The heavy oak door to the CEO's office swung open with a thud. Qin Yichen stormed inside without knocking. His face was flushed with anger, his voice sharp.
"Big brother," he snapped, his voice sharp, "why is that brat back in our house? Didn't we send her away years ago? What is Mother thinking?"
Behind the desk, Qin Haoyu pressed a hand against his temple. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, his lips set in a thin line. He had been awake for nights, his mind consumed by endless meetings, financial charts, and the tightening noose around the company.
"Yichen," he said quietly, without looking up, "lower your voice."
Qin Yichen paused, startled by the exhaustion in his brother's tone. The fiery complaint died on his tongue. He noticed, for the first time, how pale Qin Haoyu looked, the fatigue etched into every line of his posture. His anger faltered, softening into worry.
"Big brother…" he muttered, softer now, as he noticed the crumpled papers and Haoyu's pale complexion. "…You haven't slept, have you?"
Qin Haoyu's hand slid down from his forehead, his voice even though heavy with fatigue.
"Once I finish this, I'll rest. It won't take long."
Qin Yichen looked at his brother helplessly, not knowing what to say.
He exhaled heavily and dragged a hand through his hair before dropping onto the office couch. His elder brother had been working day and night, and here he was, barging in to complain about a brat who held no significance.
The silence stretched, broken only by the steady ticking of the clock.
Finally, Qin Yichen spoke again, his voice quieter, edged with the unease that had been gnawing at him for days.
"Big brother… can we really handle all this?"
He had seen the numbers, the reports, the data that others in the household might never glimpse. He wasn't his elder brother—he lacked Haoyu's precision, his relentless drive—but he wasn't blind. As the son of the Qin family, he had been trained alongside him. He knew the weight of this mantle, understood just how steep the crisis ran.
Qin Yichen's jaw tightened. "I know I'm not you. But I'm not useless either. I can see how bad it is."
Qin Haoyu's gaze dropped to the contracts scattered across his desk. The weight pressing against his chest was suffocating—legal disputes, wavering investors, unfinished projects. All of it, without their father's steady presence, fell squarely onto his shoulders.
"We'll manage," Qin Haoyu said at last, his voice steady though faint. "With you here, it's easier."
The words sent a pang through Qin Yichen's chest. His thoughts slipped back, unbidden, to the day he had walked away from the racetrack for good.
---
*Flashback*
The memory still burned, as vivid as yesterday.
Qin Haoyu had stood before him in the quiet of his study, voice low but urgent. "Yichen, don't give this up. Father entrusted the company to me, not you. Your place is on the track, not in the boardroom."
But Qin Yichen's hands had trembled with restrained emotion. "And what? I race while you tear yourself apart alone? Do you think I could ever sit in that car knowing my brother is drowning?"
Qin Haoyu's brows had knit, his calm voice edged with uncharacteristic frustration. "This is my duty. Not yours."
"And you are my brother!" Qin Yichen's voice had cracked, but his eyes shone with unyielding resolve. "I'll throw away every trophy, every dream if it means you don't have to stand alone. If you fight, I fight."
For a moment, Qin Haoyu had only stared, the weight of his younger brother's stubbornness pressing against him. Slowly, a smile had broken through—faint, weary, but tinged with pride.
"You stubborn fool," he had whispered. His chest had tightened with both sorrow and pride. "I don't want this for you. But… I am proud of you."
That was the night Qin Yichen had buried his racing career, not with regret, but with love.
*End of Flashback*
---
Back in the office, the memory faded, leaving only silence between them.
Qin Haoyu's voice broke it. "About Xi Jiayi," he began quietly.
Immediately, Qin Yichen's jaw clenched. His earlier fury sparked again. "Don't call her name. She's no sister of mine. Just some brat who—"
"Yichen." Haoyu's tone hardened for the first time that day. His eyes, heavy with fatigue, still carried authority. "Do not speak of her like that. She is of the Qin blood, our father's daughter. Whatever we feel, she carries the same name we do."
Qin Yichen's teeth ground together. The word 'sister' felt like poison on his tongue, and hearing his brother defend her twisted something sharp in his chest. He wanted to shout, to argue, but one glance at Haoyu—worn thin, barely holding himself upright—stole the fight from his lips.
Instead, he swallowed the bitterness, slumping back against the couch. "Endure, then," he muttered, the word laced with venom.
But inwardly, his resolve only deepened.
She may have Qin blood, but she will never be family. Not to me. I'll never let her close.