The marble of Bai Qi's bathroom was cold beneath his fingertips, though he barely noticed. Steam coiled like smoke around the edges of the tub, thick and suffocating. His hand throbbed, bandages soaked with the warmth of blood and water, yet he didn't care. Fury burned hotter.
"Damn it…" he muttered, teeth clenched. The words carried no volume, but they were sharp enough to cut through the quiet.
A knock at the door.
Armin appeared at the doorway, tall, commanding, a shadow framed by the dim light. He stopped just outside the bathroom, eyes narrowing at the steam and the taut tension in Bai Qi's posture.
"Bai Qi," he said, voice calm but laced with authority, the kind only an older brother could wield. "You still here?,You know the rivals are coming today. they'll be soon here, at the Rothenberg Industry…."
Bai Qi didn't look up, letting the water lap around his forearm like a small, controlled storm. "I know." His voice was flat, measured. No tremor, no hint of worry. Just a statement.
Armin's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't argue. Just nodded and slipped away. The echo of his footsteps disappeared into the hall, leaving Bai Qi alone again, the water curling around him like a shroud.
Outside, George's car rolled to a stop in front of Shu Yao's small, understated house.
It was too early for anyone to be awake, but George had a thought: why wait? Better to escort him himself. To ensure nothing went wrong.
The engine cut. The world felt sharp, too loud. George stepped out, boots clicking against the pavement. He approached the door, hand raised, then knocked.
Inside, Shu Yao flinched. His chest hammered. He forced a slow, deliberate inhale, pressing trembling hands against the tabletop to steady himself. The scattered papers were shoved frantically behind his back, fingers curling around them like they might bite.
The door clicked.
Shu Yao froze halfway through hiding the file. Juju meowed, a small, warning note of discontent.
George stepped inside. His gaze swept the kitchen immediately, sharp and unflinching. He froze, ever so slightly, as his eyes fell on Shu Yao.
"It's early," George said, voice calm but firm, eyes locking onto him. "I thought I could take you to the company myself. We'll go together."
Shu Yao's legs turned to lead. Eyes widened. The color drained from his face. He was trapped, frozen in the center of his own kitchen.
George stepped forward, slow, deliberate. Shu Yao's fingers tensed around the hidden file, knuckles whitening.
"What happened?" George's voice softened, the edge of suspicion sharpening at the edges. "You… you're not feeling well, are you?"
Shu Yao lowered his gaze, voice trembling. "N-no… Mr. George… it's… it's fine. I… I was just getting ready."
George tilted his head, taking a measured step closer. His gaze narrowed. Shu Yao never stammered unless something had gone wrong. Something real.
"Shu Yao…" George's voice hardened slightly. "Did Bai Qi do something again?"
Shu Yao flinched, eyes shooting up like a trapped animal. Fear shimmered in them. "N-no… Mr. George… he… he didn't do anything."
George's lips pressed into a line. "Then why are you scared?"
Shu Yao took a step back, hands trembling, trying to shift the focus. "It's… it's nothing, Mr. George," he said, voice small. "Really. I… I was just…"
His voice faltered, eyes flicking to the door behind George. Something was wrong. Too quiet. Too easy.
He swallowed.
"How… how did you get in?"
He actually changed the subject.
George stopped moving. For a heartbeat, only his breath stirred the air.
Then — slowly, almost sheepishly — he lowered his gaze, not in shame, but in a startling, casual confession.
"I made a spare key," he said. Not defensive. Not embarrassed. Just stating a fact. "You live alone. And you fell sick often. I didn't want something to happen to you while no one was here to check."
Shu Yao's stomach twisted. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, too warm, too full of him.
George lifted his eyes again, softer now — dangerously soft.
"So… I'll visit sometimes. Just to make sure you're okay."
Shu Yao's breath hitched.
Every lie he could reach for shriveled on his tongue. Every path to escape seemed to narrow.
He didn't move.
Couldn't.
George took one slow step closer, voice gentle enough to burn.
"You don't have to be afraid. I'm only here to help."
But Shu Yao's heart hammered anyway.
George's gaze shifted. The box.
Shu Yao's heart skipped. He had no defense. He couldn't lie well, not to George. Not ever.
George blinked, slow, deliberate. "Have you… ordered something, Shu Yao?"
Shu Yao froze. Words failed him. His body locked in place.
