Wu An woke up to a start, heart racing violently, as if fleeing the remnants of a nightmare she couldn't fully remember. For a split second, the ceiling above her wavered and blurred, shifting shapes like melting shadows. She sucked in a sharp breath. The room smelled faintly of lavender and clean linen, but even that gentle scent felt foreign—too calm, too safe for the way her pulse hammered.
Her hand moved instinctively to her chest, fingers trembling as they pressed against the thin fabric of her blouse. Cold sweat clung to her skin. The quilt tangled around her legs felt like a restraint she needed to break free from.
It took nearly half a minute for her eyes to adjust enough to recognize her own room.
The dark walls.
The low amber lamp.
The silent shelves lined with books she never opened.
Her sanctuary… yet right now, it felt like a place she had crashed into from another world.
Breathing uneven, she pushed herself up slowly, wincing as a faint sting lingered on her arm. Her gaze drifted downward, catching the faint redness on her skin—the injection mark.
Her stomach twisted.
Someone had been here.
Her eyes snapped to the doorway—only to find Li Chenrui leaning against the wall, half-awake, exhaustion pulling at the corners of his eyes. He sat on the small armchair, his jacket draped over him like a makeshift blanket, as though he had been keeping vigil for hours.
When he noticed her movement, he straightened immediately, concern sharpening his features.
"Ms. Wu?" His voice was soft, almost careful. "You're awake."
Wu An swallowed. The dryness in her throat was unbearable. "What… happened?"
"i think you need to have something to eat first." he replied gently. "Ms. Liu told me about your ice cream problem and told me what to do."
Her jaw clenched. Embarrassment. Vulnerability. Annoyance—no, not annoyance. Fear. Something deeper, harder to swallow.
"My...my ice cream problem?" she repeated, as if the word itself might bite her.
He nodded, eyes not leaving her face."Let's have breakfast. It's ready." He repeated.
Something mad her scared. Breakfast? What did she do yesterday? Why isn't he saying something. Her thoughts spiralled.
The nightmare she couldn't quite remember tugged at her chest like a warning.
"And the ice cream?" she asked quietly, eyes lowering to the sheets.
Li Chenrui hesitated. "You were scared of it. I didn't know."
Silence rippled between them—gentle, heavy, but not suffocating. Outside the window, the late afternoon sun flickered behind soft clouds, casting her room in muted warmth.
Wu An finally dragged a shaky hand through her hair.
"I didn't mean to cause trouble," she whispered, voice thin. "I just wanted… a quiet day."
Li Chenrui shook his head slowly. "You didn't cause trouble, Ms. Wu. Not at all."
His voice held no judgment. No pity. Only a quiet sincerity that startled her more than any nightmare could.
She looked away, her heartbeat finally slowing… just enough for her to breathe again.
____
Breakfast was simple.
Pancakes—lightly golden, edges crisped just enough to hold their shape—and an egg omelette folded neatly over a filling she couldn't yet decipher. The aroma of fresh coffee drifted through the dining space, warm and earthy, almost grounding.
Wu An stopped at the threshold.
The dining table—usually a cold, untouched piece of furniture drowned in silence—looked strangely… lived in. Steam curled gently from the plates. Morning sunlight slanted through the tall windows, catching the faint shimmer on the edge of the ceramic dishes. The soft hum of the air purifier and the faint clink of cutlery created a domestic quiet she hadn't known since—
No. She didn't think about "since."
Her chest tightened, a slow, unfamiliar ache blooming beneath her ribs.
Li Chenrui immediately misread it.
"I—I'm sorry," he blurted, standing straighter as if awaiting judgment. "This isn't like what you eat. I only made what I know how to make."
He made them?
The realization pinched at something tender inside her—warming her, then terrifying her just as quickly. No one had ever cooked for her. Not once. Meals had always been brought by staff, ordered from restaurants, or skipped entirely. Someone cooking for her felt intimate, unsettling, dangerous.
Li Chenrui, oblivious to the battleground forming in her chest, fidgeted like a nervous schoolboy caught in mischief.
"What? I'll dispose of them. I'll order something instead. What would you like?" His voice pitched up in panic, hands already moving toward the plates.
Wu An moved away before he could create more chaos. She walked to the fridge, opened it, and immediately paused. The familiar corner where she kept her soursop juice was… empty.
