Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The estate gardens were sprawling, a labyrinth of manicured hedges and winding stone paths. Marble fountains sang with low, steady murmurs, their spray catching the afternoon light in shimmering arcs. Every turn offered another carefully cultivated view: arched walkways draped with roses, statues half-hidden by vines, koi ponds where the water rippled in perfect, controlled harmony. It was the kind of beauty that was too neat, too orderly, the kind that whispered of wealth and rigid tradition.

But at the very edge of it all, where the gardeners’ shears reached less often and the noise of the gala inside faded into nothing, stood a single blossom tree in riotous bloom. Its branches stretched out like arms, heavy with pale pink flowers, petals drifting loose with every passing breeze. Unlike the rest of the estate, this corner felt alive rather than staged, untamed in a way that made it all the more striking.

It was Hua Yong’s sanctuary.

He had found it years ago, a place to slip away when the endless parade of expectations and lessons grew suffocating. A hidden corner no one seemed to care about, where he could sit with a book and let the world blur into silence. Today was no different.

Back pressed against the gnarled trunk, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out across the grass, he held a book open in his hands. The pages stirred faintly with each breeze, rustling beneath the steady shower of petals. The soft scent of blossoms filled the air. For once, the roar of voices, the clink of glasses, the weight of his father’s world seemed far away.

He had just turned a page when something collided hard with his shin.

“Ah—!”

The cry was sharp, followed by a tangle of limbs hitting the grass. Hua Yong jerked his head up in time to see a boy sprawled gracelessly at his feet, arms flailing around something small and porcelain clutched desperately against his chest. The plate wobbled dangerously. For one precarious moment it seemed doomed, but miraculously the dessert balanced atop it remained intact.

The boy pushed himself upright with a groan, grass stains already smudging the sleeves of his neat jacket. His hair, dark and a little too long for his face, stuck up in untidy tufts where it had been mussed by the fall. But his grip on the plate never wavered, as though it were treasure stolen from a dragon’s hoard.

“You left your legs out where I couldn’t see,” he accused, brushing flecks of dirt from his knees. His tone wasn’t apologetic in the slightest—if anything, it was sharp with indignation, cheeky in the way of someone used to talking back.

Hua Yong let the book rest against his lap, gaze cool, assessing.

The boy looked younger—perhaps twelve to his own fourteen—still carrying that restless energy not yet tamed by etiquette or formality. Wide eyes glinted with mischief, unafraid even as they met Hua Yong’s steady stare.

“…I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” the boy admitted after a beat, lowering his voice as though confessing something scandalous. His gaze darted back toward the main path, then he leaned closer conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? I was hiding.”

Hua Yong’s brows knit slightly. “…Hiding?”

“Mm.” Without waiting for permission, the boy dropped cross-legged onto the grass beside him, balancing the plate on his knees with the gravity of a general handling state secrets. “If my father catches me with dessert before dinner, I’ll never hear the end of it. So I had to escape.”

The venomous way he said father caught on Hua Yong’s ear, but before he could ask, the boy had already dug his fork into the little cake and taken a bite.

The transformation was instant. His wary look melted into delight, expression lighting up as though someone had turned on a lantern inside him. He made a muffled sound of pleasure as he chewed, completely unguarded. “Mmm—! See? Totally worth it. Strawberries are always the best.”

Something jolted through Hua Yong.

Not the words. Not the sound itself. But the wave of scent that drifted with it—sharp, fierce, threaded with a sweetness that was nothing like the blossoms in the air. It coiled into him like smoke, curling through his chest, clinging beneath his ribs. His pulse stumbled violently, his body reacting before his mind could.

He froze, staring.

The boy didn’t notice. He was too busy savoring his bite, eyes half-shut in satisfaction. Then, with a sudden impulse, he jabbed the fork toward Hua Yong.

“Here. Try it.”

Hua Yong blinked. “What?”

“You’re under my tree now, so you’re my accomplice.” The boy’s grin was bright, unrepentant, entirely too much. “And accomplices share.”

No one spoke to Hua Yong like that. No one offered him things so casually, so freely. Yet the fork hovered in front of him, expectant, daring. And before he could form the refusal on his tongue, he leaned forward and accepted the bite.

Sweet cream. Tart strawberry. Crumbly crust.

But what stayed with him wasn’t the taste of the dessert. It was the scent that clung to the boy, bright and wild, pulling at him with an almost painful intensity.

He swallowed, keeping his face unreadable, though inside his heartbeat roared in his ears.

“See?” The boy beamed, licking a crumb from his thumb. “Strawberries are the best.”

He polished off the rest of the cake with unabashed enthusiasm, humming softly with every bite, utterly at ease as though he hadn’t just intruded on Hua Yong’s solitude.

Hua Yong found himself staring too long. Not at the crumbs. Not at the fork. At the smile. The way it reached the boy’s eyes, open and alive. It pressed against something sharp and unfamiliar in Hua Yong’s chest.

The distant sound of voices calling a name made the boy flinch. He scrambled to his feet, brushing grass from his jacket. “Ah. That’s my cue.”

The boy tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief.

Hua Yong pulled a small slip of paper and a pen from his pocket, holding them out. “Your number.”

For a moment, it looked as though the boy would comply. But instead, with exaggerated flourish, he scrawled a bold X across the center of the page.

“An X marks the spot,” he declared, grin dazzling. “If you find it, maybe you’ll find me.”

Before Hua Yong could form a reply, the boy was already darting toward the sound of the voices. He paused only once, glancing back with a smile that lingered like sunlight, before vanishing behind the hedge.

The garden fell quiet once more.

Hua Yong lowered his gaze. On the grass lay a small jacket, forgotten in the boy’s haste. He reached for it slowly, fingers brushing the fabric. The scent clung there—heady, irresistible.

He lifted it to his face and inhaled. His chest tightened, heart racing in painful, relentless rhythm.

The calm mask on his face never shifted. But inside, something had already been set ablaze.

He wanted him.

---
10 years later

The mirror in front of him was tall enough to show every inch of his reflection. The light in the suite was warm, angled carefully to flatter skin and fabric. It was designed to make the heir of the Sheng family look untouchable.

Sheng Shaoyou stood with his hands braced on the vanity, staring back at himself.

The jacket fit perfectly, a modern cut with subtle sharpness to the shoulders, sleeves that skimmed his wrists with precision. Black silk shimmered faintly when the light shifted, catching on the smooth folds. His shirt collar was open just enough to keep him from looking suffocated, a deliberate break from the suffocating formality of his father’s style. A silver chain rested against the hollow of his throat, slim and understated, but it felt like rebellion all the same.

His hair, carefully styled by professionals, still carried a slightly tousled edge near the temples, as if the strands refused to be tamed completely. He liked it that way.

At first glance, he looked every bit the heir his father wanted: tall, poised, dressed in wealth. But Shaoyou knew the truth. Behind the suit and polish, his jaw was tight. His eyes were sharp, restless. His reflection carried none of the serene confidence people would expect when he stepped into the ballroom tonight.

He looked like someone who wanted to claw out of his own skin.

The door behind him opened with a soft click. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Straighten your shoulders,” Sheng Fang’s voice cut across the room, smooth and cold.

Shaoyou adjusted his stance automatically, spine lengthening, shoulders pushed back. He hated how his body obeyed before his mind even caught up.

His father’s reflection joined his in the mirror—taller, older, draped in a dark tailored suit. Everything about him screamed control: his tie knotted without a crease, his cufflinks polished, his gaze sharp with scrutiny.

“Your tie,” Sheng Fang said, stepping forward to adjust it with clinical precision. “Crooked. Did you not check before I arrived?”

Shaoyou clenched his jaw. “I checked.”

“Clearly not well enough.” His father tightened the knot until Shaoyou had to fight the urge to pull back. When Sheng Fang finally released him, his critical gaze swept over the rest of the outfit. “Better than last time. But still—” He gestured vaguely toward the collar. “Leaving it open makes you look unserious.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” Shaoyou muttered. “I don’t need to be strangled by a tie to look the part.”

His father’s hand stilled. His eyes met Shaoyou’s in the mirror, cold and sharp as glass. “You don’t speak back to me when it comes to appearances. You are representing the Sheng name tonight. Every crease, every button, every expression reflects on this family. On me. Do you understand?”

Shaoyou’s teeth dug into the inside of his cheek. He held his father’s stare for one long, burning moment—then nodded once.

“Good.” Sheng Fang smoothed the front of Shaoyou’s jacket as if he were polishing a statue. “You’ll stand at my side when we enter. You’ll greet the board members with respect. You’ll thank the partners for their loyalty. And when the press asks, you’ll smile. Not too wide, not too cold. Practice it now.”

Shaoyou curled his lips upward, just enough to show civility, not enough to show warmth.

“Better,” his father said, satisfied. “Remember that. Tonight is not about you. It is about this family. The company. Our legacy. Do not embarrass me.”

The words were delivered with the same detachment as always—commands, not guidance

Shaoyou kept his face blank, but inside, the words pressed like weights on his chest.

Not about you.

It was never about him.

Sheng Fang turned to leave, speaking over his shoulder. “We depart in ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

The door shut behind him, the click of the latch echoing in the silence that followed.

For a moment, Shaoyou didn’t move. His chest rose and fell too quickly, his throat tight beneath the starched collar. He looked at his reflection again, but this time he didn’t see an heir. He saw a cage.

His fingers rose to the silver chain at his throat, tracing it absently. It was the only part of his outfit that was his choice, the only thing that felt like his. A reminder that somewhere beneath the layers of polish and control, he was still himself.

He leaned forward against the vanity, lowering his voice to a whisper only his reflection could hear.

“Don't give up”

The words weren’t loud, but they carried weight. His father’s company, the empire that treated him like an accessory—he would take it, reshape it, make it his own. Not for the Sheng legacy. Not for his father’s pride. For himself.

And when he had it, no one would tell him how to stand, how to speak, how to breathe.

The thought steadied him.

From outside the door came the faint echo of footsteps and muffled conversation, the reminder of the world waiting. He straightened his jacket, rolled his shoulders back, and lifted his chin. The mask settled into place with practiced ease.

By the time he stepped out of the suite, the heir was ready.

---

The car waiting at the front entrance was as black and polished as the suits that guarded it. Its surface gleamed under the estate lights, tinted windows reflecting only faint outlines of the world around it.

Shaoyou slid into the backseat after his father, the leather cold against his palms as he adjusted his cuffs. The door shut with a muted thud that sealed him in. Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather and cologne, sterile and suffocating.

Across from him, Sheng Fang had already unfolded a stack of papers, scanning them as if Shaoyou weren’t there. Beside him sat the secretary, glasses low on her nose, voice quiet but firm as she read out figures, dates, and names.

It was the same every time.

Shaoyou wasn’t a son in these moments, he never seemed to be anything more than a chess piece.He was a shadow, a piece of furniture, an heir in training expected to absorb etiquette by osmosis.

He leaned his head back against the seat, watching the city pass through the tinted window. Neon lights streaked across the glass, flickering signs of restaurants, clubs, stores—all buzzing with life. People walking the sidewalks in groups, laughing, smoking, kissing under streetlamps.

All free.

Shaoyou’s reflection overlapped them faintly in the glass, dressed sharp and untouchable, but separated by layers of steel and privilege. He lifted a hand, pressed his fingertips lightly against the window as if he could push through it.

“One day,” he thought, “that will be me.”

The secretary droned on, her voice a steady stream of numbers. His father hummed responses, every sound precise, efficient, detached.

“Mr. Han confirmed his attendance. He’ll expect acknowledgment of last quarter’s returns,” the secretary said.

His father didn’t glance up. “He’ll get it. I’ll speak with him directly.”

“And the Zhang family? There were concerns raised—”

“Handle it.”

The conversation folded and unfolded like clockwork, mechanical. Shaoyou shut it out. His gaze stayed fixed on the city lights, tracing the blur of neon and headlights. He imagined slipping from the car unnoticed, disappearing into the crowd, eating noodles from a street stall, laughing with strangers who didn’t know or care who his father was. He imagined taking over the company, ruling his way, with freedom. Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.

