CHAPTER 20
The doorbell rings through the apartment, and I get up, certain the food has arrived. As usual, I expect the arrival of a young man in a thick jacket with a thermal backpack slung over his shoulders, greasy gloves, and an exhausted look in his eyes. It doesn't matter which restaurant I choose—it's always someone like that.
But this time… no.
When I open the door, I have to blink several times to be sure I'm seeing correctly. There's not a single delivery guy holding a brown paper bag. There are six.
Six people dressed in immaculate black-and-white uniforms, their shirts so crisply starched they look freshly pressed. Their posture is upright, their faces serious, and in their hands they hold trays with such exaggerated elegance that for a moment, I wonder if I've opened the wrong door.
One of them, who appears to be the leader, steps forward and gives a slight bow.
"Good evening, Miss Zhi. We've brought your order."
My order?
I freeze. What the hell is this? Reflexively, I glance toward the hallway, expecting to see someone who'll confirm it's a mistake. But they remain there—patient, waiting for my reaction.
Then my brain connects the dots.
My gaze drifts slowly toward the sofa, where Han Qiang remains seated. Calm. Comfortable. Clearly enjoying my confusion. The dining room light catches the slight curve of his smile. It's not mocking—but it's not innocent.
"Are you going to keep them waiting, Ling?"
His deep, serene voice tightens my shoulders. He speaks with such disarming ease, as if this entire situation weren't completely absurd. But it is. And he knows it.
I clear my throat, blinking quickly to shake off the daze.
"Uh… yes. Come in."
I step aside to let them through, and the men enter with precise, almost choreographed movements. I watch them, still unsure how to react. There are no cardboard containers or greasy plastic tubs. This isn't takeout. This is a feast. The clink of porcelain being set on the table mingles with the echo of my disbelief. When they finish, they bow and leave with the same flawless precision they arrived with. Not a single extra word. Not one out-of-place gesture.
The door closes, and silence settles.
I look at the table, and my stomach tightens. Dumplings arranged meticulously on porcelain plates trimmed with gold. Shellfish over crushed ice. Peking duck sliced with surgical precision.
This isn't just food. It's a statement.
"Do you always dine like this?" I ask, unable to help myself, crossing my arms.
Qiang leans forward slightly, his dark gaze fixed on me.
"Only when I want something special."
I don't know why, but that answer knocks the air out of me. Special. A small word. But the weight it carries in his voice makes my skin prickle. I look away and take a deep breath. I'm not going to think about it.
I sit down and grab the chopsticks quickly, more to distract myself than out of hunger. I'm just about to pick up my first bite when Qiang moves first. With casual ease, he takes a piece of duck and places it on my plate.
I freeze.
The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly sounds louder. Why did he do that? I slowly raise my eyes, almost afraid. But he keeps eating with absolute nonchalance. No comment. No smug grin. Nothing. As if it were the most normal thing in the world. My heart picks up speed for no apparent reason. I force myself to take a bite just to keep from thinking about it—but the explosion of flavor catches me off guard.
"Oh god…" I whisper without meaning to.
As soon as I realize what I've said, I nearly want to sink into my chair. I look up and… yes. Qiang is watching me. But there's something different in his eyes this time.
"Do you always eat dinner alone?"
The question escapes my lips before I can stop it. He sets his chopsticks down on the table and holds my gaze for a few seconds before answering.
"Always."
He doesn't say it with sadness. Or nostalgia. He says it is like stating a fact.
"Never with friends?"
Qiang lets out a short laugh, though there's no joy in his eyes.
"If you think friendship exists in my world, then you still don't understand what kind of industry we work in."
Something in his tone makes me grip the chopsticks more tightly. I don't know if it's frustration or… No. I don't want to analyze it. To distract myself, I glance over at Bo, still curled up contentedly in his lap.
"My cat is my usual dinner date."
The cat gives a soft meow in response. Qiang smiles this time. And that's dangerous. Because his smile tightens something in my chest in a way I don't understand. I'm so focused on my food; I don't notice the little spot of sauce in the corner of my mouth.
Until he wipes it away.
His thumb brushes my skin with unexpected gentleness. The contact lasts less than a second. But… my whole world stops. I don't know what startles me more—the touch itself, or the fact that Qiang doesn't react. No apology. No comment. He just returns to his plate, as if nothing happened. As if I'm not on the verge of collapse.
