The silence Meilin was left with after he walked away was louder than any argument could've been. She continued eating slowly, spoon by spoon, feeling every tick of the grandfather clock against the stillness of the dining hall.
The porridge had long gone lukewarm, the sliced fruits untouched. Yet she remained seated, almost as if rising too soon would crack the fragile glass holding the room together.
She shifted in the chair slightly and glanced down. A small drop of porridge had landed on the cuff of the oversized black shirt, his shirt.
She quietly dabbed at it with the edge of her napkin, her lips pressed into a line. "Maybe I shouldn't have worn it," she whispered, barely audible even to herself.
None of the maids dared say a word. They moved silently around her, clearing plates, pouring fresh tea, their eyes low, careful. As if any sound could set the mansion off-balance.
Outside the wide glass doors, the morning sun cast pale gold light across the garden. Something about the brightness felt ironic. Like the world dared to be beautiful when everything else inside felt so delicate, uncertain.
Meilin set her spoon down gently. She wasn't hungry anymore.
Li Zeyan stood in his study, his hand resting on the back of the leather chair, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk. He hadn't sat down.
The file lay where he dropped it, forgotten.
A glass of water stood untouched beside it.
He stared at the floor for a long time. No movement. No thought that stayed long enough to settle. Only fragments.
Her bare legs.
The way his shirt had hung on her like it was made for softness, not control.
The way she looked at him when she asked, Do you want me to change?
He clenched his jaw and turned away abruptly.
This was foolish.
He didn't care what she wore. He didn't care how she looked.
He didn't care.
Then why couldn't he stop seeing it?
He walked to the window. Pulled the curtain back an inch. The garden below was quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.
He caught a glimpse of something white, moving.
Her.
Meilin wandered barefoot through the garden, her steps slow, thoughtful. The air was still cool, clinging to the edges of her damp hair. Morning dew kissed the grass, brushing her skin with each step.
She didn't know why she had come out here. Maybe to breathe. Maybe to hide.
Her eyes trailed over the blooming bushes, neat hedges, and carefully shaped trees. Beauty lived here, but it was the kind of beauty that stood too straight, too perfect. Like a dollhouse. Like everything in Li Zeyan's world, orderly, sterile, untouchable.
She paused near a white-flowered bush.
Without much thought, she reached out and picked a single blossom.
It was delicate. Fragrant.
She tucked it behind her ear.
"Pretty flower," a soft voice said.
Startled, she turned. The gardener, an old man with silvered hair and soft eyes, stood a few feet away, holding pruning shears and a gentle smile.
Meilin bowed slightly. "Good morning."
"It's been a long time since someone walked barefoot in this garden," he said with a chuckle. "And smiled."
She blinked. "I… smiled?"
He nodded. "Not many people do around here."
Meilin glanced down at her toes in the grass. The hem of the shirt fluttered slightly in the breeze.
"It's peaceful," she said quietly.
The old man gave a small nod before returning to his work, humming faintly.
Back inside, she walked the long hallway slowly, her fingertips brushing along the wall as she moved. Everything about this place still felt foreign, too grand, too silent.
Just as she turned the corner near the main staircase, her steps faltered.
Li Zeyan stood at the top of the stairs, his hand on the railing. He hadn't seen her yet.
She stopped.
As if sensing her presence, he looked up.
Their eyes locked.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
She didn't smile.
Neither did he.
He held her gaze, just a beat too long, then turned and walked away.
Not a word.
Not a sound.
Just the soft echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Meilin stood there, watching his retreating figure until he disappeared.
She didn't know what it meant. Or if it meant anything at all.
But the quiet he left behind stayed with her.
Not heavy. Not cruel.
Just... quiet.
And somehow, it was louder than any storm.