The thought was so absurd he almost smiled.

Almost.

He shifted in his seat, loosening his collar. His father’s eyes flicked up from the papers at the motion. “Sit properly.”

Shaoyou froze, then leaned back into the seat, spine straight. “Yes, Father.”

That earned no reply. The papers rustled, the secretary resumed.

Silence pressed against his ears. He felt it like a weight, heavier with each passing block the car ate up.

Outside, the city gave way to taller buildings, glass facades rising into the night sky. The hotel where the gala was being hosted loomed in the distance, its windows glittering like a hundred watchful eyes.

As the car slowed before the entrance, Shaoyou smoothed his jacket again. His father gathered his papers into a neat stack without looking at him once.

The door opened, and the noise of cameras, voices, and engines spilled in.

Shaoyou drew in a long breath, steadying himself. The mask slid back into place.

---

The hotel’s ballroom was a spectacle of wealth. Chandeliers cast warm golden light over polished marble, the crystal drops scattering reflections across gowns and suits. Waiters wove between the crowd with champagne flutes, their movements rehearsed to precision. The hum of polite conversation filled the air, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

Everywhere Shaoyou looked, there were eyes. Board members, partners, socialites—people who saw him not as a person, but as the heir of the Sheng family. They measured him with every glance, weighed him against the expectations attached to his name.

He smiled when required, bowed slightly when introduced, exchanged shallow words that cost him nothing. The silver chain at his throat felt heavier with each step he took beside his father.

The introductions blurred together until the applause shifted. Heads turned toward the grand doors.

Hua Yong had arrived.

Even in a room full of powerful men, he stood apart. The black of his suit was sharp against his pale skin, the cut of it modern, commanding without effort. His stride was unhurried, yet the crowd parted instinctively as though making way for something inevitable.

He carried no visible arrogance. His expression was calm, almost detached, but the weight of his presence drew eyes like gravity. Conversations faltered. Whispers stirred. The name carried through the room in low voices: X Holdings. Enigma. Hua Yong.

Shaoyou glanced briefly, the way one glances at any notable figure. Another heir, another mogul—nothing more. His attention slipped back to his father’s side.

But Hua Yong’s gaze had already found him.

The moment Shaoyou came into view, it hit him.

The scent.

Sharper now, matured over years, but still threaded with that same wild sweetness that had carved itself into his memory a decade ago under the blossom tree.

Hua Yong’s composure didn’t break, but inside something shifted violently. His chest tightened, his pulse thundered, the air thickened with memory.

Ten years had passed, yet here Shaoyou was. Taller now, sharper in the jaw, the boyishness stripped away and replaced with poise. But the fire was still there—hidden beneath the mask, flickering in the set of his shoulders, the slight edge to his gaze.

Hua Yong remembered the cake, the laughter, the way Shaoyou had drawn that mocking X instead of writing his number. The jacket left behind, the scent clinging to it, the vow Hua Yong had buried deep in his chest.

And now, the vow roared awake.

Across the ballroom, Shaoyou shifted his weight minutely under the weight of so many stares. To anyone else, he looked composed. To Hua Yong, who was watching too closely, the cracks were visible: the slight tension in his jaw, the faint flicker of exhaustion in his eyes. He's mind roared, at the possibility of his shaoyou being in pain or suffering.

Hua Yong’s lips curved downwards—just barely.

There was no recognition from shaoyou.

The boy who had stolen his breath ten years ago had returned, standing across a ballroom full of people who didn’t know what they were witnessing.

And he was his.

Shaoyou turned slightly as his father leaned down to murmur something, his profile catching the chandelier light. The silver chain glinted against his collar. He looked untouchable, unreachable.

But Hua Yong had already decided otherwise.

The orchestra swelled. Guests laughed. Shaoyou bowed slightly to a cluster of investors. His smile was perfect, but Hua Yong’s eyes lingered on the brief falter when he turned his head, seeking air, like a bird glancing toward an open sky.

That was when Shaoyou slipped away.

Just a step. Then another. His father was distracted in conversation, and Shaoyou seized the sliver of freedom. He moved through the crowd with smooth precision, excusing himself softly, until he disappeared through the doors leading to the balcony.

Hua Yong’s gaze followed, unblinking.

---

The ballroom buzzed with refined chatter, the low hum of polite laughter mingling with the soft strains of a string quartet. Chandeliers suspended overhead cast fractured light across the polished marble floors, glittering off the smooth silk of gowns and the sharp lines of tailored suits. The scent of perfume and cologne mingled with the faint, sweet aroma of desserts, drifting through the room in tantalizing waves. Hua Yong moved among it all with deliberate calm, posture straight, movements measured. He noticed everything, yet focused on one thing above all—the balcony doors ahead, and the boy waiting beyond them.

Guests clustered in tight groups, sipping champagne, exchanging pleasantries that rang polite but shallow. Hua Yong’s eyes swept the room, registering details almost unconsciously—the tilt of a head in conversation, the glint of a bracelet, the careful movement of hands to conceal a gesture. None of it truly mattered; it was background noise compared to the presence that awaited him.

He paused at the dessert table, selecting a small porcelain plate and arranging three chocolate-dipped strawberries with meticulous care. A silver fork and neatly folded napkin completed the offering. It was simple, mundane even—but purposeful. A small bridge to Shaoyou, a quiet gesture that might go unnoticed by anyone else but would be understood by the one person who mattered.

Plate in hand, Hua Yong threaded his way through the crowd, stepping around clusters of guests and servers. The polished marble underfoot was cool, the faint vibration of music from the orchestra below resonating softly through the floor. His eyes never wavered from the balcony doors. Every step, though calm and measured, carried anticipation that coiled quietly in his chest.

At last, the balcony doors opened to the cool night air. The faint scent of gardens drifted toward him, mingling with the crispness of the city beyond. Shaoyou was already there, standing near the railing, shoulders squared, posture controlled, gaze fixed on the city lights stretching out below. The faint breeze lifted a few strands of his hair, but his composure was untouched. Hua Yong stopped just short of the railing, taking a small breath to steady himself.

There he was—and he was perfect. Just standing there, calm and completely captivating.

Hua Yong set the plate gently on the balustrade. “The night’s quiet out here,” he said softly, his voice steady.

Shaoyou glanced at the plate, then immediately turned his gaze back to the city. Arms crossed lightly, stance firm. “I didn’t ask for company,” he said, defensive, wary.

Hua Yong inclined his head slightly. “I didn’t intend to intrude. Just thought you might like a snack.”

Shaoyou’s eyes flicked briefly to the strawberries again, then back to the skyline. “A snack, huh? You think I need a snack out here?” His tone was clipped, but a subtle undercurrent of curiosity tugged at it.

Hua Yong offered the plate slightly closer. “If you don’t, you can leave them. But I thought you might appreciate a choice.”

Shaoyou hesitated, finally picking one, biting into it deliberately. Hua Yong watched quietly, chest tightening subtly. The boy’s movements were precise, deliberate—yet natural, effortless in a way that drew him in. Every little gesture ignited a quiet, burning fascination in Hua Yong, a desire to be near him, to protect him, to claim him.

“Not bad,” Shaoyou said finally, brushing chocolate from his lips

Hua Yong nodded, calm and composed. “I’m glad.” Inside, his heart thumped quietly, a steady warmth spreading through his chest. Shaoyou was here, and it felt right. Just being near him felt… right.

Shaoyou let a faint, mischievous smirk tug at his lips. “At this rate, I’ll start expecting fruit deliveries to every balcony.”

Hua Yong’s lips curved subtly. “Noted,” he said evenly. Internally, a quiet rush of joy coursed through him. That smirk, that edge in Shaoyou’s voice… he was teasing, and it was impossible not to notice. Truly beautiful.

Shaoyou tilted his head, watching him, a guarded curiosity softening in his gaze. “So… do you do this often? Walk around handing desserts to strangers on balconies?”

“I keep an eye on certain… people,” Hua Yong replied carefully, composed. Inside, his chest tightened. Certain people… like Shaoyou. Only Shaoyou.

Shaoyou’s lips curved faintly in amusement. “Certain people, huh? Sounds… mysterious.”

Hua Yong inclined his head. “Some people are worth observing,” he said simply. Only Shaoyou.

Shaoyou’s laughter was soft, restrained, almost musical. “Careful, or you’ll start sounding like one of those spies in the novels.”

“Perhaps,” Hua Yong replied, still composed outwardly. Internally, a quiet thrill pulsed through him. Spy… for him. He could stay on this balcony forever, watching Shaoyou, hearing his voice, seeing him like this… and never grow tired.

The breeze shifted gently, ruffling Shaoyou’s hair. He leaned against the railing again, eyes on the city. Hua Yong noticed the subtle curl of his fingers along the stone, the faint tension in his shoulders, the way he maintained control even in this quiet moment. Every detail was effortless and deliberate—and Hua Yong couldn’t look away. He wanted him near, wanted him entirely, and the words remained unsaid.

Shaoyou straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “I suppose I should return,” he said, voice distant but softened, a hint of playfulness lingering.

“Of course,” Hua Yong replied quietly, calm. His heart thumped faintly, steady, suffused with longing. Shaoyou was leaving—but he had been here. And it was enough to keep him thinking of him for the rest of the night.

Shaoyou glanced back once, eyes catching the moonlight, a small smirk lingering. “And… thanks for the strawberries...?”

"Hua Yong " he replied calmly, a smile stretched itself across Shaoyou and Hua Yongs heart exploded. "Well Thank you, Hua Yong" shaoyou replied, his voice carrying a hint of hidden joy.

With that, he disappeared into the ballroom, leaving the plate and the cool night air behind. Hua Yong remained on the balcony, composed on the surface, but inside, every glance, every gesture, every subtle expression of Shaoyou was etched into his mind.

The city lights shimmered below, indifferent. But Hua Yong’s gaze remained fixed, quiet, calm, composed—and utterly consumed.

---

The path from the balcony to the main hall twisted gently through a quieter wing of the estate, where lanterns hung from wrought-iron posts and soft candlelight flickered against the stone walls. Shaoyou’s steps were careful, measured; he moved through the half-lit corridors like a shadow, alert but composed. The distant strains of the string quartet, polite laughter, and clinking glasses seeped through the walls, reminding him of the gala still in full swing.

He inhaled lightly, letting the cool night air fill his lungs, trying to shake off the strange flutter from the balcony. The strawberries, the quiet offer, the calm presence—something about that fleeting encounter lingered in the back of his mind, though he refused to dwell on it. His focus was simple: return to the main hall, keep up appearances, and avoid unnecessary attention.

A faint footstep echoed ahead, soft but deliberate, and Shaoyou’s brow furrowed slightly. He slowed, instinctively assessing the space around him. The corridor widened here, lanterns casting longer shadows along the stone. From the corner of his eye, a figure stepped into view. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Impeccably dressed. His hair was neatly combed, dark and smooth, catching the light from the lanterns. The man’s eyes were sharp, calculating, and for a moment Shaoyou felt an almost tangible weight in their gaze, like the subtle pressure of someone assessing him thoroughly without speaking a word.

“Ah,” the man said, voice smooth and low, carrying a natural cadence that drew attention without raising it. “I wasn’t expecting anyone here.”

Shaoyou paused, hands subtly adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “I could say the same,” he replied, careful to keep his tone neutral. There was a faint edge to it, defensive in a way, though he made no move to step back.

The man smiled lightly, tilting his head. “Shaoyou, correct? Your presence precedes you more often than you might realize.”

Shaoyou’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I make it a point to avoid drawing attention.” His gaze flicked past the man, scanning the corridor, ready for a clear path back to the main hall.

“Ah,” the man said, chuckling softly. “But some attention is unavoidable, wouldn’t you agree?” He stepped a small pace closer, careful, deliberate—not threatening, but undeniably aware of Shaoyou’s space. The subtle magnetism was disarming, and Shaoyou’s chest tightened slightly, not out of fear, but instinctive caution.