He shook his head. The motion seemed both frantic and futile.
George didn't wait. He moved closer, hands reaching. The box's lid shifted under his touch. Inside, emptiness.
Shu Yao exhaled a thin, shaky breath — the kind that wasn't quite relief and wasn't quite panic, but some terrible mix of both.
George's gaze drifted toward the open box on the counter.
"What was inside?" he asked lightly, almost conversational… almost.
Shu Yao's pulse thrashed.
"It… it was nothing… nothing special…"
George didn't respond at first.
He simply… watched him.
The silence stretched.
Then a faint crease formed between George's brows — suspicion settling in, quiet as frost creeping over glass.
His eyes flicked from Shu Yao's too-still posture… down… to the way his arm curled stiffly behind his back.
A small movement.
Barely noticeable.
But George noticed.
His stare sharpened, focusing on that hidden hand like a hawk spotting a tremor in the grass.
Shu Yao's breath caught.
Please don't see.
Please don't see.
Please don't see—
George took a single, slow step closer.
"Shu Yao…" he said, voice low, even. Not angry. Worse — curious. "Why are you standing like that?"
Shu Yao's fingers clenched behind him, the file digging into his palm.
His heart climbed into his throat.
"I—I'm not… standing any way," he whispered.
But the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
George's gaze didn't move. It stayed fixed on that one place — Shu Yao's guarded hand — as if the rest of the world didn't matter.
Another step.
Patient. Calculated.
Dangerously calm.
"What," George murmured, "are you hiding behind your back?"
Shu Yao's prayers shattered. His lungs forgot how to breathe.
And George kept coming.
George's eyes narrowed, just slightly — not enough to frighten, but enough to pierce.
"What are you hiding?" he asked, voice calm… but stretched thin with rising impatience.
The words seemed to echo in the small kitchen.
Juju sensed it immediately.
The cat brushed against George's leg, soft fur sweeping over his trouser, a tiny nudge of comfort in a room suddenly starved of air.
Shu Yao's breath hitched.
His fingers spasmed behind his back, clutching the file as if it could dissolve into smoke if he wished hard enough.
He had never lied.
Never manipulated anyone.
How do you hide something when you've never hidden anything?
How do you lie when your voice shakes at the thought of it?
His thoughts tangled, choked, collapsed.
That was the moment he stepped closer.
"Shu Yao…" His tone wasn't loud, but it sliced through the panic like a blade through thin paper. "There's something wrong. And you're not telling me."
Shu Yao's knees wobbled.
He lowered his eyes, trembling, willing his heartbeat to quiet before George heard it.
George's patience snapped.
"Enough."
He moved before Shu Yao could even breathe—
a sharp, decisive step,
his hand closing around Shu Yao's wrist.
Shu Yao flinched, eyes wide.
"S-stop— Mr… George, p-please—"
But it was too late.
The file slipped from his trembling fingers.
Papers burst across the floor like startled birds—
fanning out, scattering, flashing white against the tiles.
Shu Yao's heart lurched.
"No— no—" he whispered, panic breaking through his voice as he scrambled instinctively.
George blinked once, twice—
as if the world had tilted under his feet.
Then he slowly crouched, knees touching the cold floor.
His hand reached out, collected the nearest page.
He lifted it.
Silence crushed the room.
George's voice came low, almost detached.
"…Is this what you were hiding?"
Shu Yao swallowed hard.
His hand hovered helplessly, reaching toward the page like a child caught stealing.
But George wasn't looking at him.
His eyes had widened—
sharply, dangerously—
fixed on the design printed across the sheet.
A design already sold to their rival.
A design that should never, ever have left the company walls.
Then—
the final blow.
George's gaze slid downward…
to the signature at the bottom.
Shu Yao's signature.
The blood drained from Shu Yao's face.
His lips trembled, forming words he couldn't voice.
George rose so abruptly the air seemed to recoil.
The paper crinkled in his tightening grip.
Shu Yao stumbled back, terrified.
He didn't know how to explain.
He didn't even know where to begin.
And George—
for the first time—
was utterly, shatteringly speechless.
Shu Yao's lips quivered.
One tremble—
then another—
and the tears slipped free, soft and soundless.
George finally tore his eyes from the page and fixed them on Shu Yao.
"How… did this happen?"
His voice cracked in a way he clearly didn't want.
He didn't want to accuse him.
