The living room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the central heating. Evening light poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long golden shadows across the sleek marble floor. Celia sat elegantly on the long cream-colored couch, her phone still in hand as she ended a call. A faint smile softened her face as she turned toward the man sitting opposite her on the single sofa.
"Andre is alright," she said warmly, her voice carrying a hint of relief. "He'll be coming home tomorrow… so we'll be having dinner as a family tomorrow."
The man sitting there—tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit—barely looked up. His long fingers rested loosely on his knee, his posture sharp yet unhurried. His expression was unreadable, like a polished mask that betrayed nothing.
"Mm." The single syllable left his lips in a low tone, his acknowledgment almost indifferent.
Celia's smile faltered for a brief second before she forced it back into place. She crossed her legs, watching him carefully.
"So, Yichen," she began again, trying to keep her tone light, "how have you been? You were gone for five months… but you said you'd be away for only three."
Her words hung in the air, delicate but probing.
The man finally lifted his gaze, dark eyes cutting through the quiet like a blade. Yes, the man sitting there was Zhen Yichen—calm, controlled, and dangerous in a way that needed no announcement. He leaned back slightly, the shadows clinging to the sharp lines of his jaw and the faint exhaustion etched in his features.
Five months. To anyone else, that sounded like an extended business trip. But for Yichen, those five months had been a battlefield.
He had left with a plan—three months at most, he'd told Celia. Just enough time to handle the negotiations and seal the international deals that would push JGR Inc. into the next stratosphere. He had worked tirelessly for years to make JGR one of the fastest-growing companies abroad, a name that carried weight, but now… he needed more than growth. He needed dominance.
Because the moment his lies were exposed to the old man—the patriarch who had loomed over his life like an immovable shadow—everything changed. That man would not hesitate to use HYU Holdings as a weapon, to crush Yichen for stepping out of line.
If he wanted freedom—if he wanted to sever those invisible chains—he had to make JGR so powerful it could stand toe-to-toe with HYU Holdings… or completely overshadow it. Only then could he take control of his life, bury the grip of his grandfather , and shut down every threat at its root.
What was supposed to be two months became three… then four. Each extension came with blood and sweat, countless sleepless nights, and meetings that bled into mornings. He fought like a man cornered, outmaneuvering moves designed to sink him. He had expected pressure, but he hadn't expected the old man to be so ruthless, to nearly crush him with relentless tactics and leverage.
But Yichen didn't break. He didn't bow. Instead, he bled for his ambition—and finally, he won. JGR was now unshakable, a titan with influence and power that even HYU could no longer casually dismiss. The old man had been forced to retreat, though Yichen knew better than to believe the war was over.
And yet… through all of it, something else lingered in the back of his mind. A name.
Andre.
He didn't understand why that boy's face kept surfacing in his thoughts when he was drowning in deals and sleepless nights. He had thought that distance would free him from whatever strange pull Andre had over him. That being away—putting an ocean between them—would quiet the dissonance in his chest. But instead, it only got worse.
He couldn't sleep. Not truly. There were nights he went three, four days without closing his eyes, surviving on black coffee and pure will. And when he finally took something—pills to force his body to rest—nightmares tore through his mind like claws, jerking him awake in a cold sweat.
It was almost laughable. Zhen Yichen, the man who commanded boardrooms and bent entire corporations to his will, reduced to a hollow shell by something as simple as sleep.
The irony burned. The only reprieve he had ever known in the last two years came from something unreal, something he had once dismissed as insignificant. A fragile, quiet presence that somehow muted the noise inside him.
Andre.
He had told himself it was a coincidence. That the calm he felt near that boy was an illusion, a trick of the mind. But five months away taught him otherwise. The distance didn't weaken it—it made it worse. That quiet obsession, that need, carved deeper into his bones.
So yes. When his jet touched the runway, when the city skyline bled into the night, the first thought in his mind wasn't his victory or the empire he had built. It was Andre.
And now Celia was smiling like everything was perfect, like the world hadn't tilted on its axis.
Yichen's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He exhaled slowly, the sound low and measured.
"I had work," he replied finally, his voice calm but cool, every syllable laced with a finality that left no room for warmth.
"Oh, I understand," Celia said with a forced little laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Given you hardly replied or answered my calls and messages. Heehee…"
Yichen said nothing. His gaze drifted past her, toward the window where the city lights shimmered like broken glass.
"….."
She fidgeted under the weight of his silence until—
"Celia."
The sound of her name in his voice snapped her back. It was rare for him to say it—rare enough that it almost startled her.
"Yes?" she answered quickly, trying to read his expression, but his face was as cold and composed as ever.
Yichen's eyes shifted back to her, dark and unwavering. His next words fell like a blade through the quiet.
"This is the end of our deal."
The room went still.
For a moment, all Celia could do was stare at him, her breath catching in her throat.
"What?..what do you mean?" Her voice calm and steady.
But Yichen didn't answer immediately. He leaned back into the sofa, the weight of his presence filling the space like a storm held barely at bay.