The rest of dinner unfolds in a silence that isn't uncomfortable—but charged with something else. Every time I look up, his eyes are already on me. Every time Bo shifts in his lap, he strokes him with the same ease he uses to watch me. And most unsettling of all… I feel strangely comfortable with it.
When we finish eating, I place my chopsticks down and exhale slowly.
"That was too much, Qiang."
He looks at me steadily.
"Too much food, or too much everything?"
My throat tightens slightly, because I don't know how to answer that. And he knows it. That's why he doesn't push. He only leans forward slightly and gently strokes Bo's back.
"I think your cat's decided I belong in this house."
The line should sound light—almost like a joke—but there's something in his tone that makes my skin tingle. Because deep down… I'm starting to think the same thing.
I stand to clear the table, but before I can move a single plate, Qiang stands first.
"Let me help you."
My lips part, surprised. He's not the kind of man I ever imagined doing something so domestic. And yet here he is, clearing the dishes with a disarming ease.
"You don't have to do this."
"You didn't have to have dinner with me, and you did."
My stomach tightens. Not because it's a clever line, but because there's truth in his words—and I don't want to examine it. I sigh and choose not to argue.
Together, we pack the leftover food into plastic containers. The kitchen is small, and more than once, our arms brush. The first time is an accident. The second… I'm not so sure.
We wash the dishes, and for the first time all evening, the silence between us is truly relaxed. The sound of water and clinking cutlery is the only thing we hear, and for some reason, I don't want it to end.
When I rinse the last dish, I put water on to boil for tea.
"Would you like some?"
Qiang watches the kettle for a moment before shaking his head gently.
"No, thank you. I have some files to review before bed."
I don't know why, but something in his tone tells me he doesn't really want to leave yet. We fall into silence again until he steps away from the kitchen. When he reaches the door, he stops and turns back.
"Thank you for not letting me be alone, Ling."
It doesn't sound like a polite goodbye. It's sincere. His eyes stay on mine for a few seconds longer than necessary. And then, finally, he leaves.
When the door closes, I remain standing in the kitchen.
The kettle whistles, but I don't move.
There's something different in the air. I don't know what it is, but it's there. Bo jumps onto the table and watches me closely. I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of the night settling on my shoulders.
"You noticed it before I did, didn't you?"
He replies with a meow. But this time, it's not just that. It's as if he's trying to tell me something. As if he knows something has changed between Qiang and me. And maybe he does. Maybe he always knew.
I stay there, motionless, while the steam from the kettle rises toward the ceiling. The house is silent—but my mind isn't.
For the first time in a long while, I feel like I'm standing at the edge of something I can't control.
Something I might not want to control. And then I admit it:
I don't want to keep ignoring what's happening.
CHAPTER 21
I cradle the coffee cup with both hands, letting the warmth seep through my fingers. It's funny how the smallest details can go unnoticed… until you realize everything has changed.
Before, every interaction with Han Qiang was a clash of will. Now, somewhere over the past week, everything has taken on a natural ease. I still try to keep a clear line between my personal and professional life, though when we're alone, the rules shift.
There are no more tense silences in the car, just conversations about the day's agenda, strategic meeting changes, and the occasional comment that borders on familiarity.
When others are around, we keep up appearances. He's still the imposing CEO of Tian Enterprises, and I'm his efficient information analyst. But in private… in private, he stands closer than necessary when we speak. In private, our brushes are no longer met with distance. In private, I call him by his name.
And the most disconcerting part is… it no longer feels strange.
The clink of the cup hitting the table pulls me back to reality. I shake my head and rise from the couch.
"Bo, where are you?"
Silence.
I frown and glance around. Nothing. A chill runs down my spine when I notice the balcony door is open. And then I see him. My cat is strolling across the balcony into Qiang's apartment. My heart races. This can't happen.
I march over and knock on the door of the most unpredictable neighbor I've ever had. I wait over two minutes…
I knock again, this time more firmly. The door opens slowly—and all the air escapes my lungs.
Han Qiang is standing there, fresh from the shower. A white towel clings perfectly around his hips, and he's drying his hair with another, moving slowly, unhurriedly.