“I’m on my way back,” Shaoyou said evenly, keeping his voice calm, almost clipped. “I have no time for idle conversation.”

“Idle?” The man’s smile widened, soft and amused. “I would hardly call it idle. I’m merely curious. A simple conversation, nothing more.” He held out a hand, not pressing, but offering a gesture of polite engagement. “May I?”

Shaoyou hesitated, then nodded slightly, not entirely opening himself but not rejecting it either. “Very well. A few words, then.”

The man’s eyes glimmered faintly as he began. “It’s impressive, seeing someone your age navigate such gatherings. Poise, control, awareness… not many carry themselves so carefully.”

Shaoyou’s brows rose slightly, though he kept his arms crossed. “I find it necessary.”

“Necessary, indeed.” The man inclined his head, acknowledging the answer. “And yet… there’s an ease to it. You make it seem effortless, even under pressure.”

Shaoyou remained quiet for a moment, choosing his words deliberately. “I manage what I must. Effortless is rarely what it appears to be.”

The man’s smile softened, almost imperceptibly, as if noting the guardedness in Shaoyou’s tone. “A fair point. I admire that, actually. Not many are as… disciplined.” He paused, studying him without pressing further, as if taking mental notes of every movement, every expression.

The corridor seemed to shrink slightly in that pause, the distant hum of the gala fading into near silence. Shaoyou’s fingers flexed subtly, his mind alert, analyzing the man’s motives, guessing at his intentions. There was a sense of calm confidence in the man—an aura that suggested control over both presence and situation.

“Curious,” Shaoyou said finally, voice steady. “Do you often approach strangers in quiet corridors?”

“Not strangers,” the man replied smoothly, a hint of amusement in his tone. “People I find intriguing. Rarely do I take interest in those who are… predictable.” His gaze lingered, steady but not threatening, assessing Shaoyou like a scholar observing a rare specimen.

Shaoyou let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Though not a happy one. “Then I suppose I’m fortunate to be… unpredictable.”

The man’s eyes glimmered faintly, as if noting the subtle defiance in Shaoyou’s words. “Fortunate, indeed.” He tilted his head once more. “I’ll leave you to your gala, then. But consider this an introduction of sorts. Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

Shaoyou inclined his head politely, still wary. “Perhaps.”

The man gave a small bow and turned down the corridor, walking with the same calm precision he had arrived with. Shaoyou watched him for a moment, then exhaled softly, straightened his posture, and resumed his walk back to the main hall.

The stranger’s words kept replaying in his mind: “Poise, control, awareness… disciplined.”

The words were meant to flatter, perhaps even to intrigue—but to Shaoyou, they were a dagger.

Disciplined. Poised. Careful. Controlled.

He hated them. Hated how accurate they were. Hated the invisible chains that forced him to move this way, speak this way, smile this way. Every step, every glance, every laugh had been rehearsed, polished, measured for the benefit of others. His father’s eyes, the expectations of the gala, even strangers—everyone demanded the mask, and Shaoyou had no choice but to obey.

He clenched his fists slightly at his sides, nails pressing into his palms. Why couldn't he be himself?

The mask was suffocating. It pressed down on him like a weight he had carried for years, a heavy, invisible coat stitched from rules, expectations, and fear. There were moments—rare, fleeting—when he could almost let it slip, when he could laugh freely, move without calculating, speak without hiding. But those moments were stolen, brief, dangerous. They were never his to keep.

A servant brushed past with a tray of
champagne, and Shaoyou forced a polite nod, careful to maintain posture, tone, expression. Every detail mattered. Every second demanded control. And yet, inwardly, he felt the sharp, gnawing resentment.

He's not willingly this disciplined. He's not natural this poised. He's just caged. And no one has ever noticed.

He let out a quiet breath, one he hoped no one noticed. The chatter around him continued, oblivious. He moved through the clusters of guests, eyes flicking to familiar faces, never lingering too long, never letting the mask slip.

The anger simmered beneath the surface, a quiet fire he could not extinguish. He hated that he had to play this game, that he had to be what everyone expected: the perfect heir, the composed son, the disciplined alpha who never faltered. It wasn’t him. None of it was him.

And yet… the mask worked. It kept him safe. It kept him alive.

Shaoyou exhaled slowly, gripping the stem of his glass so tightly that the crystal creaked faintly. I hate it. he hated that he have to hide who he is. Hated that no one sees him.

He let his gaze drift to the edge of the hall, the lanterns glimmering, the moonlight catching the edges of the gardens outside. He imagined a life beyond the expectations, beyond the weight of the mask—a life where he could laugh without restraint, move without caution, speak without fear. A life where he could be himself.

But for now, that life was a fantasy. He could only wear the mask, smile the smile, maintain the composure. He had no choice.

And yet, as he moved deeper into the gala, every polite nod, every measured step, every careful word, a quiet thought lingered in the back of his mind: One day… one day, I’ll be free of this. One day, they’ll see me—not the mask, not the discipline, not the poise—but me.

Chapter Text

The night had begun to wind down.
What was once a room humming with laughter and polite charm now shimmered under a gentler quiet, the kind that came only after hours of pleasantries and pretense. The string quartet had slowed to softer melodies; waiters moved through the thinning crowd, collecting half-empty glasses of champagne. The chandeliers still glowed brilliantly, but the gold light felt heavier now, almost weary—much like Shaoyou himself.

He stood beside his father near the head of the hall, the posture of a model heir: upright, shoulders squared, expression serene. His suit, immaculate in deep black with understated silver trim, looked as unyielding as the mask he wore behind it. Every greeting, every handshake, every polite word exchanged throughout the evening had been delivered perfectly. He knew this dance by heart—grace, composure, precision. The boy who once laughed under a blossom tree had long since learned what silence cost.

Sheng Fang spoke beside him, low and measured, exchanging final remarks with a representative from the Guo Conglomerate. Shaoyou’s gaze drifted past them, unfocused. The ballroom lights blurred, movement turning into soft streaks of color—navy, cream, gold. His chest ached faintly, though he wouldn’t have known how to name it.

“Shaoyou,” his father’s voice snapped quietly, an undertone of command.

He blinked once, turning. “Yes, Father.”

Sheng Fang didn’t look at him, only adjusted his cufflinks. “Smile. You look tired.”

Shaoyou’s lips curved with mechanical precision. “Of course.”

The older man offered a curt nod and resumed his conversation. The smile stayed—small, polite, utterly hollow.

He let his eyes drift once more over the guests. A few familiar faces lingered, business associates and social figures, all polished to mirror brightness. A woman in a crimson gown laughed lightly at some comment; two men nearby exchanged business cards with subtle reverence. Everything glimmered with refinement, but it all felt strangely distant, like he was watching from behind glass.

His mind flickered back, just for an instant, to the balcony. The taste of strawberries, faintly sweet on his tongue. The man’s voice—low, steady, oddly grounding amid all this noise. The way he had offered the strawberries without expectation. It had felt… different. Unusual. A kind of quiet he wasn’t used to. The way the man seemed to see Shaoyou. Actually see him was refreshing, sparking a pleasant feeling within him.

He exhaled, slow, deliberate, shutting the thought down. Indulgence. His father wouldn’t approve of either.

“Shaoyou,” his father called again, sharper this time. “The chairman from Heshan Holdings.”

He turned immediately, bowing slightly to the approaching man—a broad-shouldered older alpha whose cologne carried the heavy bite of spice and power. The man’s smile was wide, eyes sharp.

“I must say, Sheng Shaoyou, your poise is remarkable for your age,” the man said with easy praise. “You carry yourself like a true businessman. Truly fitting for your family’s future leader.”

“Thank you, Chairman,” Shaoyou replied evenly, voice smooth, practiced.

The man chuckled, patting his shoulder with patronizing familiarity before turning back to Sheng Fang. “You’ve raised him well.”

Shaoyou’s smile held. His chest, however, tightened with quiet revulsion.
Disciplined. Poised. Raised well.
Every word felt like a weight pressing down, reinforcing the bars of a cage he couldn’t even protest. He wanted to tell the man that poise wasn’t the same as strength, that discipline wasn’t the same as freedom—but that wasn’t the role he was allowed to play.

He stayed silent, nodding where appropriate.

When the conversation ended and the man moved on, Shaoyou’s shoulders relaxed by a fraction. His father gave a single approving look—cold, assessing—and turned to greet someone else. That small approval should have been satisfying. Instead, it burned.

He wanted to breathe. He needed to breathe.

He hated it.

He hated that he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed without thinking.
He hated that he couldn’t reach for a dessert without wondering what it would look like to others.
He hated that the words “perfect” and “obedient” had become his entire identity.

But above all, he hated that he couldn’t change it—not yet.

Somewhere across the hall, unseen in the dimming light, Hua Yong watched from a distance. His gaze followed Shaoyou’s calm movements, memorized by the lonely beauty that radiated from him. Igniting the primal instinct within him to provide, to destroy any threat to his mates happiness.

And as the lights dim and the hall empties, Hua Yong’s resolve hardens quietly within him.

If the world insists on caging Shaoyou, then he’ll build him a world where he doesn’t have to hide.

---

The skyline of the city shimmered in muted gold beyond the glass wall of the X Holdings boardroom. The hour was late, most offices already dark, but the penthouse floor glowed—quiet, purposeful, alive. Hua Yong sat at the head of the long table, posture precise, every movement measured with the efficiency of habit.

Before him, the holographic display projected charts and projections in soft blue light—market trends, competitor analyses, revenue forecasts. The top line read: Proposed Strategic Partnership — Sheng Fang Biotech.

He had drafted the proposal himself. Not through delegation, not through his assistant, but personally—every clause, every detail, every calculated number.

“An acquisition would be unnecessary,” he said, tone level, eyes fixed on the figures. “A joint venture, however, allows both entities to benefit from technological integration without compromising autonomy. Sheng Fang Biotech’s research capabilities in pheromone stabilization compounds are strong. Our distribution infrastructure can amplify their reach internationally.”

Across from him, his executives nodded. A few murmured agreement, one began outlining possible logistical structures. Hua Yong let the conversation continue for a moment, then leaned back slightly, fingertips pressed together.

On the surface, it was immaculate strategy. Sheng Fang Biotech’s work in ABO hormonal regulation therapies, particularly their cutting-edge research on synthetic suppressants and compatibility serums, would dovetail perfectly with X Holdings’ broader pharmaceutical empire. On paper, it was the logical next step for market dominance.

But logic had nothing to do with why this particular name lingered in his mind.

Sheng Fang Biotech.
Sheng Fang. Shaoyou.

He could still see him. The faint curve of his smile in the candlelight, the way his reflection had caught the silver shimmer of chandeliers. The quiet, graceful control that never quite hid the flicker of something fierce underneath. It had been ten years since that first meeting under the blossom tree, and yet the moment he’d seen Shaoyou again, every old thread of longing had pulled taut once more.

He had spent years building empires, breaking away from the underworld ties his father had left behind. Every deal, every restructuring, every polished façade of X Holdings had been a step toward one thing—toward being someone worthy of standing beside Shaoyou without endangering him.

And now, that name sat before him again, printed across a glowing display.

“We’ll initiate contact discreetly,” Hua Yong said, voice cool, crisp, commanding. “A proposal for research collaboration. Focus on synthetic Omega stability compounds and alpha sensory regulation treatments—projects both our companies have vested interest in. They’ll see it as mutual advancement, not dependency.”

The Chief Operations Officer adjusted her glasses. “Understood. Should we reach out to Sheng Fang directly or through their corporate intermediary?”

Hua Yong’s gaze didn’t waver. “Directly. I’ll handle it personally.”

A flicker of surprise crossed the table. It was rare—almost unheard of—for Hua Yong to personally oversee initial negotiations. He usually delegated such tasks, preferring to appear only in high-stakes mergers.

He didn’t explain himself. He didn’t have to.

His team resumed their notes, discussing potential contract timelines and intellectual property protections. Words like “integration model,” “stability protocols,” and “ROI projection curves” filled the air. To them, it was strategy. To Hua Yong, it was proximity and was so very carefully engineered.

