The air inside the study had become a toxic cocktail of arrogance and suppressed violence. Niklas sat rigid, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests of his chair, the internal furnace of his fury threatening to consume his composure. Across from him, Gerhard Rosenhain sat with the relaxed, predatory satisfaction of a man who held a winning hand in a game no one else knew they were playing.
Bai Mingzhu stood in the center of the room, a mediator trapped between two tectonic plates. The temperature in the study felt unnatural—the suffocating heat of Gerhard's ambition clashing with the icy, jagged resistance of her husband.
"Mr. Rosenhain, please," Mingzhu interjected, her voice cutting through the tension like a silver bell. "Calm yourself. Are you truly here, having crossed continents, only to enforce a marriage contract from a bygone era?"
She took a step forward, her expression a masterclass in controlled, maternal concern. "Bai Qi is suffering. It has not even been eight months since his fiancée was taken from him in that tragic accident. He needs some time, Mr. Rosenhain. To suggest he marry another is not just insensitive—it is an impossibility."
Niklas's breathing was heavy, a rhythmic, guttural sound in the quiet room. At the mention of the accident, his eyes flashed—a dangerous, electric blue.
Gerhard leaned back, his smile thin and devoid of warmth. "Bai Qi is a Rothenberg, Madam Bai. History dictates that the Rothenberg bloodline does not entertain the concept of weakness. A tragedy is merely a hurdle for a man of his stature."
Niklas's knuckles cracked. The insult hit him with the force of a physical blow. "He is my son," Niklas hissed, his voice dropping into a low, predatory growl.
Mingzhu reached out, her hand resting firmly on Niklas's shoulder, a silent command for restraint. She turned back to Gerhard, her eyes sharp and analytical.
"Bai Qi is still a young man, despite the mantle he wears. We arranged his life because he was…
headstrong regarding the industry.
He asked for that engagement, and we granted it. He was happy. Then, in less than a week, she was gone. The police found nothing—no motive, no culprit.
Gerhard tapped his mahogany cane against the floor—a hollow, insistent clack.
"I am not a tyrant, Madam Bai," Gerhard said, his voice smooth as oil.
"I am a provider. My daughter is exceptional—intelligent, vibrant, and possessed of a beauty that could soften the hardest stone.
If you asked him, I am certain he would see reason. What if he say yes."
Niklas surged to his feet, his chair sliding back with a violent screech. "Enough!"
The shout echoed off the mahogany bookshelves, silencing the room instantly. Niklas's chest heaved.
"I have told you once, and I will not repeat it: they were raised like siblings. The bond is fraternal, not romantic. You cannot force a man to marry your daughter."
Mingzhu felt the walls of their sanctuary closing in. She signaled Niklas again, her eyes conveying a desperate, silent plea: let me handle this.
"Please, Gerhard," she whispered, her voice softening into a silk-drenched appeal. "Try to understand the cruelty of what you are asking.
Our children are not pieces on a chessboard to be moved at will. A forced union would only destroy the last remnants of his spirit."
Gerhard rose slowly, his movements deliberate and imposing. He gripped the silver head of his cane and leaned forward, his grey eyes piercing through Mingzhu's practiced poise.
"Very well," he conceded, the tone of his voice failing to mask his true intentions. "I will cease my demands."
Mingzhu felt a flicker of triumph, a surge of adrenaline that made her obsidian eyes shine. "Yes? You truly mean it?"
"I will stop asking," he repeated, "under one condition. You will ask your son yourself. You will present the marriage to him, and you will hear his answer from his own lips."
A cold sweat broke out across Mingzhu's spine. The trap was sprung. If she asked Bai Qi—if she forced him to confront Marlene as a bride—it would shatter the delicate, fragile peace of the estate.
Niklas's face hardened, his blue eyes narrowing to thin, lethal slits. He sensed the danger in the ultimatum.
Mingzhu swallowed, her throat dry. She looked at her husband, then at Gerhard,
"But I cannot just ask him," she stammered, her voice barely audible. "He is… he is in no state to be approached with such a life-altering demand."
"I said I would stop if he refuses," Gerhard reminded her, his voice a chilling, silky promise. "But you must ask. You owe me that much for the 'friendship' we shared in Austria."
Mingzhu met Niklas's gaze. He looked at her with a mixture of agony and helplessness. She gave a minuscule, nearly invisible nod.
It's okay, her expression seemed to communicate. I will ask him. I know he will say no. But still I will give it a try.