Droplets of water slide down his neck, over his bare chest, and disappear between the defined ridges of his abs. A burning heat rushes to my face. He watches me with an unreadable expression, the towel paused mid-motion on his head, as if amused by my obvious fluster.
"Zhi Ling."
My brain tries to reboot.
"M-my cat."
His mouth curves slightly, though not into a full smile.
"Bo?"
I swallow and try to pull myself together.
"Yes. He ran off."
Han Qiang tilts his head and lowers the towel from his hair.
"Or maybe he decided to move in?"
I try to cling to my irritation instead of focusing on the fact that water is still trailing across his collarbone.
"Don't spoil him."
"I haven't done a thing. He simply accepts me."
I take a deep breath and peer into his apartment. And there's Bo—curled up on the couch, looking utterly content. This can't be real.
"Bo, come here."
He doesn't even lift his head. Han Qiang leans an arm against the doorframe, watching me with amused detachment.
"Seems like he doesn't want to leave."
I shoot him a glare.
"Are you bribing him?"
"Are you implying I'm dishonest?"
The image of Han Qiang slipping a wad of bills to my cat flashes through my mind, and I struggle not to laugh. Bo, the traitor, stretches lazily and settles even deeper into the couch. My jaw tightens.
"This is a kidnapping."
Qiang steps back and gestures with his hand.
"Go ahead, you can take him."
I walk over to the sofa and scoop him into my arms. But the little ingrate squirms and jumps right back onto the couch. My mouth falls open in disbelief. Is he choosing this man over me?
Han lets out a low, genuine laugh. And that… that is dangerous.
I eye him warily.
"It's been a week since you two met and you've already brainwashed him."
"Cats are wise."
Bo meows as if to agree. I raise an eyebrow.
"You too?"
Han Qiang watches me with that gleam of amusement in his eyes that really shouldn't suit him so well.
"If you want, you can leave him here while I get dressed. I'll do my best to return him later."
My back stiffens. His tone is completely casual, but my brain stopped processing the moment he said while I get dressed.
I'm in Han Qiang's apartment. Standing in front of him. Half-naked.
"That won't be necessary," I reply quickly, but my gaze slips, against my will, down to the line of his waist, his abs, the dark circles of his chest.
Mistake.
Han Qiang does not have an ordinary body… Beneath those tailored suits, I'd always pictured him as lean, refined, with the kind of build you'd expect from someone who spends their days in meetings and offices. I never imagined that under all that elegance was a physique sculpted with almost offensive precision.
The muscles of his chest, firm and defined, shift slightly with each slow motion as he dries his hair. His abs ripple effortlessly, the lines running down to where the towel wraps his waist with irritating perfection.
The contrast hits me like a revelation.
I've always seen him as dangerous because of his sharp mind, his overwhelming presence, his impenetrable gaze. But now… now I realize his danger goes far beyond that. Because Han Qiang doesn't just command power—he embodies it in every fiber of his being.
I focus on what I need to do: leave.
"Bo, come here."
This time, the cat stretches and hops down from the couch with classic indifference. He walks over and stops at my feet.
"Good boy." I crouch down and lift him into my arms.
Qiang follows us with his eyes, and as we reach the door, he says calmly,
"Goodbye, Bo. You know this is your home too."
His words make me look at him. He's leaning in the doorway; arms crossed over his bare chest. That image… He is temptation incarnate. Strength, arrogance, and danger I shouldn't want to be near.
"Don't encourage him to misbehave, or I'll have to put him in a cage," I say without looking at him, because I need to go. I need to shut the door and erase the vision of my half-naked boss from my mind.
"Did you hear that, Bo? Mommy doesn't want you to visit Daddy."
I freeze. Daddy? My brain crashes. Since when did he become my cat's father?
My nervous system short-circuits. I don't know whether to fire back with sarcasm or pretend I didn't hear it. Because if I react, he wins. And Han Qiang always wins.
I press my lips together and, without thinking, turn around. I'm going to confront him. But when my eyes meet his, I lose all my words. The way he's standing, how the light highlights his skin, the shadow of his tense jawline… it's too much.
"Good night, Ling."
His tone is soft. Too soft.
"Same to you, Qiang."
I shut the door before my sanity falls completely apart. I lean my back against it and exhale the breath I didn't even realize I was holding.
