Morning sunlight poured gently through sheer white curtains, scattering gold dust across the polished floors of the He residence. The once-silent villa now echoed with tiny giggles, rustling toys, and the faint hum of lullabies.
In the kitchen, He Zhiyuan stood before the stove in a plain T-shirt, stirring porridge with one hand and holding a bottle of warm milk in the other. His once-impeccable hair was tousled, and a faint smear of baby formula clung near his collar.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Lin Xinyi," he called out, mock-exasperated. "Your daughter is glaring at me like I burned her breakfast."
From the living room, Lin Xinyi laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. "That's because you did burn her porridge last week."
Zhiyuan scoffed, feigning offense. "That was artistic browning."
She appeared in the doorway, hair in a loose bun, wearing his oversized shirt. She picked up their baby girl from her highchair — chubby cheeks, curious eyes that mirrored his.
"Artistic browning?" Xinyi teased. "You mean charcoal puree?"
Zhiyuan sighed dramatically but couldn't hide his grin. "Your sense of humor, Mrs. He, remains merciless."
She stepped closer, smiling as he wiped his hands and reached for their daughter. When she rested in his arms, his voice softened, reverent.
"Good morning, little one," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her tiny forehead. "Daddy cooked breakfast… again."
The baby cooed — a gurgle that sounded suspiciously like a laugh — and Xinyi leaned against the counter, watching them.
She'd seen this man negotiate billion-yuan deals with unshakable calm, but watching him hum lullabies and wipe drool from a bib? That was love, pure and unfiltered.A spoonful of porridge slipped from Zhiyuan's hand, landing on the floor. Xinyi laughed, shaking her head. "You're hopeless sometimes."
He looked down at the tiny mess, mock-pleading. "It's called character development. Breakfast with drama."
She chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. "Only you could make a mess look charming."
That evening, after their daughter had been tucked into her crib, they stood together on the balcony, hand in hand. The moon hung full and soft above the city — the same moon that had witnessed their years of secrecy, the same moonlight that once shimmered over office blinds and stolen glances.
"You know," Xinyi murmured, resting her head on his shoulder, "sometimes I still can't believe this is our life."
That evening, after their daughter had been tucked into her crib, they stood together on the balcony, hand in hand. The moon hung full and soft above the city — the same moon that had witnessed their years of secrecy, the same moonlight that once shimmered over office blinds and stolen glances.
Xinyi let out a quiet sigh. "Sometimes… I miss it."
He glanced at her. "Miss what?"
"The thrill of it. The little danger of being found out. It made every look feel electric."
Zhiyuan chuckled, pulling her closer. "Sometimes, yes. But only because it made every stolen moment feel precious. Now, every time you smile, every time you touch my hand… I don't have to hide it anymore."
Her eyes shimmered under the pale glow. "You always know what to say."
He traced her jawline gently. "That's because I've been memorizing your moods since high school."
She blinked, surprised. "That long?"
"Since the day you beat me in our first class debate," he murmured. "You stood there, stubborn and brilliant — I knew then that I'd spend the rest of my life losing to you."
Her laughter came soft and teary all at once. "Vice President He, you've become sentimental."
"Blame my wife," he said simply. "She makes ordinary days feel like poetry."
"You still remember?" she asked, eyes soft.
Zhiyuan's gaze softened. "Of course. Since the first time you scolded me for stealing your notebook in middle school. You called me an arrogant brat."
"You were!"
"And now," he said, reaching out to pull her down beside him, "I'm your arrogant brat."
She rolled her eyes, leaning against his shoulder. "You really haven't changed."
He smiled faintly. "No. I just found more reasons to love you."
As the night deepened, their daughter stirred softly inside. Xinyi turned, but Zhiyuan caught her hand and whispered, "I'll get her. You've done enough."
He disappeared inside, and through the open glass doors, she watched him lift their baby gently, whispering to her in the same gentle tone he had once used to soothe her through their hardest days.
That image — her husband holding their child under the same moonlight that had once lit their hidden kisses — made Xinyi's heart ache with quiet joy.
She had loved him for sixteen years — from the awkward boy next door to the man who now cooked breakfast with baby formula on his shirt. And somehow, every version of him still made her fall in love all over again.
When he returned, he slipped an arm around her waist. "She's asleep again."
Xinyi smiled, resting her head on his chest. "We're really parents, huh?"
Zhiyuan pressed a kiss to her hair. "We always were," he whispered. "Just needed the world to catch up."
Years ago, they had loved each other in silence, surrounded by office whispers and stolen moments.Now, they loved in daylight — with laughter, baby giggles, and morning sunlight pooling across the floor.
"Happily ours, Mrs. He," he murmured.
Her eyes softened, the corners of her lips lifting in that familiar, breathtaking smile."Always, Mr. He."
The night settled around them, quiet and complete.And somewhere between the scent of blooming jasmine and the soft breaths of their sleeping child —their love story continued, endlessly tender, endlessly theirs.