As the conversation flowed, his mind drifted once more to the image of Shaoyou at the banquet: standing by the balcony railing, hair brushed by moonlight, eyes reflecting the city glow. The faint defensive edge in his voice, the soft curve of his smirk when he teased. Even then, beneath the calm façade, Hua Yong had seen it—the constant tension from the heavy weight of expectation pressing down on him.

He had wanted to reach out then. To tell him he didn’t need to pretend. That he didn’t need to be perfect here, not with him.
That he could just be free. Be himself.

But he hadn’t.
Not yet.

He couldn’t approach empty-handed—not as another guest, another stranger. He needed to approach as an equal. As someone Shaoyou couldn’t dismiss.

So he would do what he did best: build a path.

When the meeting adjourned, the executives filed out with murmured goodnights. Hua Yong remained seated, staring at the city skyline as the lights dimmed.

The faintest smile ghosted across his lips, private, unguarded.

Soon, Shaoyou. This time, I’ll be close enough not to lose you again.

He tapped a command on the table, pulling up the company’s communication interface. The name Sheng Fang Biotech glowed faintly blue. With one final glance out the window, Hua Yong drafted the first message.

To: Sheng Fang, CEO — Sheng Fang Biotech
Subject: Strategic Partnership Proposal — ABO Therapeutic Innovations

His fingers hovered briefly before typing the final line:

I believe our companies’ visions align. I would like to discuss the potential for collaboration in person.
He signed it simply:
— Hua Yong, CEO, X Holdings.

The message sent with a soft chime.

The city lights flickered below, endless and distant. Hua Yong leaned back, gaze unfocused, seeing not glass and steel—but a boy beneath a blossom tree, smiling with a forkful of strawberry cheesecake.

And for the first time in years, he allowed himself to whisper softly into the empty room—words meant for no one but the memory that haunted him.

“Still so beautiful.”

---

Shaoyou sat across from his father, hands folded neatly on his lap, waiting for the conversation to begin.

Sheng Fang stood behind his desk, reading over a printed document, his expression unreadable. He didn’t sit. He rarely did when it came to business. Power was easier to project from a standing position.

“You’ll be attending a meeting tomorrow,” he said at last, eyes still on the paper. “It’s a partnership proposal. One we can’t afford to lose. ”

Shaoyou didn’t respond immediately. He’d learned that silence was safer—it let his father fill in the blanks.

“It’s from X Holdings,” Sheng Fang continued, voice even. “Their research branch has made advances in pheromone stabilizers. They want access to our proprietary enzyme line for beta testing.” He flipped the page, his tone brisk.

“It’s an opportunity to expand our pharmaceutical reach into the ABO regulatory market—a merger of resources, essentially.”

Sheng Fang finally met his gaze. “Represent the company. Sit in on the preliminary negotiations. It will be good for the board to see you in action. To see that you’re capable of stepping into your role when the time comes.”

It wasn’t a request.

Shaoyou straightened slightly in his seat. “Understood.”

“Good.” Sheng Fang set the document aside and reached for his coffee, pausing only long enough to add, “I expect professionalism. The CEO of X Holdings is young, but powerful. He’s managed to turn a formerly volatile company into a global name in under a decade. That kind of ambition demands respect. Learn from it.”

The words landed like quiet weight on Shaoyou’s chest. Learn from it.
He didn’t know why those words lingered.

“Yes, Father,” he said smoothly, though his tone carried a trace of fatigue he didn’t bother to hide.

Sheng Fang’s expression didn’t change. “Dismissed.” No affection in his time, only cold indifference as he he dismissed Shaoyou.

Shaoyou rose, gave a shallow nod, and left the study. The door shut softly behind him, sealing in the faint scent of roasted coffee and ambition.

---

The conference room on the thirty-seventh floor of the Meridian Tower was an exercise in quiet luxury.
Muted tones of slate and silver stretched across the space; a long glass table gleamed beneath recessed lighting, surrounded by black leather chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the city, where the morning light reflected off steel and glass in cold, precise lines.

Everything about the room suggested neutrality, power without warmth—exactly the kind of environment where partnerships were born and enemies shook hands.

Sheng Fang Biotech’s delegation arrived early, as expected. Sheng Fang himself walked at the front, crisp in a charcoal suit that reflected his authority more than his personality. Behind him, Sheng Shaoyou followed with measured steps, his expression polite and unreadable.

He carried a tablet, not a briefcase. His movements were composed, deliberate—each gesture smooth, efficient. Yet beneath the polished exterior, his pulse thrummed faintly with something else: curiosity, and a restrained edge of unease.

The agenda for the morning had been clear—an exploratory meeting with X Holdings to discuss collaboration on a next-generation biocompatible pheromone regulator, a medical device designed to stabilize volatile hormonal responses across secondary gender spectrums.
A potential revolution in ABO health technology.

Shaoyou had studied the data, analyzed the patents, even researched the rumors surrounding X Holdings’ CEO.
He’d heard the stories—brilliant, elusive, ruthless when necessary—but he hadn’t expected to meet him.

The door to the conference room opened with a quiet hydraulic hiss.

A man entered.

He didn’t announce himself, didn’t need to. His presence drew attention naturally—the stillness that followed him, the precision of his movements. Hua Yong.

His suit was cut with the same tailored perfection as his composure: black, understated, but commanding. His gaze swept the room, sharp and focused, before settling inevitably on Shaoyou.

The air changed.

For an instant, Hua Yong’s carefully built composure faltered—not visibly, but in the tightening of his breath, the faint quickening beneath the calm surface of his expression.
There he was again. Shaoyou.

Not the boy from under the blossom tree. Not even the young man from the balcony.
Now he was seated in a boardroom, sleek tablet before him, silver chain just barely visible against his collar. The faint reflection of city light framed his profile—mature, intelligent, yet untouched by the cynicism that defined this world.

It shouldn’t have affected him. He has had years to perfect his mask. But it did. Shaoyou always unravelled and dismantled his careful composed composure.

Hua Yong inclined his head, controlled, professional. “Mr. Sheng. Mr. Sheng Shaoyou. Thank you for meeting with us today.”

Sheng Fang returned the greeting with equal restraint. “The pleasure is ours, Mr. Hua. Your proposal was intriguing. I am interested in hearing further about it. ”

They shook hands with a firm, measured grip. Shaoyou stood beside his father, nodding politely. When Hua Yong’s eyes met his again, there was recognition. Subtle, fleeting, but there. Shaoyou blinked once, almost imperceptibly.

He remembered.

Not who Hua Yong was—not yet.
But the man from the balcony. The quiet stranger who had offered him strawberries beneath the moonlight.

His heart stuttered once, so briefly that even he wasn’t sure why.

Hua Yong gestured toward the table. “Shall we?”

The presentation began.

X Holdings’ team moved efficiently, their slides sleek and data-driven. Market projections, biochemical patents, integration strategies—everything delivered with surgical precision.
When Hua Yong spoke, his voice carried the calm authority of someone accustomed to control.

“The ABO medical device sector is projected to expand by thirty-two percent over the next two years,” he said, tone even. “Current products are reactive—stabilizers, suppressants, regulators. Our joint research proposes a predictive algorithmic regulator, one that learns hormonal patterns, calibrates automatically, and eliminates dependency.”

Sheng Fang’s expression didn’t change, but Shaoyou’s attention sharpened. He leaned forward slightly, eyes flicking toward the data. “Adaptive calibration using AI pattern mapping,” he said quietly. “That’s ambitious. Most regulators can’t process that much live input without destabilizing.”

Hua Yong’s eyes softened imperceptibly, fascinated by Shaoyou display of intelligence. “Correct,” he replied. “Which is why we’ve been experimenting with Sheng Biotech’s synthetic peptide models. They show higher tolerance thresholds under environmental stress factors.”

Sheng Fang looked up sharply. “You’ve accessed our models?”

“Only the published research,” Hua Yong said smoothly. “The rest, we hope to develop under partnership.”

Professional courtesy. Perfect composure. Yet beneath the words, his gaze lingered on Shaoyou’s profile—the faint furrow of concentration in his brow, the way he bit his lower lip when thinking, the precision of his note-taking.

He looked alive in a way the others didn’t.

Sheng Fang spoke again, his voice a calm blade. “Our company does not share intellectual property lightly.”

“Nor do we,” Hua Yong replied, matching his tone effortlessly. “Which is precisely why a partnership makes sense. Mutual leverage, mutual discretion.”

A silence stretched. Sheng Fang leaned back slightly, studying him. Seemingly under the illusion that he held the most authority in the room.

Shaoyou broke it. “If the regulator functions as predicted, it could replace current generation stabilizers entirely. You’re suggesting a system that interprets secondary gender fluctuations before they spike—preventing ruts and heats from destabilizing in the first place.”

There was a faint awe in his voice, quickly buried under logic. But Hua Yong heard it.

And it ignited something low and quiet inside him.

He wanted to hear Shaoyou talk like that again—eyes bright, voice engaged, unmasked. He wanted to be the reason Shaoyou dropped that perfect, suffocating composure.

He wanted him to be alive.

Hua Yong nodded, smile faint, professional. “Exactly. A regulator that anticipates rather than reacts. A future of precision and stability.”

Sheng Fang tapped a pen against the table. “It’s an interesting vision, Mr. Hua. I’ll review the full proposal before committing.”

“Of course,” Hua Yong said, calm. “Our R&D department can send full technical documentation by end of week.”

The meeting began to wrap up. Papers were gathered, polite exchanges murmured. Sheng Fang’s assistant leaned in, whispering a reminder of his next appointment. He stood, shaking Hua Yong’s hand once more.

“Mr. Hua,” he said curtly. “I’ll be in touch.”

As he turned to leave, Shaoyou rose as well, preparing to follow. But Hua Yong’s voice stopped him, quiet, even.

“Mr. Sheng Shaoyou.”

Shaoyou turned.

Their eyes met. The rest of the room blurred—the hum of conversation, the shuffle of papers, even the faint drone of air conditioning—all of it faded.

“Your insights during the discussion,” Hua Yong said, measured, “were impressive. It’s rare to see someone your age speak so fluently about molecular interface design.”

Shaoyou blinked once, caught off guard. “It’s part of my role to understand our work.” His voice was polite, restrained, but the edge of pride flickered beneath it.

“I can tell,” Hua Yong said quietly. His lips curved—slight, controlled, almost imperceptible. “You have a clarity that most overlook.”

For a second, Shaoyou didn’t reply. Then he inclined his head politely. “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one,” Hua Yong murmured.

Sheng Fang called his name from the doorway. Shaoyou gave a brief nod and turned to go, his steps precise, calm.

Only when the door closed behind them did Hua Yong exhale.

The composure he had held so tightly slipped just enough for something raw to surface—a quiet, unshakable ache.

He had spent ten years waiting, watching from the distance between business empires. Now he had reason. Access. A legitimate bridge to draw nearer.

The partnership proposal wasn’t about expansion. Not really.
It was about proximity.

He wanted Shaoyou close—close enough to see what lay beneath the polish, close enough to reach the person still hidden behind the discipline.

And this time, he wouldn’t lose sight of him again.

---

The elevator doors closed with a soft hiss, muting the low murmur of executives and the sterile hum of the upper floors. The descent was smooth, the cityscape shrinking in the reflection of the mirrored walls.

Shaoyou stood beside his father, expression composed, tablet held loosely at his side. Sheng Fang scrolled through his phone, already typing notes for follow-ups. The faint blue light flickered across his face, cold and businesslike.

“You’ll need to compile a technical brief for R&D,” Sheng Fang said without looking up. “Summarize their predictive models, isolate potential integration issues. I want your notes by tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Shaoyou replied automatically. His voice was even, practiced. He could almost hear how detached it sounded.

The elevator chimed softly. The doors opened onto the marble lobby.

Outside, sunlight streamed through the glass façade, cutting across the floor in sharp, geometric lines. Executives passed in tailored suits, badges flashing as they moved through security. Sheng Fang paused briefly to greet a familiar face, then stepped toward the car waiting at the curb.