No. I'm not going to think about this.
But the image of Han Qiang—half-naked, with that dangerous smile and that insolent tone—burns into my mind.
And I know there's no way I'm getting it out.
CHAPTER 22
The sound of the phone yanks me out of my thoughts. I frown when I see the name flashing on the screen: Dad. He never calls at this hour. Something's wrong.
The dread coils around my chest like a frozen serpent, squeezing until I forget how to breathe. I slide my finger across the screen and bring the phone to my ear.
"Hi, Dad. What's going on?"
Silence. A strange silence. Dense. Too much.
"Ling…" His voice is tense, deeper than usual, thick with an emotion I don't want to decipher. "Your grandmother…"
The air freezes in my lungs. My fingers clutch the phone so tightly my knuckles go white. My heart pounds with an erratic, frantic rhythm.
"What about Grandma?" I ask, though my voice no longer feels like mine. It trembles, crumbles before I can even finish the sentence.
He takes too long to answer.
"She's not well, sweetheart. Really not well."
The world sways beneath my feet.
"The doctors at Huashan say they don't know how much longer she'll…"
The last word breaks off and vanishes, swallowed by a deafening hum. The floor disappears. The air too. Everything collapses.
"Dad…" My voice is a broken whisper, unrecognizable. "Tell me it's not true."
"You have to come now, Ling."
I can't breathe. There's not enough air in the room. My legs move before my brain can react. I grab my bag with trembling hands and rush out of the office without saying goodbye. I don't look at anyone. I just run. The echo of my heels on the marble floor is the only sound I hear, while my frantic, clumsy steps resonate through the hallway. My vision blurs with the tears welling up without permission. I turn the corner too fast and slam into something solid. Unmovable.
The impact throws me off balance, but before I hit the ground, strong hands catch me. Big. Steady. An anchor in the middle of a storm. I blink, trying to focus through the whirlwind of tears.
Han Qiang.
His face is close. His dark eyes, sharp and usually unreadable, now reflect something different. The furrow of his brow, the way his hands grip my arms, the intensity with which he searches my gaze… it breaks me.
"Ling?" His voice is deeper than usual.
I try to speak, but my lip trembles. The tears threaten to fall and the pressure in my chest is suffocating. Qiang glances down at my hands. He notices. My fingers are shaking around the phone.
"What's wrong?" he asks, voice firm but restrained.
I try to breathe. Try to answer. But my throat burns.
"My… grandma…"
His expression changes in an instant. His jaw tightens. His pupil's contract.
"What's happening to your grandmother?"
His words hit like a jolt of reality, a silent command demanding an answer. But I can barely speak.
"My father called…" My voice breaks. "He said she's very sick, that he doesn't know how much longer she'll…"
I can't finish. I won't. Saying it out loud would be accepting the inevitable. My chest shudders in a failed attempt to contain the pain. My body shakes. My mind crumbles. And then, without warning, his hands cradle my face with impossible gentleness.
"Look at me."
His voice is low. Steady.
The whole world blurs, but he's still there. Unmoving. His thumbs brush my cheeks slowly, catching the first tears that slide down uncontrollably.
"You'll see her in less than four hours. Is she at Huashan Hospital?"
I nod. I don't know how, but I nod. Qiang doesn't hesitate.
"I want the jet ready to depart for Shanghai in one hour and the best doctors attend to Miss Ling's grandmother," he orders sharply.
His assistant nods immediately, pulls out his phone, and starts giving orders. I just… watch. Try to make sense of it. My world is falling apart, and yet he's rebuilding it with precise commands, absolute control, that unshakable calm he always carries.
"Come on," he says in that voice that allows no argument. "I'm taking you home. Grab what you need while I prepare Bo to make sure he has everything during our absence."
His words reach me like a distant echo. I open my mouth, unsure what to say.
"You… you're coming with me?"
Han Qiang holds my gaze with utter seriousness.
"Yes."
That single word says everything. No doubt. No hesitation. He wants to be there. With me. My chest tightens. I don't understand. I don't know why he would do something like this. But I don't have the strength to argue.
All I know is that, at this moment, he's the only thing keeping me upright.
*****
Ling's apartment door flies open. She walks in without hesitation, without pausing even a second to process what she's doing. Bo appears immediately, letting out a short meow, but she doesn't even turn to look at him. Her only response is the sound of her heels echoing across the floor as she heads straight for her bedroom.
