CHAPTER 59 – Fractures Beneath the Surface
The long glass conference table gleamed under the afternoon light, polished so smooth it reflected the faces of the men and women seated around it. The clock on the far wall ticked toward three, its steady rhythm filling the silence before the meeting began.
Zhen Yichen sat at the head of the table, posture flawless, suit sharp, every detail of his appearance carrying the authority expected of HYU Holdings' president. To anyone else, he looked composed as always. But beneath the mask, fatigue gnawed at him.
His body was drained, still carrying the weight of a night he could not escape. No matter how rigidly he forced himself into the role of leader, the memories pressed in — Andre's breath against his skin, the force of his body, the madness that blurred into craving.
He pushed the thought aside. Not here. Not now.
The directors began their reports, voices rising one after another, presenting charts, graphs, and projections. The topic was ambitious: a new venture that could extend HYU's reach into the international market. If handled correctly, it would elevate the company into a global force. If miscalculated, it could fracture everything.
"…We should consider collaboration with an American firm," one director was saying, his voice confident. "Their capital strength and established networks could open the gateway into Western markets."
Another shook his head. "No. Europe is the strategic front. The luxury industry there aligns with our brand image. We should leverage partnerships in France or Germany."
A third leaned forward, cutting in. "Both options carry risks. Our safest route is to look East — Japan, Singapore. Smaller risk, steadier growth. We cannot gamble with a leap this large."
Their voices overlapped, arguments clashing across the table. Papers rustled, charts slid from one side to the other, names of corporations from every corner of the globe tossed into the air like cards in a game.
Yichen heard them, but his focus slipped, his eyes dim. He sat motionless, fingers lightly tapping against the table. The weight of his sleepless night pressed down, images flickering like shadows behind his eyes. Andre's words. Andre's body. The loss of control that shattered everything he thought untouchable.
"President Zhen?"
The voice broke through.
Yichen's eyes lifted, realizing the room had gone silent. Every director was staring at him, waiting. Someone had asked for his conclusion, and he had not spoken.
For a brief moment, his chest tightened. But his expression never faltered.
"I've heard your perspectives," he said smoothly, his voice even. "All of them have merit. But decisions at this scale cannot be made on fragmented opinions."
He turned his gaze to one man near the middle of the table — HYU's chief director, Mr. Que, an older man with silver-streaked hair and sharp eyes.
"Mr. Que," Yichen continued, "compile a list of outstanding international companies most suitable for cooperation with HYU. Assess their financial stability, cultural compatibility, and potential synergy with our current operations. Once you're finished, hand the documentation to Secretary Chris."
Chris, seated just behind Yichen, straightened at the mention.
"I'll review the findings personally," Yichen concluded, his voice carrying quiet finality. "When my decision is made, you will all be informed."
The room stayed silent for a moment, then nods circled the table. No one pressed further. His words had closed the matter.
"Meeting adjourned."
Chairs scraped against the polished floor as the directors rose, their discussions resuming in lower tones as they filed out. Within minutes, the room was nearly empty, leaving Yichen sitting alone at the head of the table, staring at the papers scattered before him without seeing them.
His hand rose to his temple, fingers pressing lightly. The exhaustion in his bones was not only physical. It was something heavier — a fracture between what he should be and what he had become.
After the Meeting
Outside the conference room, the corridors of HYU Holdings were quiet, the afternoon sun slanting through tall glass windows. Chris followed a few steps behind as Yichen walked toward his office, carrying his files with practiced precision.
"President Zhen," Chris said gently as they entered the private office. "Are we still scheduled to visit the chairman this evening? He asked if you'd be coming."
Yichen lowered himself into the leather chair behind his desk. For a moment, he stayed silent, eyes drifting toward the skyline beyond the glass wall. The thought of visiting his grandfather now, with his body still aching, his mind still raw, seemed unbearable.
"No," he said finally, voice low but firm. "I'll go tomorrow myself."
Chris blinked in mild surprise. "Tomorrow, sir?"
"Yes." Yichen picked up a pen, pretending to review the papers before him. "For now, I'm going home to rest."
Chris hesitated, studying his boss quietly. Yichen's complexion was paler than usual, his shoulders just a touch heavier, his eyes shadowed. To anyone else, he looked as commanding as ever. But to someone who had served by his side for years, the difference was unmistakable.
"Understood," Chris replied softly. He bowed slightly, retreating toward the door, though his mind lingered.
As he left, he thought silently: Something is wrong with President Zhen. He looks… drained. Tired, in a way I've never seen him before.
The office door closed behind him, leaving Yichen alone in the quiet. His pen stilled in his hand, his gaze unfocused. For a long moment, he simply sat there, breathing slowly, fighting the weight pressing on his chest.
And in the back of his mind, the night he had tried to bury rose again, unwelcome but unshakable.