Shaoyou lingered a moment longer, letting the space around him settle.

His mind wouldn’t still.

That man.

The CEO of X Holdings. Hua Yong.

He’d recognized him the instant he walked into the conference room.
Not by name, not by title but simply by his presence, by his kindness and genuine way of speech.

The same quiet confidence, the stillness that seemed to draw gravity toward him. The man from the balcony—the one who had offered him strawberries beneath the night sky with a calm smile and words that didn’t pry.

It made no sense. What were the chances?

His father’s voice broke through his thoughts carrying a tone of displeasure. “Shaoyou.”

He turned immediately. “Yes.”

“Get in.”

Shaoyou stared out the window, silent.

The meeting replayed in his mind.Hua Yong’s gaze steady, his words professional but almost too deliberate, as if weighted with something unspoken. And that look and his gentle compliment made it seem
like he saw more than what Shaoyou allowed anyone to see.

It unsettled him.

Everyone in the corporate world looked at him the same way: as the composed heir, the brilliant strategist, the young executive with perfect manners and immaculate restraint.

That was who he had to be.

But the way Hua Yong looked at him—it wasn’t admiration. It was appreciation. The thought that anyone could simply appreciate his existence seemed absurd to him but it's as if he saw straight through the cultivated calm to the person buried underneath.

The car turned toward the expressway, city towers gliding past. His father kept talking—about deadlines, projections, potential licensing arrangements—but the words washed over Shaoyou in a distant blur.

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

Why does it bother me so much?
It’s just business. Just a meeting.

But the image of Hua Yong ppersisted, his calm tone, the faint smile when their eyes met, the measured precision of his words. There was control in every gesture, but beneath it… something else. Something intent.

Shaoyou shifted in his seat, tightening his grip on the tablet.

He hated the way it made him feel—seen, yet not understood.
He hated how his composure cracked, even for a moment.
And more than that, he hated that a stranger—no, a CEO, could look at him and read what others never noticed.

And worse of all Shaoyou could stop the desire of wanting to be seen , of wanting more than he deserved from manifesting.

Besides him, Sheng Fang was still speaking, his tone clipped and sharp.
“…X Holdings will likely expect a counterproposal by next week. Their CEO is meticulous. You’ll handle the coordination with their team and with him.”

Shaoyou’s fingers stilled. “With him?” he asked before he could stop himself.

His father glanced up briefly. “With him, yes. Why?”

“Nothing,” Shaoyou said quickly. “Just clarifying.”

The conversation moved on, but the question lingered in his mind.

With him.
That meant emails, calls, reports—meetings.

Hua Yong wasn’t just a stranger from the balcony anymore. He was going to be present, daily in his life.
In his schedule. In his orbit. In the space between professionalism and something personal that he didn’t want to name.

---

The banquet had ended hours ago, but the night still clung to the air like expensive perfume ; sweet, heavy, suffocating.

In his penthouse suite overlooking the city, Rui Lan sat in silence. The glow of the skyline washed over him , cold blues and silvers reflected off glass, the pulse of neon threading the horizon. He had removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and poured a glass of whiskey that now sat untouched on the table beside him.

The holographic display illuminated the room in faint, sterile light. Lines of data moved in disciplined rows — financial reports, patent lists, personnel profiles. Rui Lan’s eyes skimmed them with detached ease, until one particular name caught his attention again.

Sheng Shaoyou.

He tapped the name. The file expanded, neat and orderly:
Deputy Director of Sheng Fang Biotech. Specialization — biogenetic stabilization compounds for ABO compatibility treatments. Flawless record. Controlled image. Every word spoke of precision and compliance.

And yet — Rui Lan had seen it.
Just for a second.

The façade had slipped.

He remembered it clearly: the way Shaoyou’s expression had flickered at the banquet. A single moment of genuine irritation or perhaps exhaustion , before he smoothed it away and smiled again, polite, detached.

To anyone else, it would’ve gone unnoticed. To Rui Lan, it had been electric.

He leaned back in his chair, the faintest smile curving his lips. “You try so hard to hide it.”

The file continued scrolling ,university accolades, clinical publications, charitable initiatives. A life measured by precision and expectation. Every trace of him was clean. Almost too clean.

Rui Lan reached for the whiskey, swirling it idly. “Someone taught you to be perfect,” he said softly. “And now, you are a carefully constructed glass statue.”

He took a slow sip. The liquor burned slightly — grounding, sharp.

He thought of the way Shaoyou had stood that night with his spine straight, eyes clear but guarded, speaking only when addressed, each word weighed before it left his mouth. Every gesture controlled and calculated.

That kind of restraint fascinated Rui Lan more than beauty ever could.
Because restraint was always built on pressure.
And pressure, when applied correctly, broke.

He set the glass down. “I wonder what sound you’ll make when I break you. ”

It wasn’t lust, not exactly. It wasn’t even affection. It was curiosity, dark and consuming , the kind that crept beneath the skin and settled there like a quiet infection. He wanted to know the real sound of Shaoyou’s voice. Wanted to see the moment his eyes lost that distant calm and filled with something raw and ragged.

It wasn’t anger or impulse — Rui Lan didn’t act out of those. He was methodical. He’d made empires rise and fall through patience alone. People were simpler than corporations — more fragile.

He leaned back again, closing the files one by one until the room darkened. The last to fade was Shaoyou’s face — frozen mid-smile, polite and lifeless.

Somewhere in that glittering skyline, the perfect heir slept — believing himself safe in the armor of composure.

Rui Lan smiled into his drink.

“Sleep well, Shaoyou,” he murmured. “You’ll need it.”

Chapter Text

Darkness pressed in from every side, suffocating and pulsing.
Shaoyou ran, though he didn’t know from what. His bare feet struck cold marble, the sound echoing down an endless corridor lined with shadowed mirrors. In each reflection, he caught glimpses of himself—perfect posture, perfect face, perfect composure but none of them looked back. Their eyes were empty, mouths slightly parted as if to whisper something he could never hear.

“Shaoyou.”

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere, deep and cold, dripping with command. His father’s voice.

He turned sharply. The mirrors shuddered. In the reflection nearest him, Sheng Fang appeared ,not as he was, but taller, darker, his features sharpened by shadow. His reflection reached through the glass, fingers pale and unyielding, wrapping around Shaoyou’s wrist.

“i am so disappointed,” the voice murmured. “You embarrass me.”

Shaoyou tried to pull away, but his reflection smiled—a perfect, bloodless imitation of his own face—and dragged him forward.

Glass splintered. Cold bit into his skin. The reflections closed in, repeating the words in a hundred tones: Discipline. Control. Perfection.
Until the sound became a chant, rhythmic and suffocating, echoing through his skull.

He stumbled backward into a vast ballroom, chandeliers overhead bleeding light. All around him, people laughed behind masks—porcelain masks with painted smiles. The laughter rose. The masked faces began to whisper his name.
Shaoyou.
Shaoyou.
Shaoyou.
His own face was among them, somewhere in the crowd, laughing too.

He tried to tear the mask away, but it wouldn’t move. It clung to his skin like a second face. He clawed at it until his fingers ached, but the laughter only grew louder, until -

He woke.

The echo of it lingered in the back of his throat like smoke.

Shaoyou sat upright in bed, chest heaving, the pale light of dawn spilling through the curtains. For a moment, the silence of his room felt foreign, too still after the suffocating chaos of the dream. His pulse thudded against his ribs fast and uneven.

He pressed a hand to his forehead. His skin was damp with sweat, his breath shallow. Slowly, the reality of morning anchored him again—the soft hum of the air filter, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

Just a dream. Just a dream. Yet it seemed so close to reality.

He exhaled shakily, sinking back against the pillows. But the images clung to him, the mirrors, the masks, the way his father’s voice had wrapped around his name like a chain.

When his alarm finally buzzed, he swung his legs out of bed, feet touching the cold floor with practiced calm. By the time he crossed to the mirror, his expression was already smooth again. No tremor, no trace of the nightmare. Only the same measured calm his father demanded.

He buttoned his shirt slowly, each movement precise and mechanical. The reflection in the mirror stared back at him with obedient stillness.

But as he tightened his tie, he caught a flicker in his own eyes—something sharp, restless. A whisper of the boy in the dream who wanted to tear the mask off and scream.

He looked away.

---

The dining room was vast and cold, more suited to negotiations than family meals. Morning light streamed through tall glass windows, glinting off the silver cutlery. The air smelled faintly of coffee, toast, and disinfectant reflecting the cold and indifferent atmosphere.

His father was already seated at the far end of the long table, tablet in hand, eyes sharp behind thin-rimmed glasses. Sheng Fang didn’t look up when Shaoyou entered.

“You’re late.”

“By two minutes,” Shaoyou said quietly.

“By two minutes too long,” his father replied, voice clipped, flat. “You’ve wasted more than that before.”

Shaoyou took his seat. The silence stretched. He felt it pressing against him like a weight.

“Your presentation on the pharmaceutical merger was subpar,” Sheng Fang said finally, still scanning his tablet. “You spoke too quickly, your tone lacked conviction, and your conclusions were redundant. Do you know what redundancy signals, Shaoyou?”

“Yes, Father.”

“It signals weakness. And I won't have Sheng Fang Biotech suffer from your low standard of work”

Shaoyou kept his gaze lowered, fingers tightening around the edge of his cup. His heartbeat was steady, but the small tremor in his wrist betrayed him.

“I’ll make the revisions.”

“You’ll do better than that,” Sheng Fang said, finally setting the tablet down. His gaze was cold, unblinking. “You’ll learn to think before you speak. You’ll stop letting emotion show in your face. You represent me, and I don’t tolerate mediocrity.”

“I understand.”

“You don’t.” His father leaned back slightly, tone softening in a way that was worse than shouting. “If you did, I wouldn’t need to remind you every time. You have potential, Shaoyou—but potential means nothing if it’s wasted under sentiment.”

Shaoyou’s jaw tightened imperceptibly.

Sheng Fang sipped his coffee, studying him like a specimen. “You’re too delicate,” he added finally. “Learn to be a useful son .”

“Yes, Father.”

The silence stretched again. Shaoyou could hear the faint tick of the antique clock, the distant hum of the air conditioning. His fathers words echoing in his head. Despite hearing dehumanizing comments his whole life, he could never stop the brief flare of pain that erupted when the words left his father mouth.

When Sheng Fang returned to his tablet, Shaoyou stood, bowing slightly before turning to go. The moment he stepped out of the dining room, the breath he’d been holding escaped in a slow exhale. His shoulders relaxed, just slightly.

The nightmare replayed in his mind, the reflections, the laughter, his father’s voice.

The mask was already back on. He didn’t even realize he’d put it there.

---

The conference room gleamed with restrained luxury — pale marble floors, tinted glass walls, a table long enough to seat twenty. Every detail of Sheng Fang Biotech’s headquarters was a statement: wealth, control, power refined into precision. The company’s crest , a silver double helix ,shimmered faintly in the etched glass of the far wall.

Shaoyou sat two seats behind his father, pen poised above a folder of briefing notes. The rhythmic click of his father’s watch filled the silence as they waited. Everything in him felt tense, rehearsed. Even the way he breathed had been trained to match the tempo of his father’s authority.

Across the polished table, the chair reserved for X Holdings’ CEO remained empty.

“Keep your comments brief,” Sheng Fang said without looking at him. “You’re here to listen, not to lead. Let me handle the terms.”

“Yes, Father,” Shaoyou answered softly.

The doors opened.

The X Holdings delegation entered — three assistants, one advisor, and then him.
Hua Yong.

He moved with quiet confidence, the kind that didn’t demand the room’s attention but claimed it nonetheless. The subtle scent of orchids followed him , cool, faint, impossible to ignore. Shaoyou could couldn't stop his heart from speeding up. His eyes, sharp yet calm, swept across the room — and landed on Shaoyou.

For the briefest moment, Shaoyou froze. Unable to look away, almost as if he had been captivated.