Ling never ignores her cat.
That tells me just how devastated she is.
I stay in the living room, watching as she pulls out a small carry-on suitcase and begins to pack it with clumsy, disjointed movements. There's no order to what she's doing, she just grabs random clothes and tosses them inside: a blouse, a pair of pants, a coat she doesn't even check. Her breathing is shallow, like she's running on pure inertia.
"Ling." My voice is firm, but she doesn't respond.
She keeps her eyes fixed on the suitcase, as if filling that space with things is the only thing holding her upright.
I know what that's like—clinging to action so you don't have to face the pain.
Instead of pressing her, I head to the kitchen. Bo is still watching us from the floor, ears slightly flattened, full of unease. Maybe he senses his owner's distress, or maybe he just doesn't understand why the air has turned so heavy.
I find the food bowl nearly empty. I grab the bag of kibble and pour a generous portion. Then I fill his water dish.
"You'll have to behave while she's gone," I murmur.
Bo meows in reply. I'm not sure if he's talking to me or demanding an explanation from Ling. I pull out my phone and dial my assistant.
"If this takes more than a day, make sure someone comes by to check on Bo. I don't want him to lack anything."
"I will, sir. Do you need anything else before the flight?"
"Just make sure the plane is ready. We're leaving in under forty minutes."
When I hang up, Ling appears at the hallway entrance. Her bag is slung over her shoulder, the suitcase closed… and her soul shattered. Her eyes, usually sharp and full of resolve, are shadowed with something dark. Like she's fallen into an abyss and doesn't know how to climb out.
"Let's go," I say calmly.
She nods. Just before stepping through the door, her gaze lingers on Bo, who's still watching her from the floor with his wide, expressive eyes.
"I'll be back soon," she whispers. But her tone is fragile, it doesn't sound like a promise, but a wish.
Then, without waiting for a response, she steps outside.
The sun is beginning to set, tinting the horizon with soft amber. The cabin of the plane is silent, except for the faint hum of the engines. From my seat, I watch Ling.
She hasn't said a single word since we took off. She's here, but not really. Staring out the window, her back rigid, shoulders tense, lips pressed into a thin line. Her breathing is slow… though now and then, it falters just slightly. Her hands rest on her lap, clenched into fists. She's holding herself together.
The way her fingers dig into her own skin tells me she's fighting a silent battle. She doesn't want to fall apart.
I take a deep breath and slide my arm across the seatback. I hesitate for a moment. I'm not a man who offers comfort. I don't know how. But seeing her like this, facing her grief in complete isolation, shakes something in me.
Without a word, I extend my arm and gently wrap it around her shoulders. She stiffens at once—not much, but enough for her body to give her away.
She doesn't pull away.
I maintain contact without pressing, without forcing. I just want her to know I'm here. Seconds pass—seconds that feel like forever. Then, slowly, her resistance crumbles. A broken sigh escapes her lips. With a small movement, she leans her head against my shoulder. It's not a conscious gesture. It's pure instinct.
My gaze stays on the window. I don't move. I don't break this fragile moment. Her hairbrushes against the fabric of my shirt, and a faint scent of jasmine floats to me. A delicate perfume, in perfect contrast to the hardness of her character.
With deliberate slowness, I slide my hand toward hers. It's cold. I hesitate before covering it with my own, letting my warmth seep into her skin.
Ling doesn't look at me. Doesn't speak.
But with a subtle tremble, she opens her hand and laces her fingers through mine. Her grip is tight. Desperate.
And I accept it.
I let her hold on to me like I'm her only anchor—because maybe right now, I am. I don't let go for the entire flight. Not when the plane begins its descent, but when the captain announces our imminent arrival in Shanghai.
As the plane touches down, her breathing grows quicker. Fear reappears on her face. She tightens her grip on my hand. I don't let go. I run my thumb gently over her skin, a silent reassurance.
"I'm here," I murmur, squeezing her fingers slightly in return.
Ling doesn't respond. She doesn't need to.
When the plane door opens and the warm wind of Shanghai rushes in, her grip doesn't ease.
And I don't let her go.
