The treadmill whirred steadily, its digital screen blinking red numbers like a silent judge.
Gu Ze Yan's feet slammed harder and harder against the belt, each step loud enough to echo off the pristine mirrors of the elite apartment gym. His jaw was tight, his brows furrowed, his shoulders tense beneath the thin fabric of his training shirt.
"Boyfriend," he muttered, breath sharp. His pace quickened.
Another step. Louder.
"Parents. Holding hands." His teeth ground together.
Another step. He imagined the sound of clinking glasses, the laughter that wasn't his to hear.
"Smiling so bright." His chest tightened.
And then, without warning, it burst out of him, shattering the gym's calm silence—
"BOYFRIEND?!"
The word thundered through the space.
The man on the bench press froze mid-lift, barbell trembling dangerously over his chest.
A yoga instructor dropped her water bottle.
Two women on the cross-trainers exchanged horrified looks.
Everyone turned. Staring.
Gu Ze Yan's face didn't change. He kept running, straight-backed, eyes fixed ahead as if shouting strange things in public gyms was the most natural thing in the world. Inside, though, a restless heat was gnawing at his chest.
---
By the time he dragged himself back to his penthouse, every muscle ached. He had pushed himself through every machine, every dumbbell, until his body felt like a collection of sore ropes.
He collapsed onto the sofa like a fallen general after battle.
Not long after, Chen Rui strolled in with his usual loose tie, whistling as he checked his phone. Shen Qiao followed behind, sleek as ever, holding a folder of documents.
Both stopped short.
Chen Rui blinked. "Boss, did you… fight ten rounds with a sumo wrestler?"
Shen Qiao arched a brow. "No, this looks like treadmill murder. The treadmill won."
Gu Ze Yan cracked one eye open. "Get out." His voice was hoarse.
Chen Rui put on an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. "Ah, so it's true. Our noble CEO has been defeated—not by competitors, not by hostile takeovers, but by… cardio."
Shen Qiao ignored him, crossing the room to study Ze Yan more closely. "You overtrained. For someone usually in control, this is unlike you."
Chen Rui leaned in, stage-whispering. "He's heartbroken. Look at him. Suffering. Maybe Qing Yun finally told him she's married with three children."
Ze Yan didn't rise to the bait. He didn't have the energy. He sprawled deeper into the sofa, staring at the ceiling as if it might yield answers.
---
When they left, silence returned.
Ze Yan reached for his phone, unlocking it with a weary swipe. The screen lit up with a photo.
It was the one from the company hotpot dinner.
Qing Yun, sitting beside him, laughing at something Chen Rui had said. Her head tilted, her eyes bright, chopsticks poised mid-air. Even in a blur, she looked like warmth given shape.
His thumb hovered over her smile.
He remembered the hug in the park. The way she had held him—no hesitation, no excuses—just quiet comfort.
He remembered leaning forward, almost kissing her, before the world barged in.
Was any of it real? Or had he only imagined she looked at him differently?
His chest ached with questions, and his body finally surrendered to exhaustion. He fell asleep with the phone still in his hand, screen glowing faintly beside his cheek.
---
The next evening, Sunday, he found himself standing in front of the bookstore café.
Why am I here? He didn't know.
All he knew was that his feet had walked him here, his heart pulling like a string.
Inside, the shop glowed with warm light. Customers browsed the shelves, children giggled near the picture books, the faint aroma of coffee drifted out.
And there she was.
Lin Qing Yun. Sunny.
Behind the counter, her hair falling gently against her cheek as she rang up a purchase.
As if sensing something, she glanced toward the window. Their eyes met.
Her face lit instantly, blooming into a smile that reached her eyes. She lifted a hand, waving cheerfully, then gestured for him to come in. It's cold outside, she mouthed, her lips curving with warmth.
He froze. His heart skipped. He hadn't expected—he hadn't been ready for that light to fall on him.
But since she'd seen him, he pushed the door open.
The bell chimed. She waved again, then turned back to a customer, moving smoothly into her work rhythm.
Ze Yan didn't wave back. He walked to a shelf, pulled a book at random, and sat at an empty table. The words on the page blurred; he didn't even notice what he'd picked. His chest still felt heavy, restless.
---
She was stacking books on a low shelf when he moved.
She didn't hear him at first, not until his shadow slipped over her shoulder. She looked up—and froze.
He was leaning down, his face close, his voice quiet.
"I thought you said you didn't want a relationship."
Her eyes widened. She startled, turning too quickly. Her balance tipped, her foot sliding on the polished floor.
She gasped—
—but his hand was already there. Firm around her waist, steadying her before she could fall back against the shelf.
His arm lingered, warm across her back. His eyes locked on hers, serious, unreadable.
For a moment, the world hushed. Just the faint hum of the café around them, the closeness of his breath brushing her cheek.
Lin Qing Yun blinked, then her lips curved—unexpectedly—into a smirk.
"Did you have fun following me at the hotel?"
He stiffened. His eyes narrowed. "…You knew?"
She pulled gently out of his hold, turning back to slide another book into place as if it were nothing. "Of course. You weren't exactly subtle."
His jaw worked, but she continued, voice calm, almost amused.
"It was a part-time job. Fake girlfriend service."
"…What?" His voice was sharp, incredulous.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, tone light, practical. "It pays well. I need money for Si Yao's university fund."
His hands curled into fists at his sides. "What kind of ridiculous job is that?"
Qing Yun smiled faintly, slipping another book into the shelf. "One that works. Depending on the request level, it covers more than I could make in weeks at the bookstore. I've done it before. I have good rate as well"
Ze Yan stared at her, words caught in his throat.
Finally, he rasped, "How much?"
She turned fully this time, laughing softly at his expression. "Why? Planning to apply?"
He didn't laugh. His eyes didn't waver. "I'm asking."
Lin Qing Yun tilted her head, studying him. Her smile softened, awkward now, as if she realized his silence wasn't casual at all. "…It depends."
For once, she didn't joke. She looked at him gently, like she wanted him to drop it.
But he didn't.
He took a step closer. She blinked up at him, startled at the intensity in his gaze.
His voice dropped low, steady, firm.
"I want it."
She blinked. "…What?"
He leaned down, their faces close again, the line between breath and heartbeat thin.
"I want to hire you."
His eyes didn't leave hers.
"As my girlfriend."