Shaoyou lowered his gaze, focusing on the printed text. But he could feel Hua Yong’s attention brush against him more than once ,subtle, measured, but deliberate. It was the kind of gaze that noticed, catalogued, understood.

“As we’ve discussed,” Hua Yong began, tone smooth, “X Holdings will provide the nanotech delivery systems, and Sheng Fang Biotech will manage the biochemical compound formulation. Together, the device will stabilize hormonal fluctuations in secondary genders — particularly Omegas — with precision.”

“Yes,” Sheng Fang said. “Our R&D is prepared for immediate integration. My son will assist with the data coordination — he’s led the simulation modeling for our recent compounds.”

Hua Yong’s gaze flicked briefly toward Shaoyou again. “I see. Then it seems we’ll be working closely.”

Shaoyou’s fingers tightened slightly around his pen. He nodded once, polite but distant. “Of course, Mr. Hua. I look forward to ensuring the process runs smoothly.”

Their eyes met across the table — brief, neutral.
But something beneath the surface stirred.

Hua Yong hid it behind corporate poise, though inwardly, he felt it , the rush of joy and love, that always happened whenever Shaoyou was involved.

He looked immaculate in his work clothes and a faint orange-and-rum scent that clung like warmth under the sterile air of the boardroom. Hua Yong caught it when Shaoyou shifted the documents toward him , it was subtle and intoxicating.

The conversation carried on — profit margins, patent terms, production rights. Sheng Fang spoke the most, his voice smooth and heavy with authority. Hua Yong responded with the same balance of deference and precision. Yet beneath the calm, every move he made was calculated.

When the contracts were signed, and polite applause followed, Sheng Fang stood, shaking Hua Yong’s hand again. “A profitable partnership ahead.”

“I believe so,” Hua Yong replied evenly. His gaze drifted once more to Shaoyou — subtle, private. “And a promising collaboration.”

Shaoyou lowered his eyes, murmuring something about scheduling the first inter-departmental meeting.
But when he glanced up again, Hua Yong’s calm expression hadn’t shifted — only the faintest trace of something deeper lingered behind it.

---

The meeting had ended an hour ago, but the weight of it still lingered in the air. The conference room, once filled with low voices and the shuffle of papers, had fallen quiet. The last of the Sheng Fang Biotech executives filtered out, murmuring polite goodbyes as they passed Hua Yong, who remained by the window, one hand resting loosely in his pocket.

Shaoyou lingered behind, organizing the scattered files into a neat stack. His movements were methodical, efficient — the kind of precision that came from habit, not thought.

When he finally straightened, Hua Yong was still watching the skyline beyond the glass. The late afternoon sun spilled gold across his profile, sharpening the lines of his jaw and catching the faint reflection of his eyes. He turned only when Shaoyou cleared his throat softly.

“Thank you again for the presentation,” Shaoyou said, his voice smooth, polite. “Our board will set up a schedule within the week.”

“Of course,” Hua Yong replied, his tone even but not distant. “Though I hope this isn’t the last time we meet before then.”

Shaoyou blinked, caught slightly off guard. “You’ll likely hear from our legal department soon,” he offered, misunderstanding — or pretending to.

Hua Yong’s lips curved faintly. “That’s not quite what I meant.

He stepped closer , not enough to be invasive, just close enough for his presence to register. The faint scent of orchids drifted subtly in the air between them, a clean, quiet note that made Shaoyou’s pulse jump before he could stop it.

“I meant,” Hua Yong continued, “we should get to know each other better. If we’re going to be working closely, it might be beneficial to understand the person behind the position.”

He tilted his head slightly, a cautious curiosity threading through his restraint. “You mean… a business dinner?”

Hua Yong’s gaze softened, though the smile that followed was still faintly unreadable. “Something like that. But without the business.”

“I don’t usually mix personal and professional,” he said finally, his voice a touch lower now.

“I understand.” Hua Yong’s reply was immediate, smooth. “But think of it as an investment in communication. If we’re partners, it helps to understand how each other works — beyond boardrooms and spreadsheets.”

That explanation was reasonable. Logical, even. The kind of thing his father would approve of , though something about it still felt… different.

Shaoyou looked away, eyes flicking briefly to the glass where the city stretched endlessly below. “You’re very persistent, Mr. Hua.”

“Only when I see something worth the effort.”

The words were soft — not flirtatious, not overtly — but they landed with weight all the same. Shaoyou’s throat felt suddenly dry.

He turned back, his face calm, voice light. “You make it sound as if I’ve already said yes.”

“Have you?” Hua Yong asked simply.

For a moment, silence. Then Shaoyou exhaled softly, the corners of his mouth tugging into the faintest of reluctant smiles. “You’re not giving me much choice, are you?”

“I can be very persuasive,” Hua Yong said, tone mild but eyes steady.

Another pause, this one longer — and then Shaoyou nodded once. “Fine. Dinner.”

“Tomorrow evening?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good.” Hua Yong’s smile deepened, just slightly — the kind that didn’t reach his eyes but warmed his expression all the same. “I’ll send you the details.”

He reached for his coat, pulling it on with the quiet ease of someone used to control. Then, as he turned toward the door, his voice softened again.

“I’ll look forward to it, Shaoyou.”

When the door closed behind him, the room felt too still, too quiet. Shaoyou stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where Hua Yong had been. The faint scent of orchids still lingered in the air.

He told himself it was just business.
Just a dinner.
Just part of the job.

But the way his pulse still tripped against his wrist told him he didn’t quite believe it.

---

The restaurant was built for discretion—low lighting, soft music, the occasional murmur of crystal and laughter. Shadows flickered gently along the velvet walls, and a quiet piano melody threaded through the air like silk. Everything smelled faintly of wine, citrus, and orchids from the centerpiece that bloomed between them.

Shaoyou sat across from Hua Yong at a table tucked near the window, the city stretching out in jeweled lights behind the glass. He hadn’t meant to accept the invitation. But something in Hua Yong’s calm insistence at the end of the meeting—“We should know each other better, don’t you think?”—had made refusal sound unreasonable.

Now, sitting here, he wasn’t sure what he’d agreed to.

The first few minutes were quiet. Hua Yong was the kind of man who could command silence without making it uncomfortable. He stirred his wine, the motion slow and rhythmic, while Shaoyou let his gaze wander—to the other diners, to the curve of the chandelier above, anywhere that wasn’t the man watching him with unreadable focus.

“You don’t like red wine?” Hua Yong asked, voice smooth, unhurried.

Shaoyou blinked, glancing at the untouched glass before him. “I do. Just not… tonight, I suppose.”

“Not on Tuesday's?”

He gave a faint, self-contained smile. “Something like that.”

The waiter returned, quiet and efficient, leaving behind plates that looked almost like art—delicate cuts of meat, precisely arranged vegetables, sauces drawn like calligraphy. Shaoyou murmured a polite thanks and picked up his fork.

For a while, they ate in companionable quiet. Then, Hua Yong broke it again.

“You have a way of sitting perfectly still,” he said softly. “It’s impressive.”

Shaoyou looked up, caught between confusion and curiosity. “Perfectly still?”

“Most people fidget when they’re uncomfortable,” Hua Yong said, tone mild. “You don’t.”

A small pause. “Maybe I just hide it well,” Shaoyou replied, voice light but guarded.

“I don’t think that’s it.” Hua Yong’s gaze didn’t waver. “You seem… trained for composure.”

Shaoyou’s fork hesitated mid-air. “Trained?” he echoed, then gave a small laugh, brittle at the edges. “That’s one way to put it.”

There was something honest in that moment—a faint shadow that crossed his face, gone almost instantly. Hua Yong noticed it. Every flicker, every drop of guardedness drew his attention like gravity.

“I was trained for a lot of things,” Shaoyou continued, quieter. “Keeping my posture was just one of them.”

“What else?”

He hadn’t meant to ask it aloud. It came out softer than he intended, curiosity disguised as conversation.

Shaoyou’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. “That’s classified,” he said, echoing his boyish humor from years ago without realizing it.

For a moment, Hua Yong’s chest tightened. The sound of that teasing lilt, the quick wit beneath the calm, all of it was too familiar. He forced his expression to remain steady. “Classified,” he repeated, amused. “You make it sound serious.”

“It is,” Shaoyou said, eyes glinting. “If I told you, I’d have to make you sign a nondisclosure.”

That drew an honest laugh from Hua Yong—quiet, deep, the kind that softened his usually sharp composure. Shaoyou blinked at the sound, surprised by how genuine it felt.

The conversation drifted after that, light and meandering. They spoke of inconsequential things—the restaurant’s décor, a painting hanging behind the hostess stand, the absurdity of gourmet food being served in portions small enough to vanish in two bites. Shaoyou found himself talking more than he expected, his tone loosening with each small comment.

When Hua Yong mentioned a rumor about a new café that used genetically-modified cocoa beans, Shaoyou arched an eyebrow. “Sounds dangerous.”

“Only if you eat too much,” Hua Yong said.

Shaoyou’s lips quirked. “You seem like the kind of person who would.”

“Would what?”

“Eat too much.”

That earned him another quiet laugh, and Shaoyou felt an unexpected warmth settle in his chest. It wasn’t discomfort—not quite—but it was close. He was too aware of the man sitting across from him, of the way Hua Yong’s voice seemed to smooth the edges of his nerves.

He caught the faintest trace of orchids then—soft, clean, and intoxicating. His alpha instincts twitched before he could stop them. It was the kind of scent that felt deliberate in its restraint, the kind that promised control even in chaos. He felt the wrongness of reacting to it so sharply, the shame that came with his pulse skipping a beat.

He reached for his water again, hoping to disguise it.

“What about you?” Hua Yong asked after a pause.

“What about me?”

“Do you have any indulgences?”

Shaoyou blinked. “Indulgences?”

“Something that makes you happy,” Hua Yong clarified. “When you’re not working.”

The question shouldn’t have been intimate, but it felt that way.
Shaoyou looked down at his plate, thinking. “I used to like sweets,” he admitted finally, voice barely above the hum of the piano. “Cakes. Cheesecake, mostly.” A faint smile ghosted over his lips. “But I don’t really eat them anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t suit the image,” Shaoyou said simply, with the kind of practiced detachment that made Hua Yong’s chest ache.

He wanted to tell him he didn’t need an image. That the world could break around them and he’d still see him as that same bright, strawberry-smiling boy—but he didn’t. Not yet.

So he only said, “That’s a shame.”

Shaoyou looked up at that, curiosity flickering behind his eyes. “Why?”

Hua Yong’s lips curved slightly. “You strike me as someone who should always have a reason to smile.”

That caught Shaoyou off guard. His chest tightened with something dangerously close to warmth. He looked away quickly, muttering, “That’s… oddly sentimental.”

“I suppose I am,” Hua Yong said quietly.

The air between them shifted then—subtle, but undeniable. Shaoyou felt it like static against his skin, a strange, heavy awareness that clung to the silence. He hated how his pulse picked up again. He hated how much he didn’t hate it.

When the check arrived, Hua Yong paid without question.
Outside, the night air was cooler, the streetlamps soft against the cobblestones.

“Thank you for dinner,” Shaoyou said, his voice carefully polite again. “It was… pleasant.”

“I’m glad.” Hua Yong’s gaze lingered on him for a long, unreadable moment. “Next time, I’ll make sure there’s dessert.”

Shaoyou’s lips twitched faintly, the closest thing to a smile he’d shown all evening. “You assume there’ll be a next time.”

“I do,” Hua Yong said simply.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Shaoyou nodded once, gave a short, restrained smile, and turned away. As he walked down the quiet street, the scent of orchids followed him like a whisper he couldn’t shake.

Behind him, Hua Yong stood under the glow of the restaurant lights, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the place Shaoyou had been. His expression was calm, but inside, a quiet obsession burned steady and unyielding.

He’d waited ten years to see him again.
And now that he had, he wasn’t about to stop.

---

He stood beside his car for a long moment, gloved hands resting loosely at his sides, watching the mist gather along the street lamps. Shaoyou’s voice still echoed in his mind — measured, careful, with that faint wryness that surfaced when he forgot to guard himself.