"Even if it is only once," Mingzhu said, her voice regaining its icy, imperial strength, "I will fulfill your request. I will ask him. And he will give you his answer."
Gerhard smiled, a jagged, triumphant expression that didn't reach his cold eyes.
The study fell into a silence so profound it felt heavy, like a shroud draped over the mahogany furniture. Gerhard Rosenhain, having played his gambit with the cold precision of a grandmaster, he offered a final, razor-thin smile before bowing slightly.
"Then I shall retire for the evening," Gerhard murmured, his voice a smooth, venomous purr.
Bai Mingzhu stepped into the void he left behind, her movements fluid and regal.
"I will instruct the staff to escort you to your quarters, Mr. Rosenhain. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening."
Gerhard inclined his head, his grey eyes lingering on the pair for a heartbeat too long. Two maids materialized from the shadows of the corridor, their heads bowed so low their chins pressed against their chests.
"This way, sir," one murmured, her voice barely a tremor in the stillness.
Gerhard followed, his cane striking the floorboards with a rhythmic, mocking cadence until the heavy oak door groaned shut, sealing him away.
The moment the latch clicked, the air in the study seemed to rush back into Mingzhu's lungs. She exhaled a long, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging just an inch. But Niklas remained a coiled spring, his jaw locked, his knuckles.
He turned toward his wife, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the floor.
"Mingzhu," Niklas began, his voice a disciplined, dangerous rasp.
"Why on earth would you agree to his terms? You know the state Bai Qi is in."
Mingzhu didn't flinch. She crossed the room with a soft, rhythmic glide, placing a palm against the iron-hard expanse of Niklas's chest. Her touch was a balm, meant to soothe the beast.
"Calm yourself, my darling," she whispered, her voice a sweet, intoxicating melody. "Do you truly think I would throw our son to the Chao's?"
Niklas frowned, his brows knitting together in confusion.
"I know Bai Qi will refuse," she continued, her eyes alight with a calculated, motherly fire. "But this is a necessity. By asking him—by letting him reject the proposal in front of Gerhard— It provides the finality we need. Gerhard will finally understand that our son has no desire to marry… at least, not right now."
She paused, a small, knowing smile touching her lips as she lightly touched her fingers to her mouth.
"Of course, he will marry one day. He is a Rothenberg. But he is a wounded creature, Niklas. He needs time to heal. He needs to breathe."
Niklas tilted his head, his thoughts grinding against one another like tectonic plates. A flicker of internal friction caused his eyes to narrow, his gaze drifting off toward the fireplace. He placed a thoughtful finger against his chin, his mind momentarily short-circuiting as a strange, unbidden realization hit him.
Marriage, he mused, his mind wandering into dangerous, uncharted territory.
He had seen alliances, contracts, and unions between noble houses for decades. But he had never witnessed—or even truly considered—the possibility of a union between two men. The social paradigm, the tradition, the very structure of their world… it felt like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit the frame.
Mingzhu watched him, tracking the play of emotions across his face.
When she saw the realization dawn in his eyes, a ripple of genuine, unexpected joy washed over her.
She surged forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, impulsive hug.
Niklas let out a sharp, surprised gasp, his composure shattered by the suddenness of her affection. He stood rigid for a second, caught in the sudden warmth of her presence.
"Calm down, honey," Mingzhu whispered against his lapel, her voice vibrating with a sudden, radiant optimism. "Everything will return to how it was. The estate will be whole again, I promise."
She looked up at him, her dark, obsidian eyes searching his for a sign of surrender. Slowly, the tension left Niklas's frame. His massive hands moved, coming up to wrap firmly around his wife's waist, pulling her flush against him.
The rigid lines of his face softened. He leaned down, burying his face in the crown of her head, inhaling the scent of her perfume and dark, silky hair.
"I believe you," he breathed, the words muffled against her.
In the dim light of the study, surrounded by the weight of their secrets and the looming shadow of the East Wing, they stood in a brief, fragile moment of unity.
The heavy oak door of the guest suite finally clicked shut behind Marlene, sealing away her endless chatter and the exhausting performance of polite hospitality.
Bai Qi stood in the dim corridor, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled a long, shuddering breath. The mask of the Ice Monarch cracked, falling away to reveal the raw, bleeding exhaustion beneath.
He glanced up at the antique wall clock hanging near the corridor's end. The ornate hands pointed firmly to eight o'clock.
Evening had descended, casting long, bruised shadows across the estate
Finally, he thought, a desperate urgency flooding his veins. I can go to him.
