The night was still.
Too still.
Li Zeyan sat alone in his study, one hand on the edge of a glass filled with untouched whiskey. The amber liquid shimmered under the lamp light, but he hadn't taken a sip.
He had been sitting there for hours.
The silence was comfortable once, now it grated against him.
Something felt off.
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. His tie was loosened, top button undone. The window beside him showed only darkness, and his reflection stared back at him, hollow, unreadable.
He hated the way her smile had replayed in his mind like a broken record.
He hated that her laugh echoed louder than his own thoughts.
He hated that when she flinched, something inside him twitched, like guilt trying to claw its way through armor.
He had no right to feel any of it.
She was just… a name on a marriage certificate.
A woman thrust into his life by obligation. By arrangement. By everything he despised about his family's power games.
So why...
Why couldn't he stop thinking about the smudge of charcoal on her cheek?
Why couldn't he stop hearing her laugh?
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor.
The room was too quiet.
He left the study, his footsteps slow as he made his way through the darkened hallway toward the master bedroom. The staff had long gone to bed. Only the distant rustle of leaves outside filled the air.
But then...he heard it.
Water.
Running.
A soft splash.
The sound slipped beneath the door of the ensuite bathroom like a secret. Unapologetic. Quiet. Personal.
He froze.
His hand hovered over the doorknob.
She was in there.
He hadn't noticed she had come in. Hadn't heard her footsteps or the rustle of the bed covers. But now the sound of water was all he could hear, and it hit him harder than he expected.
His throat tightened.
He turned away from the door, stepping back.
But the image formed anyway.
Steam curling in the air.
Her skin, bare and gleaming.
The curve of her neck against the porcelain.
The vulnerable quiet of someone seeking warmth in solitude.
He shut his eyes, jaw clenching.
Not because he imagined her naked.
But because he imagined her hurt.
He imagined her sitting in that bath not to relax, but because he had made her feel small. Because she had laughed, and he'd stolen it from her.
He walked to the balcony instead, pushing the glass door open, letting the night air slap him back into reason.
He had never known guilt to linger like this.
He had never cared who smiled and who didn't.
Until now.
Until her.
Minutes passed.
The sound of the water eventually stopped, replaced by the faint padding of feet across tile. Still, he didn't move from the balcony.
He stared into the dark garden, the moonlight stretching across the trimmed hedges like silver threads.
Behind him, the bathroom door opened softly.
He didn't turn.
He didn't speak.
He only listened, to the silence between them. He didn't know if she looked at him, or walked past him, or stood behind him watching. But he knew she was there.
And for some reason, that alone made it harder to breathe.