CHAPTER 23
The Huashan Hospital rises before me, cold and imposing, like a fortress guarding a truth I'm not ready to face. My breathing grows more erratic as we approach the entrance. I feel Qiang's hand in mine, steady, grounding me in the stability I've lost since my father's call.
The main lobby is spacious, though to me it feels overwhelming. The bright lights sting my eyes, the murmur of doctors and patients drift through the air, and the footsteps on the polished floor echo with a hollow sound that tightens my chest.
We head toward the elevators in complete silence, and each step brings me closer to the reality I've tried to avoid all day. I press the button with trembling fingers. The digital screen flashes the descending numbers. One heartbeat. Then another. Time seems to slow down. Qiang still holds my hand; his grip is a constant, an anchor. He says nothing, but he doesn't have to. His warmth seeps into my skin, and though I won't admit it aloud, I need him more than I'd like to.
The elevator stops with a faint metallic sound. The doors slide open, and the air on this floor hits me instantly. Then I see them.
"Dad! Mom," I whisper, and without thinking, I let go of Qiang's hand and rush toward them.
My mother pulls me into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of her clothes surrounds me, though it does nothing to calm the trembling in my body.
"You came…" she murmurs, her voice filled with a relief that tears at me.
"How is she?" I ask directly, searching for my father's eyes.
He sighs and rests a hand on my shoulder with the same warmth I remembered from childhood.
"The doctors say there's nothing more they can do, Ling. All we can do now is wait."
My throat closes. I shake my head. No. I can't accept that.
"Can I see her?"
My mother nods and gently takes my hand, leading me down the hallway toward the room. But before we enter, I notice my father's gaze shift toward Qiang, who remains a few steps behind me. As always, he doesn't hesitate. He gives a respectful bow.
"I'm Han Qiang, president of Tian Enterprises. I came to support Ling during this time."
My father nods slowly.
"We appreciate your presence."
Qiang maintains his calm demeanor, that unshakable composure.
"I wasn't willing to let her face this alone."
His words affect me more than they should. My mother doesn't say anything, but I know she suspects something between us. My father lets out a faint sigh.
"Come, Ling. Your grandmother wants to see you."
I enter the room alone and approach with slow steps, afraid any sudden movement might wake her. But when I'm close enough, her eyes open slowly.
"Ling'er…" Her voice is barely a whisper.
I release the breath I hadn't realized I was holding and kneeling beside the bed, taking her hand in mine. Her skin is cold. Too cold.
"Grandma… I'm here."
Her lips tremble in a tired smile.
"My girl… you look so well."
A tear slips down my cheek, but I don't wipe it away.
"Don't talk, Grandma."
She shakes her head and squeezes my hand with what little strength she has left.
"I'm leaving, sweetheart. My time here is almost over… and I don't want to leave you alone."
The sob threatens to choke me, but I swallow hard.
"I'm not alone, Grandma."
Her eyes—the same ones that have looked at me with love all my life—fill with sorrow.
"I regret every day introducing you to that bastard…"
The weight of her grief hits me harder than her words.
"It wasn't you. It was him. You only wanted me to be happy."
She closes her eyes for a moment and lets out a weak sigh.
"I didn't just want it. I still do. And now I'll leave without seeing you married. Without knowing there's a man who can care for you."
My lips part. I look at her intently. For her, marriage is a symbol of stability, of safety, of love. For me… it's not that simple. But seeing her like this, seeing her fear of leaving me alone, makes something crack inside me. I don't want her to go with that worry in her heart.
"Grandma…" I whisper, voice trembling, "I'm in love again."
Her eyes open with renewed sparkle.
"Really?"
I nod slowly.
"He's… a wonderful man."
Her frail fingers squeeze mine.
"Tell me his name. I want to know him."
The air catches in my lungs. I don't have an answer. I don't know what to say. But it's too late to take it back. I smile gently, ignoring the weight already pressing down on my chest.
"He's coming to see you tomorrow, Grandma, but you have to hold on until then."
She smiles weakly, as if the promise of meeting this man gives her a reason to hold on a little longer.
"I'm happy, Ling'er… so happy…"
I lean down and kiss her forehead tenderly.
"Rest, Grandma. I'm here."
Her eyes close slowly. Her breathing is slow, faint, but peaceful. I stay there, holding her hand, while the weight of my lie settles deep in my chest.
