"Sometimes, the battlefield isn't the boardroom. It's the hospital room. The dinner table. The silence between words."
⸻
Xue Zhen arrived past midnight, unannounced.
The corridor was too white.
Too quiet.
Even the hum of the fluorescent lights felt like needles in Xue Zhen's skull.
He stood stiffly, hands in his coat pockets, as Mr. Yuwen spoke to the doctor in hushed tones. They thought he couldn't hear. They thought his expression was blank enough to pass for indifference.
It wasn't.
The doctor adjusted his glasses, voice low but clinical.
"Her condition stems from a gland removal procedure performed at sixteen. The surgical site never healed properly. We've been extracting necrotic residue every year to slow the decay. But it's accelerating."
Xue Zhen blinked. Once. Twice.
The words didn't fit into his brain.
Gland removal? Sixteen?
Who allowed it?
Mr. Yuwen murmured back, face a carved mask.
"Keep it discreet. She doesn't need more rumors."
"She doesn't need rumors?!" Xue Zhen's voice cracked before he could stop it.
Both men turned. The doctor startled. The butler didn't.
Xue Zhen stepped closer, fists trembling at his sides.
"You're telling me this now?"
Mr. Yuwen's eyes were as cold as always, but softer at the edges.
"You were... busy with the board."
"No." His breath hitched. "Busy doesn't mean blind."
The doctor shifted uncomfortably.
"We're managing it as best we can. She's strong. Compliant. But the damage—"
"Stop."
Xue Zhen's voice sliced through the sterile air.
He turned away, staring at the floor tiles as the truth slotted into place.
All the late fevers. All the hospital trips. The faint scent he could barely trace.
It wasn't weakness. It wasn't her fault.
It was them.
Grandfather. Yuwen. The family.
"She's dying because of this," he whispered.
"And you all... kept it from me."
Mr. Yuwen said nothing. Not even an apology.
He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, looking like a statue guarding a secret.
An omega. Forced to live as a beta.
All for the wrong reasons.
No—there was never even a right reason to force a young omega girl into a surgery that stole her very nature.
Xue Zhen felt something splinter inside him.
Not anger.
Not grief.
But a cold, clawing helplessness—
The kind that seeped through bone, the kind that stayed.
He wanted to go to her at once. Hold her hand. Tell her he knew. Tell her she wasn't alone.
But his legs wouldn't move.
⸻
It took him a while to calm down.
Mr. Yuwen stood by the glass panel, arms folded, face hollowed out by exhaustion and guilt.
When he turned to greet him, Xue Zhen merely nodded and entered the ward.
There she was.
Pale, thin, eyes dull — but open.
Still watching. Still there.
She didn't speak. Couldn't.
But he knew she saw him.
The monitor beeped a slow, steady rhythm. Outside, snow drifted past the window like shredded paper. Inside, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and pine.
Xue Zhen sat at her bedside, coat still on, hair damp from travel. His hands were clasped on his knees—knuckles white not from cold but from holding himself still.
He leaned forward, voice low, almost coaxing:
"We did it, Ning. We beat them."
Her eyelids fluttered. No reaction.
"Liyan's been brilliant. Open moves, backdoor moves... he's outplayed the third branch on every front."
Still nothing. Just a faint tremor in her fingers where the IV line taped her skin.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"Liyan sent me this yesterday. Full report. Market trends. Negotiation log. You'd love how he ended it."
He read aloud:
'P.S. For Your Eyes Only – His mistress has a shoe addiction. Mention it next meeting and see him squirm.'
Xue Zhen chuckled softly.
Xue Ning didn't laugh, but her eyes crinkled slightly.
She blinked once — slow, warm, deliberate.
He exhaled slowly.
"And Yiran..."
A pause. A small, humorless laugh.
"You didn't even know, did you? That vote? The deciding one?"
His hand brushed her blanket as if smoothing it would make her stay awake.
"It was hers. Yiran. The cousin who left. Do you remember her? She walked into that boardroom like she'd never been gone and dropped the hammer on Xue Bo. He nearly choked."
For a moment his eyes softened, remembering the scene—Xue Bo's face, red with outrage, the gavel slam echoing like a gunshot, the stunned silence of the board as Yiran cast her vote and left without a word.
He looked back at Ning. Her skin was pale, lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn't.
"I thought you'd smile at the news," he murmured.
"We're winning, Ning. For once... we're winning."
She turned her head slightly, eyes still closed. It was the smallest movement, but it told him she'd heard. That she was still there.
He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady.
"Stay with me long enough to see it. Please."
The snow outside blurred into white. The beeping continued.
And for the first time since the board meeting, the victory felt like ash in his mouth.
It was her smile.
And he held on to it like a lifeline.