable clarity—the gleam of headlights, the distant murmur of voices, the cold that seeped straight into his bones.
He pressed his forehead to hers. "Please… say something."
But the silence remained unbroken.
Then—footsteps.
At first faint, then heavier. A shadow grew against the shimmer of rain. Shu Yao looked up.
It was Bai Qi.
For a second, Shu Yao couldn't move. His entire body froze in disbelief and dread. Bai Qi—drenched, his immaculate shirt plastered to his skin—was running toward them, eyes wide, heart already breaking before he reached them.
And when his gaze fell on the figure in Shu Yao's arms—his entire world shattered soundlessly.
He stopped dead. The rain slowed, as if even the heavens didn't dare to move.
"Qing Yue…"
His voice was a whisper. Disbelieving. Terrified.
Then, suddenly, he was moving—lunging forward, his boots splashing through puddles as he dropped to his knees. He didn't even look at Shu Yao. Didn't see the boy's trembling shoulders, the bruises, the way his eyes begged for forgiveness.
Bai Qi only saw her.
"Qing Yue—" He pressed his hands to her face, shaking her lightly, desperately. "Hey, look at me. It's me. You're okay, you're okay, right?"
Her head lolled to one side, water tracing down her cheek like mock tears.
Shu Yao tried to speak—tried to say she's gone—but his throat closed. The words never came out.
Bai Qi's voice cracked into fragments. "You—You promised me. You said we'd get married, remember? The dress—your dream—you said you'll never abandoned me—so why…" His voice rose, wild, breaking. "Why are you closing your eyes!"
The words ripped through the rain.
Shu Yao flinched violently. His head bowed low, his vision swimming.
He didn't want to look at Bai Qi's face—the anguish, the disbelief, the way his entire being was breaking apart piece by piece.
The world felt cruelly suspended between heartbeats. Bai Qi's hands trembled as he brushed blood from Qing Yue's lips. His tears mixed with rain, tracing down his jaw, falling onto her skin.
"You promised me…"
The whisper fell like a curse.
Shu Yao's chest constricted. He bit his lip until he tasted blood again, the pain grounding him in this impossible nightmare. His body swayed, drained of everything—grief, warmth, even strength.
He had never seen Bai Qi broken like this before.
Never imagined him capable of such naked devastation.
And in that moment, the guilt came crashing in.
If he hadn't gone outside tonight…
If she hadn't come to find him…
If he hadn't hesitated,—
None of this would have happened.
Qing Yue would still be alive.
Bai Qi wouldn't be kneeling there, begging a corpse to wake.
And the world wouldn't be collapsing around them in silence.
The rain began again, soft at first, then harder, drumming against the pavement like cruel applause.
Bai Qi lowered his forehead to hers, whispering her name again and again until the syllables lost meaning.
Shu Yao watched in numb horror. His lips moved, forming soundless words—I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
No one heard him.
No one ever would.
He felt something hot rise behind his eyes. His hands clenched, the nails biting into his palms until blood mixed with rain.
He had already lost Qing Yue once before—in fear, in pride, in silence.
Now he'd lost her completely.
And beside her body, Bai Qi crumbled like a man whose sun had been ripped out of the sky.
In the distance, the police sirens began to wail—slow, echoing, ghostly. The night itself seemed to recoil.
But neither of them moved.
One clung to a body that would never breathe again.
The other knelt in the rain, drowning in guilt that would never wash away.
And far above, lightning streaked the clouds, splitting the sky open like an old wound.
That was the night the world stopped for both of them.
The night love died—and something darker began to bloom in its place.