CHAPTER24
Luxury doesn't always mean comfort.
The suite I'm in is proof of that. All around me, everything is designed for maximum comfort: a wall-to-wall window revealing the vastness of Shanghai, sleek modern furniture in muted tones, a large bed with immaculate sheets. Everything arranged to perfection—and yet, the space feels cold. Sterile.
Last night, when I chose to leave Ling with her family, I thought it was the right thing to do. I believed she needed to be with her parents, to say goodbye to her grandmother without feeling like I was intruding on her grief.
But now, with the first light of dawn filtering into the room, that certainly crumbles.
I shouldn't have left.
I walk to the window and rest my hand against the chilled glass. From here, the city seems unchanging, impersonal, indifferent to the pain of those who inhabit it.
So has my life been: impenetrable. A man who never let emotions weaken his judgment.
Until she came along.
I close my eyes and recall the way Ling clung to my hand on the plane, how her body trembled against mine, how she intertwined her fingers with mine in a desperate search for support. I open my hand and look at it. I can still feel the pressure of her grip. Her warmth. The fragility hidden beneath that appearance of strength.
Once, solitude was my refuge. Now, it's an unbearable void. Without hesitating further, I grab my suit jacket and slip it on. It's barely dawn, but I need to return to her side.
Not because I must. Because I need to.
The driver and a bodyguard are waiting at the hotel entrance. I nod without a word and settle into the back seat of the car, behind tinted windows.
The vehicle glides through the streets of Shanghai with the precision of someone following a well-worn path, though my mind refuses to remain calm. My life before Ling was predictable, structured. Everything had a purpose. A clear outcome. Now, she's changed everything.
I glance through the report I obtained about her family: her father and mother, both teachers, respected and well-liked. A solid marriage, built on love—not on contracts.
It wasn't a forced union, like the ones often arranged in our social circle.
Until Ling was born.
She was raised in affection, with her grandmother always present, making sure the little girl had a full life. A widow for decades, the grandmother became the true pillar of the household. It was she who insisted on the engagement with Qin Rui.
My jaw clenches.
That man who dared hurt her. Who almost ended up with the woman who now…
I shake my head and close the report. The past doesn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is that Ling is mine, and though she may not understand it yet, she's in no position to decide otherwise.
The car brakes gently in front of the hospital. I don't wait for someone to open the door. I step out quickly, ignoring the staff who glance at me with a mix of awe and fear.
The only thing that matters is seeing her.
Huashan Hospital is a maze of silent hallways. The elevator is packed, but I squeeze in anyway. I can't stand being surrounded by so many people. Losing control of my environment isn't something I tolerate well.
As soon as the doors open on the right floor, I slip out and head straight for the corridor where I know her grandmother is admitted.
Then I see him. Ling's father is standing with his arms crossed, wearing the expression of someone who's spent the night awake. He straightens up the moment he sees me.
"Good morning, Mr. Han."
I extend my hand and shake his firmly.
"Good morning, Mr. Zhi. Any news?"
He sighs and shakes his head.
"Nothing since yesterday."
I glance at the closed door of the room. The weight in my chest doesn't lessen. But there's something else. A latent unease.
Zhi watches me with narrowed eyes, as if reading my urgency.
"My daughter isn't here. She left."
My heart stops for a second. Two. Three.
"Where did she go?" I ask, my voice calm but taut.
"I'm not sure exactly, but I know what her purpose was."
The way he says it… the way he drops that bomb as if it carried no weight… A chill runs down my back before I can stop it.
"What purpose?"
Zhi doesn't look disturbed. His voice is steady.
"To find a boyfriend to introduce to her grandmother."
My world tilts.
Ling. My Ling. Looking for another man. My body reacts before my mind can process it.
"Where the hell did she go?"
Zhi blinks, surprised by my tone.
"To the café on the corner."
I don't hear anything else. I turn and walk away briskly. My footsteps echo in the hallway. When I reach the elevator, I see it's on another floor. I'm not waiting.
I push open the emergency exit and take the stairs two at a time. My breath grows uneven. Every second I lose is another second she's with someone else.
I burst out of the hospital and my gaze sweeps the street, frantic, searching for that damned café. I don't care if it isn't rational. I only know one thing:
Ling is mine.
And she has no right to look for someone else.