Turning sharply on his heel, he practically strode down the shadowy expanse of the mansion's forbidden wing. Every step brought him closer to the sanctuary of his own private purgatory.
He reached the heavy mahogany door of the East Wing, sliding his key into the cold brass lock with practiced stealth. The mechanism turned with a muffled, heavy thud.
He pushed the door open. It swung inward with a faint, ghostly creak.
Stepping inside, Bai Qi closed the door behind him and let his gaze sweep across the room. The space was bathed in a soft, amber haze, dimly illuminated by a collection of expensive German porcelain lanterns that cast delicate, intricate patterns across the walls.
And then, cutting through the heavy silence, came the sound he lived for—and dreaded the most.
Beep... beep... beep...
The steady, mechanical pulse of the heart monitor echoed in the quiet air.
Bai Qi's breath hitched. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, grounding himself, before slowly approaching the massive, modern bed. Every footstep felt heavy, as though walking over broken glass.
When he finally reached the bedside, a wave of profound, agonizing relief washed over him. He was here. He was safe.
Without a sound, Bai Qi sank to his knees on the plush Persian rug, coming face-to-face with the edge of the mattress. His knees hit the floor hard, but he felt nothing.
His entire universe had shrunk to the pale, fragile figure lying beneath the pristine white sheets.
He reached out, his long fingers trembling visibly as they bridged the distance between them.
Gently, cautiously, he wrapped his hand around Shu Yao's wrist.
The touch sent a fresh pang of sorrow straight through Bai Qi's chest. Shu Yao's skin was uncomfortably warm, slick with a fine sheen of cold sweat.
His body felt terrifyingly weightless—a fragile shell of bones and skin, hollowed out by belladonna, and the crushing despair of captivity.
Bai Qi brought Shu Yao's limp hand upward, lifting it toward his face as if handling spun glass.
He pressed his lips against Shu Yao's knuckles, brushing them with a feather-light, reverent butterfly kiss.
On the pillows, trapped deep within the suffocating fog of his unconscious state, Shu Yao stirred slightly. His chest hitched, his breathing turning shallow and strained, as if drawing air was a monumental battle.
Bai Qi's heart fractured all over again. He began to rub the back of Shu Yao's hand with his thumb, applying a soothing, feather-light friction, trying desperately to chase away the chill.
Slowly, agonizingly, Bai Qi pressed Shu Yao's palm flat against his own cheek. The contrast was devastating—the feverish heat of the boy against the cold, hollow marble of Bai Qi's skin.
"Shu Yao... my beloved," Bai Qi whispered, his voice cracking into a raw, broken plea. "When will you finally get better?"
A heavy, suffocating silence answered him, broken only by the steady, mocking rhythm of the monitor.
"I.. l... miss the days... when you used to walk through the Rothenberg industry," Bai Qi murmured, his eyes slipping shut as a fresh wave of memory threatened to drown him.
"I miss the way you looked at me... the way you used to love.... me so purely, so.... endlessly, when I was too..... blind to appreciate it."
He choked on the words, his throat tightening into a painful knot.
"I want you to get better," he continued, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. "So we can finally... so we can finally..."
He stopped, his breath catching as the cruel irony of his own words tore through his chest.
"...so we can finally hold hands, just like you always dreamed of."
Hot tears broke free from Bai Qi's lashes, tracing a slow, burning path down his sharp cheekbone before dropping onto the back of Shu Yao's hand.
Opening his eyes, they were swimming with unshed tears—a rare, vulnerable sight that the world outside this room would never believe possible. He clutched Shu Yao's hand tighter, holding it to his chest with a desperate, reverent grip, as if sheer willpower could anchor the boy's soul to his body.
"I swear to you," Bai Qi vowed, his voice trembling with a fierce, unbreakable devotion.
"I will make every single one of your dreams come true. Everything you ever wished for... everything you ever desired."
He pressed his forehead against the edge of the mattress, his shoulders shaking with silent, suppressed sobs.
"Because I love you," he breathed into the dark folds of the blanket, his voice breaking completely. "I love you so dearly. Even now... even after everything I've done... I still want you. And honestly? I don't even expect you to forgive me."
He pressed his lips once more to Shu Yao's palm, lingering there for a long, agonizing moment, pouring every ounce of his remaining soul into the gesture.
"Please," he whispered into the skin of the boy's hand, the word a shattered prayer echoing into the empty corners of the room. "Please... get well soon."