It had been a good evening. Controlled, unhurried. Hua Yong had let the conversation drift to trivialities — music, travel, the absurdity of certain trade conventions — things that didn’t demand too much of either of them. Shaoyou had laughed once, quietly, and Hua Yong had felt something inside him unwind in response.

For the first time in a long while, the night had felt simple.

Until his phone buzzed.

The sound cut sharply through the quiet. He drew it from his pocket, expecting some routine update from his team. Instead, the caller ID made his stomach tighten.

“Chen,” he greeted, his tone steady.

“Director Hua,” came his assistant’s voice, clipped, a little tense. “Apologies for the late hour, but you’ll want to hear this directly. A representative from K Group just made contact with the Biomedical Council. They’ve expressed interest in acquiring the same patent family we’ve been negotiating with Sheng Fang for.”

Hua Yong’s expression didn’t change, though a faint stillness settled over him. “K Group,” he repeated. “That’s Rui Lan's company, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. Their legal division filed the request less than an hour ago.”

Of course. Rui Lan. The name stirred something that was not quite irritation — colder, deeper. He’d known of Rui Lan for years, the man’s reputation as a shrewd strategist with a taste for breaking his competitors from the inside. Ruthless in charm, unyielding beneath the polish.

“Any word on their angle?” Hua Yong asked quietly.

“Unclear,” Chen said. “But they’re moving fast. It looks like an intentional attack. "

Deliberate. Of course it did. Rui Lan never did anything without purpose. And if he was circling Sheng Fang, that meant one thing: he could possibly notice Shaoyou.

Hua Yong’s fingers tightened slightly around the phone, though his voice remained even. “Put a hold on all nonessential communications with the Council. I want full reports on Rui Lan's movements — business, public, and otherwise.”

“Yes, President Hua.”

Rui Lan liked to play games. He liked to find weakness and exploit it. Hua Yong had seen the aftermath of his methods before.

But Shaoyou wasn’t someone he would allow to be pulled into that.

He slipped his phone back into his coat pocket, his expression returning to its calm, composed neutrality.

If Rui Lan wanted to circle, to test, to provoke—
He could try.

Because this time, Hua Yong thought, eyes narrowing slightly as he turned toward the car, this time, the board wasn’t his alone.

And Hua Yong had no intention of letting anyone else touch what he’d already decided was his.

Hua yong lifted the phone with a steady sense of ease and phoned the only person who had a semblance of reliability.

Shen Wenlang.

---

The night air clung damply to Shaoyou’s coat as the driver eased the car to a stop before the Sheng residence. The estate loomed in pale marble and glass, elegant but cold, its high windows reflecting nothing of the warmth that had filled the restaurant earlier. For a brief moment, he sat still in the back seat, eyes unfocused.
The echo of soft laughter, the faint scent of orchid, and the steady calm of Hua Yong’s presence lingered somewhere behind his ribs.

Then he exhaled, pulled his composure back on like a second skin, and stepped out.

The moment he entered the house, the atmosphere changed. The lights were too bright; the air, too heavy. His father’s voice came from the living room, sharp and impatient.

“Shaoyou. You took your time.”

Sheng Fang sat behind the wide glass coffee table, jacket off, a tumbler of whiskey half-finished beside a stack of reports. The faint scent of alcohol hung in the air, mixing with the expensive leather and smoke from a nearly extinguished cigar. His expression was already sour.

“I told you to be back directly after the dinner,” he said without looking up.

Shaoyou kept his tone level. “I did, the dinner just dragged on longer than expected.”

That finally drew Sheng Fang’s attention. His gaze was sharp, assessing. “longer?” he repeated, a slow edge entering his voice. “Then let’s hear it. What did you learn about X Holdings’ intentions or perhaps any company secrets?”

Shaoyou hesitated only for a moment—too long. “It wasn’t that sort of dinner,” he said carefully. “We talked about— other things.”

“Other things?” Sheng Fang’s chair scraped against the tile as he stood, the sound abrupt in the quiet room. “You mean you wasted an entire evening of my time and company resources talking about other things?”

“It wasn’t a waste,” Shaoyou said, still calm, though his pulse had quickened. “Director Hua seemed open to cooperation. Building a personal rapport can strengthen future—”

The glass hit the wall before he saw his father move. It shattered just beside his shoulder, scattering shards across the floor. Shaoyou flinched, the reflex involuntary, though his face remained impassive.

“Don’t talk to me about rapport,” Sheng Fang snarled. “Do you think this company runs on rapport? You were sent to learn something useful, not to play at small talk like a schoolboy.”

Shaoyou’s jaw tightened. “You told me to secure the partnership. I did. They agreed.”

“Because they see value in our research,” his father snapped. “Not because of you.” He pointed toward the door, voice cold and precise now. “Do you even realize how many years I’ve spent cleaning up your childish attempts at charm? Stop pretending kindness works in this world."

Shaoyou said nothing. Silence stretched between them, the tick of the clock too loud. Inside, something ached dully—not fear, not even anger, just that familiar, exhausted resignation.

Sheng Fang sank back into his chair, took another sip of whiskey, and waved a dismissive hand. “Go. If you can’t learn to think like a leader, at least stay out of my sight until you do.”

Shaoyou turned to leave. As he stepped over the scattered glass, one fragment caught the light, small and bright against the polished floor. He paused for half a heartbeat, then walked on.

Upstairs, the quiet was absolute. He closed his bedroom door, locked it, and leaned against it for a moment. The faint sound of his father’s voice downstairs—low, bitter—faded until only the hum of the city outside remained.

He unbuttoned his cuffs slowly, his hands steady despite the burn in his chest. His reflection in the mirror looked different from his usual composed façade, tired eyes and thin lines displayed the storm harvesting inside.

But beneath that storm, his thoughts tangled. He thought of the restaurant’s warmth, the low timbre of Hua Yong’s voice, the rare feeling of being seen without demand. The way he felt safe in Hua yong presence.

And then, inevitably, he thought of the sound of breaking glass.

He shut his eyes, drew a long breath, and straightened his collar. The mask slipped back into place with practiced ease.

Tomorrow, he would return to work. Tomorrow, the partnership with X Holdings would move forward. And tomorrow, as always, he would smile when expected.

Chapter Text

Rain veiled the city in sheets of silver, the lights of the towers blurring like a thousand half-kept secrets.
On the top floor of HS Group, the world smelled faintly of steel and ozone.

Hua Yong stood before the panoramic window, a thin tablet glowing in his hand. Rui Lan’s face stared back at him—smiling, immaculate, the kind of smile that never quite reached the eyes.

“Such a troublesome man,” Hua Yong muttered. “He destroys everything he touches and still has everyone convinced that he’s somehow a good person.”

Behind him, Shen Wenlang gave a low, amused sound. “You almost sound impressed.”

“I’m not,” Hua Yong replied, eyes narrowing. “I’m irritated. He’s circling too close to Sheng Fang Biotech. If he gets curious about Shaoyou—”

“—you’ll kill him?” Wenlang supplied smoothly, leaning back in his chair.

“Something like that.”

Across the room, Gao Tu poured tea, his movements precise, deliberate. The quiet chime of porcelain punctuated the conversation. When he set the cup down beside his husband, Wenlang caught his wrist, thumb brushing over the pulse there before releasing him. Possession disguised as habit.

“You said Rui Lan’s been nosing around the Biomedical Council?” Wenlang asked.

Hua Yong turned from the window, every line of him controlled. “He filed interest in the same patent cluster we just secured. It’s too deliberate to be coincidence. He wants leverage—over me, or over Sheng Fang Biotech. Either way, he’ll use chaos to get it.”

Gao Tu’s tone was soft but sure. “Then you’ll have to investigate before he creates that chaos.”

“Already started,” Hua Yong said. “But he’s careful. He uses front companies to hide and manipulates using charming smiles.”

“That’s what makes him entertaining,” Wenlang drawled. “You’ve missed this, haven’t you? A little rivalry, a little blood in the water.”

“I’d prefer peace for once.”

Wenlang arched a brow. “Since when?”

“Since now.”

The older man laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Peace, from you? Don’t lie, Yong. You’ve always liked a hunt. And now you’ve found yourself a prey that actually bites back.”

Hua Yong shot him a look. “I’m not discussing this.”

“Oh, you absolutely are.” Wenlang’s grin sharpened. “Tell me, how was it? Seeing him again—your precious Shaoyou.”

For the first time that evening, Hua Yong’s composure wavered. His fingers stilled against the tablet. “He’s… beautiful,” he said after a pause. “Calmer on the surface, colder maybe, but—”

“But?”

“But it’s him,” Hua Yong finished quietly. “Every small habit, every measured word. Even the way he breathes captivates me.”

Wenlang smirked. “lunatic”

Hua Yong didn’t answer. He didn’t need to; the look in his eyes said enough

"Careful,” Wenlang warned, though his tone was more teasing than serious. “You sound like a poet in love. It’s nauseating.”

“I seem to recall you reciting poetry once,” Hua Yong countered dryly. “To Gao Tu. In an elevator.”

Wenlang coughed. Gao Tu’s lips curved faintly as he lowered his gaze and a faint blush rose on his cheeks. “It was terrible poetry,” he murmured.

Hua Yong chuckled under his breath. The tension in the room eased for a moment—three people balanced on the edge between affection and power.

Then Wenlang leaned forward again, business returning to his voice. “So, what’s the plan? We dig into Rui Lan, see what his aim is with all this scheming, keep him off Shaoyou’s trail until you’ve got your claws in properly?”

“Essentially.”

“Efficient.” Wenlang’s smile returned. “And oddly romantic.”

Gao Tu rose, gathering the empty cups. “I’ll have the research division pull everything public on Rui Lan’s shell companies tonight.”

“Good,” Hua Yong said. “And any whisper that he’s targeting Sheng Fang Biotech or its executives, I want it first.”

Wenlang’s eyes gleamed ,Mocking. “Including a certain executive’s son.”

Hua Yong gave him a level look. “Especially him.”

Wenlang lifted his cup in a mock toast. “To foolish rivals and blinding affections.”

Hua Yong’s smile was thin but real. “And to keeping them both under control.”

Rain pressed harder against the glass, blurring the city beyond. Inside, the three of them moved like pieces on a board—each one aware that love and war often shared the same strategy.

---

The soft click of the door lingered in the quiet office long after Hua Yong was gone. The city outside bled into gold and steel through the wide glass windows, the hum of traffic muffled beneath the layered glass.

Wenlang sat motionless behind his desk for a moment, one arm resting along the chair’s back, eyes fixed on the city skyline as though still seeing his friend’s shadow there. A long breath escaped him, the kind that carried both affection and exasperation.

“Ten years,” he murmured, lips curving into a crooked smile. “And he’s still pining like a university boy.”

He rubbed at his temple. “Now he’s dragging me into it again.”

Across the room, Gao Tu was quietly gathering the scattered folders Hua Yong had left behind. He moved with habitual grace that was precise, unhurried. The faint scent of his sage scent drifted through the air, soft and clean.

“You let him drag you into everything,” Gao Tu said, tone light but amused.

Wenlang turned in his chair, one brow lifting. “Are you implying I’m a pushover, Secretary Gao?”

Gao Tu didn’t look up. “I’m implying you like pretending you’re not.”

That earned a low laugh, the kind that slipped out before he could stop it. “Careful,” Wenlang said, voice dropping to something warmer, “that tone sounds dangerously close to insubordination.”

“Then fire me,” Gao Tu replied without missing a beat. He set the last folder down and finally turned, a small, knowing smile ghosting across his lips.

Wenlang leaned back, watching him with a kind of soft indulgence that contradicted the man’s reputation in the business world. “Can’t,” he said. “You’re far too good at your job. And no one can make my tea like you do.”

He held out a hand, lazy but deliberate. “Come here.”

Gao Tu hesitated just long enough for Wenlang to smirk , then crossed the distance and let himself be pulled gently into his lap. Wenlang’s arm slipped easily around his waist, fingers finding the familiar line of his hip. The scent of iris and sage mixed between them.