She closed the door slowly and turned to him with a raised eyebrow sharp enough to slice.
"Where are they?"
He blinked. "What?"
"The juice boxes."
"Oh." He scratched his cheek, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. "Ms. Liu said you were allergic to them and that you almost killed yourself drinking it. So… I thought about disposing them."
"You what?"
"They were expired anyway," he rushed out. "And unhealthy. I figured it was dangerous to keep them around. I'm really sorry."
Wu An exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Of course. This felt like something Fei-Fei would orchestrate.
She returned to the dining table without another word and sat down. The chair cushioned her quietly, almost too gently. Li Chenrui joined her a second later, still stiff, still unsure, still watching her like she was a complicated equation he might fail.
They puzzled her.
She had always eaten alone. Always. Silence and loneliness had been the uninvited guests at every breakfast table since she was old enough to remember. Having someone sit across from her now—moving, breathing, existing—felt almost unbearable.
"What?" he asked cautiously as he placed a pancake on his plate.
"You are here."
He raised a brow, confused. "Where am I supposed to be?"
"I don't know. Somewhere. But…" Her gaze dropped to her plate. "…here."
With me.
The words stayed trapped in her throat, strangled by pride, fear, habit—she couldn't tell.
Li Chenrui chuckled softly. "I suppose you're the kind who's always eaten alone." Then he shrugged with a simple, genuine ease she envied. "Well, unfortunate for you, I like eating with people. So, I'll sit here. I will eat here."
He dug into his pancakes after that, unbothered by her startled expression.
Silence settled again—not heavy, not suffocating, but fragile. Like thin ice beneath their feet.
Wu An shifted in her seat, the weight of embarrassment tugging at her composure.
"Why are you here," she finally asked, "in my house?"
He swallowed a bite of omelette and grinned. "I must admit, your house is amazing. You're like your character—cool." With a pancake half-hanging from his mouth, he lifted a thumbs-up. "Very cool."
Wu An rolled her eyes so hard it should have cracked the ceiling.
"I mean," she said slowly, "how did you get here?"
He tilted his head. "Like I said, your house is pretty."
"Do you think I'm stupid?"
He blinked at her innocently, chewing. "I don't dare say that. I liked your house, that's all."
She stared at him like he had just confessed to burying treasure in her backyard.
"Mr. Li," she said with an exhausted sigh, "I would not have survived in this world if I were stupid enough not to understand simple logic. I fainted, didn't I?"
He paused, shoulders loosening. "Yes. You did. I called Ms. Liu. She told me what to do."
"Then why didn't you go home after your business?"
This time, his smile softened—genuine, unguarded.
"I told you," he said lightly, "your house is too comfortable. Even your couch is amazing. You can't blame me, can you?"
Wu An dropped her fork with a soft clink. A sigh escaped her, long and worn-out, as if her soul itself was exasperated.
The morning sunlight brightened the room then—a warm glow landing on both of them, softening the edges of their strange, imperfect coexistence. And for the first time, the dining space didn't feel quite so lonely.
Not empty.
Not cold.
Not today.
___
His room was dark—so dark that the corners seemed to swallow what little moonlight seeped through the blinds. His apartment was small, barely more than a square box above a noisy street, but for a white-collar man like him, it was enough. Functional. Familiar. A place where silence could stretch without interruption.
Yet tonight, the silence felt heavy.
He sat at the narrow table pushed against the wall, a lone desk lamp casting a pale circle of light. In his hand was a worn manila folder, its edges softened from the number of times he had opened and closed it. He exhaled slowly and flipped it open once more. His eyes scanned the contents—lines of text, medical records, scribbled notes from a person he could rely on—each detail deepening the furrow between his brows.
He had just returned from his boss's home. Only moments ago he'd been standing in that mansion's unnerving tranquility, and now he was back in his dim apartment, eyes narrowing in the same way they had narrowed then.
A memory pressed itself against him so sharply it felt like a blade.
Flashback.
After injecting his boss—just as the assistant had instructed— Li Chenrui had been ready to leave, yet something made him linger. Curiosity? Suspicion? He couldn't tell. But he remained, letting his feet carry him deeper into the home.
