The suite door clicked shut behind them, muffling the distant noise of the lobby. The room was wide, the kind of luxury space with floor-to-ceiling windows, a river view stretching beyond, and details that glowed with quiet extravagance.
Gu Ze Yan set Qing Yun's suitcase by the wall, his brow faintly creased. As much as the sight of her small figure looking around the suite warmed something in him, he knew the line he couldn't cross.
He pulled out his phone immediately.
"Xin Yue." His voice was low but steady.
On the other end, his sister's bright tone answered. "Gege? Already arrived?"
"Yes. Why did you only book one room?"
A pause. Then a laugh. "What do you mean why? You're already a couple, aren't you? Why waste money? Besides, do you know how hard it was to even get this suite? The whole city is packed for Pa's anniversary banquet. If I hadn't pulled a few strings, you'd be sleeping in the lobby."
"I could find another hotel."
Xin Yue scoffed. "Don't be stubborn. Traffic here is impossible, and this hotel is hosting the banquet. You'd be late for everything. Just accept it. Mom paid extra already."
Ze Yan rubbed his temple. "Xin Yue—"
"Stop arguing. You should thank me. Treat it like a honeymoon trial." Her laugh rang again before she hung up.
He stared at the phone, exhaling slowly.
Behind him, Qing Yun had been quietly unpacking. She looked up with that faint, composed smile. "It's fine. The sofa looks comfortable anyway."
"No." His answer came immediately. "I'll take the sofa."
She tilted her head, amused. "CEO Gu, are you afraid of being accused of something?"
He looked at her, serious. "I don't want to cross any line you don't allow."
The way he said it—firm yet gentle—made her pause. Something fluttered in her chest. But she only gave a small smile and walked toward the bed.
"Then i'll take a nap," she said lightly.
Within minutes, her breathing evened out. The exhaustion of travel and days of work caught up with her.
Ze Yan sat on the sofa, leaning forward, his eyes lingering on her sleeping figure. The city lights spilled across her face, softening her into something almost unreal. His chest tightened. He closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to rest.
It was evening when he finally moved.
He stepped quietly to the bed, crouching to brush a loose strand of hair from her forehead. His fingertips hovered, then retreated to simply tuck it behind her ear.
Her lashes fluttered. She blinked awake, dazed. "How long… did I sleep?"
"An hour," he said softly. "Get ready. I'll take you to dinner."
Still half-asleep, she nodded. When she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, the drowsiness was gone. She wore a simple spring dress, light fabric brushing her knees, her hair falling loose with soft waves, a touch of blush brightening her face.
Ze Yan froze mid-sip of water. A single word escaped, almost involuntary. "Pretty."
Qing Yun blinked, then laughed softly. "Stop it."
He only smiled. If being cheesy was the only way to say what I really thought, then so be it.
The chauffeur drove them out of the bustling district into a quieter neighborhood. Old trees lined the narrow streets, and a villa-style restaurant glowed warmly at the corner. From outside, it looked European, all arches and stone, but inside the light was soft, neoclassical, filled with the murmur of well-dressed patrons.
The host bowed slightly. "Reservation for Mr. Gu."
They were led to a corner table with a river view. Ze Yan pulled out the chair for her with quiet ease.
"Wine?" the waiter asked.
"Please," Ze Yan said, and soon ruby liquid swirled in their glasses.
"This bistro belongs to my high school friend," he told her. "He's one of the best chefs I know. Michelin stars practically chase him."
Qing Yun's brows rose. "Sounds intimidating."
"You'll see."
The first course arrived—an appetizer that looked like art on porcelain. Bright colors, delicate textures. Qing Yun hesitated, then tasted.
Her eyes lit instantly. "This is… amazing."
Ze Yan chuckled, watching her expression with more satisfaction than the food itself.
The main course followed. Qing Yun nearly dropped her fork after the first bite. "This is too good. Are you sure mortals are allowed to eat this?"
His lips curved. "Do you regret signing your contract now? Perks included."
She rolled her eyes but smiled, savoring every bite until the plate was spotless.
Then came the chef himself, carrying two bowls of dessert. Red Bean soup, but unlike any she'd seen: perfectly placed, nestled among delicate purple and yellow petals, steam curling like calligraphy.
"My friend," the chef grinned at Ze Yan, then looked at Qing Yun. "Your girlfriend is beautiful. Worth it to stay single for years, if you end up with the prettiest girl."
Qing Yun flushed but smiled warmly, playing along. Ze Yan didn't correct him.
"This dessert," the chef continued, "isn't on the menu. Special request from him. He said it had to melt your heart."
Qing Yun laughed, lifting her spoon. "Then I'll judge fairly."
The first bite dissolved instantly—silken, fragrant, perfection. Her eyes curved with delight.
Ze Yan leaned forward, voice low. "Did it work?"
Still chewing, she nodded eagerly, more focused on the taste than his words. He could only laugh.
After dinner, they strolled along the riverside promenade. The spring air was cool, lanterns strung overhead, couples dotted along the path. The water glittered with reflected lights.
Ze Yan's fingers twitched, aching to close the small distance between them. Twice he tried; twice, vendors interrupted—flowers thrust forward, balloons offered, children darting past.
By the third time, he could only sigh. Qing Yun noticed his faintly frustrated expression and hid a smile.
Back at the suite, she showered first, emerging in a soft robe before changing. He took his turn.
When he stepped out, hair damp, towel slung over his shoulders, dressed in plain sleepwear—she looked up, and her heart skipped. The simplicity of him like this, no armor of suits or boardrooms, was unexpectedly dangerous.
"You should dry your hair before sleeping," she said quickly.
"It's fine."
"Sit." She disappeared into the bathroom, returned with a hairdryer, and plugged it in.
He obeyed. The warm air hummed, her fingers threading through his hair as she dried it carefully. The mirror reflected them together—her concentration, his quiet smile. For once, he looked utterly at peace.
"All done," she murmured.
Instead of moving, he leaned back slightly on the bed. "The gravity here is too strong. I don't think I can get up."
She looked at him, lips curving faintly. After a pause, she said softly, almost offhand but clear:
"…I don't mind. If you want to sleep here."
The hairdryer clicked off. The room fell silent.
His breath caught. Her eyes were calm, but her words trembled with unspoken weight.
And just like that, the night tilted into something neither of them could name.