Didn't want to believe betrayal could come from someone like Shu Yao—
serene, gentle, painfully honest.
But the signature on the paper—
that undid him.
George lifted the page slightly.
"What is this, Shu Yao?"
Shu Yao forced his gaze upward, eyes red, breath trembling.
"I—I didn't do anything… M-Mr. George…"
George's jaw flexed hard.
"Then what is this?"
He held up the sheet, the signature burning between them.
Shu Yao shook his head desperately.
"I don't know. When I came home—the box was already here. I was in Suzhou. I… I didn't order anything."
George's head snapped toward him.
He stepped closer, almost involuntarily.
"But last night," George said sharply, "when I fed your cat—there was no box here."
Shu Yao froze.
Trapped.
Cornered by a truth he didn't know how to explain.
"I—I don't know anything about that," he whispered, wiping at his cheeks with trembling fingers.
And something inside George cracked.
The sight of Shu Yao crying—
small, frightened, breaking—
stabbed deeper than he expected.
He took a slow step forward.
"Shu Yao…"
His voice softened, reluctantly, helplessly.
"I know you're honest. Especially with work. But your signature—"
His throat tightened.
"Your sign is a big proof."
Shu Yao staggered closer, shaking his head harder.
"I wouldn't do this. I wouldn't— not when Bai Qi already hates me this much. If… if he found out…"
His breath shattered.
"He'll never want to see my face again."
A sob slipped out—quiet, strangled.
It gutted George.
He clenched his jaw, then stepped forward in one swift, decisive move, grasping Shu Yao's shoulders.
"Okay. Okay, Shu Yao—stop crying."
His voice was firm but trembling underneath.
"I know you didn't do anything. We'll… we'll figure out what's going on."
Shu Yao looked up miserably, wet lashes clinging together.
His voice was a ghost.
"Do… do you believe me, Mr. George?"
George's eyes widened.
A flush crept up his cheekbones—too fast, too revealing.
"Of course I do."
His voice dropped, rough at the edges.
"I know you didn't do anything."
But the moment relief should have reached Shu Yao—
it didn't.
Instead, he spiraled again.
Whispers of blame, fear of Bai Qi's reaction, dread of accusations he couldn't fight.
His breaths hitched, faster, sharper.
George tightened his grip on his shoulders.
"Shu Yao—calm down."
But Shu Yao didn't.
Couldn't.
Shu Yao's head snapped up so fast George flinched.
His eyes were blown wide—glassy, fevered, scattered with terror.
"It… it must be them," Shu Yao whispered, voice cracking like thin glass.
George stiffened.
"Shu Yao—hey—slow down—"
He rubbed Shu Yao's shoulders, trying to steady him, but the boy only clung harder.
Shu Yao's fingers fisted into George's coat, trembling violently.
"It was them," he repeated, breath hitching, chest heaving.
"Calm down," George urged, alarm rising. "You're not looking well—"
"It must be them!"
His voice cracked so sharply it sliced right through the room.
George froze.
Shu Yao's tears blurred into one long, trembling line down his cheek.
"First… they took my pride…"
His voice broke mid-sentence.
George's eyes widened.
He knew exactly what Shu Yao meant.
What he never spoke about.
The part of him someone had broken.
Shu Yao continued, choking on his sobs.
"Then they took my sister…"
His knees buckled, grief shaking through every bone.
"And now… now this—"
"Don't say that," George murmured quickly, pulling him closer, holding him upright.
"I'll do something—anything—I'll handle as much as I can."
But Shu Yao didn't hear him.
He was unraveling.
"Please don't cry," George whispered, voice low and frantic. "I'll talk to Bai Qi. I'll tell him it wasn't what it looks like—"
Shu Yao's head jerked up again, panic surging violently.
"No!"
He shook his head, trembling, breath shattering.
"You… you can't, Mr. George—"
"Shu Yao—"
"He'll lose his trust—"
His voice splintered.
"He'll think I'm… disgusting. He won't look at me the same—"
George's expression crumbled.
He lowered his gaze, jaw clenched, fury flickering behind his eyes.
"You did nothing," he said, voice dangerous with certainty.
"If it was the same people—
the ones who crossed those boundaries with you—
I'll tear them apart."
But Shu Yao didn't hear the promise.
He was drowning—
fast, breathless—
pulled under by the ghosts of people who had already taken too much from him.