The house was magnificent even under the veil of night. The marble floors reflected the soft glow of recessed lighting. The chandeliers hung like frozen constellations. Everything was elegant, cold, and painfully quiet.
Just like the night he first saw it.
Then his phone vibrated.
He answered without thinking.
"Hello?"
"Sorry for calling this late," Ms. Liu Dai Fei said, her tone rushed, breathless. "Could you please make sure to dispose of all the juice boxes in the fridge?"
His brows knitted. "Why?"
"Just do it. She's allergic to them."
She hung up before he could ask anything more.
He clicked his tongue. This duo is strange, he thought. Their habits, their silences, their secrets—they all felt too tightly stitched together. Still, he did exactly as instructed. He always did.
When he returned to the bedroom—wanting one more look at his unconscious boss before leaving—her phone buzzed on the side table. He didn't intend to intrude. He really didn't. But his eyes drifted to the screen like a guilty thief.
And froze.
A message glowed in red letters:
MURDERER!!!
A bloody skull icon clung beside it like a curse.
Li Chenrui stood rigid, heart hammering. Who sent this? Who was killed? And what does she—of all people—have to do with this? His mind spun rapidly, grasping at the worst possibilities.
Before he could steady himself, he heard her breathe sharply.
He turned. Tears were slipping down the sides of her face. Quiet, trembling tears that caught the moonlight like glass beads. Her lashes fluttered, her lips quivered, her expression twisted with a fear so raw it crawled under his skin.
"I'm sorry…"
The words were barely a whisper, but they chilled him.
He stiffened, stepping closer.
Her face scrunched in distress. Her fingers clutched the sheets. Invisible nightmares clawed at her.
"I won't do it again… don't hit me."
Her voice cracked.
"I won't eat ice cream again… I'll be good. Please don't hit me…"
Her head tossed weakly against the pillow, as if fighting memories rather than dreams.
Li Chenrui swallowed hard. This… this wasn't normal.
He remembered the soft warning from Ms. Liu:
"Hurry up. You wouldn't want to see her when she panics."
Only now did he understand those words.
"What happened to you…?" he whispered, partly to her, partly to himself. "What could make you fear something as simple as eating ice cream?"
He reached for her hand—hesitant, gentle—trying to ground her, to anchor her to something that wasn't pain.
And maybe it was the medication, or maybe it was pure instinct, but Li Chenrui suddenly felt her grip tighten. Fiercely. Desperately. In a blink she had dragged him down, pulling him atop her like she was drowning and he was the only thing keeping her afloat.
He tried to pull away. He truly did. But she held him as though letting go would plunge her into darkness again.
So he remained.
And there, with her fingers locked weakly into his shirt, he fell asleep.
End of Flashback.
Li Chenrui released a shaky sigh as the memory faded. His grip on the manila folder slackened.
"What are you going through…?"
The question drifted into the empty room, unanswered.
He rubbed his forehead. The sight of her trembling reminded him painfully of his mother—her trembling hands, the helpless nights, the confusion that gnawed at him as a child. That helplessness had carved itself into him long ago.
And because of that pain, he had insisted to join the company. At first, all he wanted was to find the woman bold enough to slap him. A slap that—if he were being honest—jolted something deep inside him awake. Something he had thought long dead.
He remembered that day clearly. She had looked him dead in the eye and said:
"You don't let brats like him treat you like garbage."
She had called him a brat.
Back then he felt insulted. Now, revisiting that moment, he sensed there was more behind those words.
A warning.
A story.
A wound he didn't yet understand.
Seeing her again in the boardroom, the way the air shifted around her, the fear in the people's eyes, the quiet way she carried herself—something was undeniably wrong.
Curiosity led him to apply for the job. Spite added fuel. But what held him now… wasn't spite.
He didn't want to admit what it was. He never would. Not yet.
All he knew was this:
He wanted to understand her.
To uncover whatever she had been hiding behind her forced composure and her quiet nightmares.
To protect her, even if he didn't know from what.
And so his decision solidified.
If he wanted answers, he needed to start with her ever-watchful assistant—Liu Dai Fei.
Li Chenrui closed the folder gently, almost reverently.
"Whatever it is," he murmured into the dim room, "I'll uncover it. And I'll make sure nothing happens to you."
That silent vow settled inside him, steady and resolute… a promise he hadn't realized he was capable of making.