The moment Mo Yue stepped out of Guo Ming's office, he exhaled sharply, pulling his sunglasses down just enough for his eyes to catch the corridor's light.
"Control me? Babysit me? Tch…" His lips curled into a mocking smile. "Guo Ming never learns."
Behind him, hurried footsteps echoed as Feng Yu caught up, clutching his notepad.
"Mr. Mo, please slow down," Feng Yu said softly. "You left in such a rush—Mr. Guo only wants the best for you."
Mo Yue turned his head slightly, studying the young man with narrowed eyes. "Best for me, or best for the company?" His tone was sharp, but he didn't wait for an answer.
They walked in silence toward the elevator, but Mo Yue's mind wasn't on Guo Ming's words anymore.
It was on Andre.
He could still see the boy in his mind—tall, calm, unnervingly cold. Two weeks apart, and Andre looked… different. Taller, sharper, more distant, as though in those short days he had shed whatever softness remained in him. He stood there in that office like a statue—unshaken, unreadable, untouched by the chaos Guo Ming and Mo Yue threw into the air.
Mo Yue clicked his tongue. "How does he do that?"
Other assistants had flinched at Mo Yue's moods, scrambled at his demands, even snapped back in frustration. But Andre? He never wavered. He never showed irritation, never stumbled into fear, never softened into pity. He just… existed in a way that filled the space and left Mo Yue restless.
"He's still just a boy," Mo Yue thought, leaning against the mirrored elevator wall, watching his reflection. "Face like a sixteen-year-old, body like a man, presence like—" He cut the thought off, pressing his tongue to his cheek.
Feng Yu's voice broke the silence. "Mr. Mo, Andre… he seems to understand you better than others. You act calmer when he's around."
Mo Yue turned sharply, his lips curving in a dangerous smile. "Are you saying I need him to behave?"
Feng Yu paled. "No, no, that's not what I meant—"
Mo Yue chuckled lowly, closing his eyes. "Relax. I'm not angry. But don't mistake my silence for obedience. No one handles me. Not Guo Ming. Not Andre. No one."
The elevator chimed open. They stepped out, heading to Mo Yue's private lounge.
Inside, Mo Yue dropped his sunglasses onto the couch and stretched his arms, muscles shifting under the loose fabric of his shirt. The room smelled faintly of cologne and leather, grounding him, though his thoughts still refused to quiet.
He sank into the sofa, eyes half-lidded, but his mind betrayed him.
Andre again.
That calm posture. Those steady eyes. That presence that neither bent nor broke under pressure. Two weeks apart, and instead of fading, the memory had sharpened. And seeing him again today only confirmed it—Andre was different.
Not ordinary.
And that unsettled him more than Guo Ming's shouting ever could.
"Why do I keep noticing him?" Mo Yue asked himself, drumming his fingers on the armrest. "He's quiet, cold, almost gloomy. Nothing special—yet…"
Yet his image wouldn't leave.
Where others blurred into noise, Andre remained like a clear outline—too clear, too sharp, impossible to ignore. Even now, Mo Yue felt the faint pull of curiosity gnawing at him, an itch he couldn't scratch.
"He should be forgettable," he thought with a bitter laugh. "But I can't forget him at all."
Mo Yue sprawled across the couch, sunglasses tossed aside, one arm draped lazily along the backrest. His phone buzzed again on the glass table, screen lighting up.
He almost ignored it—until the bold headline caught his eye.
"Mo Yue Causes Scene at Luxury Bar: Clash With Su Jie Leaves Fans Questioning His Stability."
His jaw tightened.
There it was again. Always the same script. He was reckless, destructive, the villain. And Su Jie? The poor victim who somehow managed to shine brighter after every encounter.
Mo Yue let out a sharp laugh, bitter and humorless. "Stability? Tch. As if Su Jie is any better."
Su Jie.
If there was anyone Mo Yue couldn't stomach, it was him. Smiles polished to perfection, humility rehearsed until it looked natural, a mask so flawless that people worshipped him as if he were incapable of fault. But Mo Yue knew better. He had seen beneath the cracks—once, just once—and it was enough.
Enough to detest him. Enough to loathe everything he represented.
The industry's golden boy. The faker. The one person Mo Yue could never stand because… because Su was exactly the kind of lie that clawed at his skin.
And worse—Su Jie knew it.
"Every time…" Mo Yue muttered, pressing his thumb hard against his temple. "Every damn time, he's the one who triggers me."
It wasn't just random. Their clashes weren't coincidence. Su Jie had a way of dragging the worst out of him, pressing invisible buttons only the two of them seemed aware of. A history neither Guo Ming nor the public knew, one buried so deep that even thinking of it made Mo Yue's chest tighten.
The headlines painted him as the aggressor, the villain. But Su—oh, Su Jie thrived on it. Behind that perfect smile, he was no victim. He was the one pulling strings, nudging situations until Mo Yue snapped, knowing damn well the media would eat it alive.
And Mo Yue hated him for it.
"Hnh. They think I'm unstable?" His lips curved in a crooked smile, though his eyes stayed sharp and cold. "Maybe I am. But at least I'm real. Su Jie can't say the same."
The phone buzzed again with another update. He didn't bother looking this time.
Instead, his thoughts shifted, unbidden, to the image of Andre in Guo Ming's office. Standing silent, unshaken, detached. No masks. No games. Nothing to pretend.
Mo Yue chuckled low under his breath, leaning his head back against the sofa. "You… Andre. You're nothing like him. And that's why I keep noticing you."
But the thought of Su Jie still burned, crawling under his skin, refusing to leave. And until tonight—until the ball—Mo Yue knew that fire would only grow hotter.