“You’re warm, and you smell so good” Wenlang murmured into his shoulder.

"I smell the same as always.” Gao Tu replied dryly.

“Ah. So that's why you always smell so good.”

Gao Tu chuckled under his breath, suspicion threaded in his voice. " you flatter me, did you do something?”

Wenlang hummed, eyes half-closed. “ Nothing, just appreciating you. ”

For a while, they didn’t speak. The steady rhythm of the city lights pulsed faintly against the window; the clock ticked somewhere behind them. Wenlang’s hand traced absent circles against Gao Tu’s wrist ,not just possessive, but also the unconscious reassurance of touch.

“Today has been tiring,” Wenlang admitted at last, the words a soft exhale against Gao Tu’s collar and add smugly. “I believe I need recharging.”

Gao Tu tilted his head slightly, resting it against Wenlang’s. “Do you? How do you propose that we recharge you?”

A faint laugh escaped Wenlang, and before he could reply, Gao Tu leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his forehead, it was slow, grounding, barely there. But Wenlang’s hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched again.

Another kiss followed , more aggressive this time, impatient — a wordless promise of more to come.

Wenlang’s that hands rested on his waist tightened, his long, powerful fingers spanning the narrow curve, his thumbs meeting over Gao Tu’s navel. A low, appreciative sound echoed from Wenlang’s chest.

“Can I , Tutu?” Wenlang breathed against the shell of his ear, one hand sliding down to cup the obscene wetness soaking through the back of Gao Tu’s thin trousers. The fabric was transparent with his slick, a dark patch of pure want. Gao Tu could only nod, a broken sigh escaping him as Wenlang’s fingertips pressed firmly against his soaked rim through the cloth.

“Words, my sweet Omega. Use your words for me.”

“Yes… yes, Alpha. I w-want to”

That was all the permission Wenlang needed. With a deft, brutal tear, he ripped the flimsy barrier of clothing away. The cool office air hit Gao Tu’s exposed, dripping flesh, and he whimpered, pressing back against the hand that now explored him without hindrance. Wenlang’s fingers, thick and demanding,Slide over his slick-soaked cleft, tracing the puckered, desperate furl of his hole.

"So wet. You’re dripping for me already"

One broad finger pressed inside without warning, and Gao Tu’s back arched, a sharp cry tearing from his throat. The stretch was immediate, a delicious burn that made his vision blur. Wenlang worked the digit in to the knuckle, a low growl of satisfaction in his throat at the hot, clenching tightness. That’s it. Grip me just like that.

“More,” Gao Tu panted, his head falling back against Wenlang’s shoulder. “Please, ah W-wenlang.”

A second finger joined the first, stretching him wider, the sensation a lightning bolt of pleasure-pain that had his toes curling. Wenlang scissored them slowly, relentlessly, stretching the tender muscle, feeling the way Gao Tu’s body fought to accommodate him before yielding beautifully.

When a third finger pressed against his entrance, Gao Tu tensed for a second, a muffled sob catching in his throat. The stretch was immense, overwhelming. Wenlang stilled, nuzzling his neck.

“Shhh, my bunny. Take it for me. You can take it. Your greedy little hole is begging for it.”

The third finger sunk in, and Gao Tu’s world narrowed to the feeling of being filled, stretched, owned. Wenlang’s fingers pistoned in and out, a rough, claiming rhythm that had slick gushing out around his wrist with every thrust.

Wenlang withdrew his fingers, and Gao Tu cried out at the sudden emptiness. But it was only a prelude. The sharp rasp of a zipper filled the room. Wenlang manhandled him easily, lifting him by that perfect waist and positioning him over the thick, angry length of his cock. The broad, weeping head pressed against Gao Tu’s slick-sloppy entrance.

“Now you take all of me, Tutu,” Wenlang commanded, his voice gravel and desire.

He lowered Gao Tu down.

The stretch was unlike anything else. It was a filling, burning presence that stole the air from Gao Tu’s lungs. He could only moan, a continuous, high-pitched sound of overwhelm as he was impaled, inch by brutal inch, onto his Alpha’s cock. Wenlang’s grip on his waist was iron, controlling his descent, forcing him to take every last bit until his ass was flush against Wenlang’s thighs and he was so full he could feel the outline of him in his belly.

“Fuck, Gao Tu… look at you. You’re so full of me. So beautiful.”

Wenlang gave him no time to adjust. He began to move, lifting Gao Tu by his waist and slamming him back down onto his cock. The pace was punishing from the start, a hard, deep piston that stole reason and language. Gao Tu could only hold on, his own moans and cries a soundtrack to their fucking. The slap of skin on skin, the wet, slick sounds of penetration, Wenlang’s guttural grunts—it was a symphony of possession.

Wenlang’s obsession took over. He bent Gao Tu forward over the desk, papers scattering, and drove into him from behind, his new angle hitting depths that made Gao Tu see stars. The speed increased, a brutal, jackhammer rhythm that was all about claiming, about fucking his scent, his seed, his very being into the Omega. Gao Tu’s composure was a distant memory; he was a creature of pure sensation, begging, sobbing, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the polished wood.

“Who do you belong to?” Wenlang gritted out, his thrusts becoming erratic, animalistic.

“Y-you, Alpha, only you”

A deep, guttural groan was his answer. Wenlang’s thrusts lost all rhythm, becoming deep, savage lunges. Gao Tu felt the base of Wenlang’s cock begin to swell, the knot forming, stretching him even wider, wider than he thought possible. It was a blinding, overwhelming pressure. With one final, earth-shattering thrust, Wenlang seated it fully, locking them together. Gao Tu’s body clamped down in a vice-like, involuntary spasm, milking the Alpha as he was flooded with pulse after pulse of hot release. The feeling of being tied, of being completely filled and claimed, pushed Gao Tu over his own edge silently, his body seizing around the knot that held them fast.

They were locked together, breathing in ragged unison. Wenlang wrapped his arms around Gao Tu’s spent form, nuzzling into his neck, whispering praises against his sweat-damp skin. “My good bunny. My perfect Tutu. Taking my knot so fucking well.”

The knot held them firm, a tangible symbol of their bond. Wenlang shifted, just slightly, and a fresh wave of sensation, of overwhelming fullness, washed through them both. He groaned, his arms tightening possessively.

"Fuck… don’t move yet, bunny. Just let me feel you like this."

Sensation returned to Gao Tu in a slow, syrupy drip. First, the crushing, exquisite weight of Wenlang’s knot, a profound fullness that anchored him to the world. Then, the heat. Wenlang’s chest was a furnace against his back. The air was thick with the scent of sex, of alpha musk and omega slick, a perfume of pure possession.

A low, continuous groan vibrated through Wenlang’s chest and into Gao Tu’s spine.

"Fuck, Tutu. You’re still clenching around me. Your body just won’t let me go."
His voice was a ragged, satisfied rumble directly in Gao Tu’s ear.

Gao Tu tried to form a word, but all that escaped was a weak, breathy sigh. Any coherent thought was drowned out by the overwhelming reality of being so utterly filled, so completely claimed. He was pinned, speared, locked onto his Alpha’s cock in the most fundamental way possible.

Wenlang’s hands began to move again, the possessiveness in them a tangible force. One massive palm smoothed over the plane of Gao Tu’s stomach, pressing down gently. Gao Tu’s breath stuttered.

“Can you feel it, bunny?” Wenlang whispered, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath Gao Tu’s ear. “My cock so deep inside you? My knot keeping every drop of my seed right where it belongs? In your perfect, tight little body.”

A fresh trickle of slick escaped around the immense intrusion, a helpless, answering sob falling from Gao Tu’s lips. The pressure was immense, a constant, stretching presence that bordered on pain but was utterly euphoric.

Wenlang’s other hand found his waist again, those long fingers spanning the narrow curve effortlessly. He made a sound of pure, dark hunger.

He shifted his hips, the tiniest, most infinitesimal movement, and the world exploded behind Gao Tu’s eyelids. A white-hot wave of sensation radiated out from where they were joined, wringing a choked, guttural moan from him. It was too much. It was everything.

“Shhh, my sweet Omega,” Wenlang soothed, but his voice was edged with a feral pleasure.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing Gao Tu even more firmly into the desk, the wood cool against his heated cheek. Wenlang’s mouth found the mating mark on his neck, not biting, but suckling gently, a devastatingly tender contrast to the brutal fullness below.

“I’m going to keep you like this forever, Gao Tu,” he vowed, his words a hot, obsessive mantra against Gao Tu’s skin. “Tied to me. Filled by me. Every time you walk, you’ll feel the ache I left behind. Every time you sit in a meeting, you’ll remember the way my desk felt under your cheek. You’ll be dripping me for hours, a constant reminder of who you belong to.”

He punctuated his words with another minute, deliberate roll of his hips. The knot tugged at his oversensitive rim, and Gao Tu cried out, his body seizing in a weak, aftershock orgasm that had no release left to give, just pure, shocking pleasure.

"W-wenlang… Alpha…"

“That’s it,” Wenlang growled, his own control fraying at the edges at the feeling of Gao Tu’s internal muscles fluttering wildly around his swollen base. “Come for me again. Just from being my good, tied-up bunny. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

He continued his whispered litany, a stream of filthy, possessive praise.

Time lost all meaning. There was only the heat, the scent, the overwhelming stretch, and the low, obsessive timbre of Wenlang’s voice weaving a cage of desire around him. Gao Tu floated in it, subsumed by it, every atom of his being focused on the point where they were irrevocably joined.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the relentless pressure at his entrance began to lessen. The knot was subsiding, the rigid swell softening to a thick, manageable fullness. Wenlang let out a long, shuddering breath, his arms tightening like steel bands around Gao Tu’s torso as if he could physically prevent the separation.

"It’s going down,” he murmured, a note of raw regret in his voice. He pressed a open-mouthed kiss to Gao Tu’s shoulder.

The sensation of the knot finally slipping free was a shocking emptiness, a sudden, dizzying loss that left Gao Tu feeling hollowed out and vulnerable. A gush of warm release followed, a visceral proof of Wenlang’s claim spilling out of him and onto his own thighs.

Wenlang turned him in his arms, his gaze burning with a dark, satiated fire. He looked wrecked, his hair mussed, his eyes blazing with possession. He didn’t say a word. He simply lowered his head and captured Gao Tu’s mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. It was less about passion and more about reaffirmation, a silent vow spoken with lips and tongue.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes dropped down Gao Tu’s body, taking in the aftermath—the gloss of slick and spend on his inner thighs, the faint red marks from his grip on the delicate waist.

“Look at you,” he breathed, his voice thick with renewed desire. “Absolutely ruined.” His thumb brushed over Gao Tu’s bottom lip. “I’m not done with you yet, bunny."

---

The city stretched out beneath the glass walls of Rui Lan’s penthouse, a sea of lights gleaming like scattered stars. Somewhere far below, car horns hummed and laughter spilled from the late-night crowd. None of it reached him. The world was muted here, sealed behind tinted glass and silence.

He sat alone on a low leather couch, a half-empty glass of amber liquor balanced between his fingers. The ice had already melted, the drink warm now, but he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was fixed on the tablet resting on the coffee table before him . A page open to Sheng Fang Biotech’s most recent press release.

A photo accompanied it: Sheng Shaoyou, the company’s heir, standing beside his father at a gala. The lighting caught the pale line of his jaw, the calm curve of his smile —practiced, polite, perfect.
It was the same look Rui Lan had seen that night at the banquet. The same look that he so wanted to crush, to see how broken Shaoyou would look. Would he beg? Would he cry? Perhaps he might even scream.

He leaned back into the sofa, studying the image with lazy amusement.

He set the glass down on the table, the clink echoing softly through the room. “A man who hides that much,” he said quietly, “must have something worth breaking.”

The city lights glinted across his reflection in the glass , all cold edges and calm lines. He smiled, but it never reached his eyes.

He swiped through the document absently, the screen glowing pale in the dark. Sheng Fang Biotech. For years, they’d been stable, reputable, even admirable — producing ABO pheromone stabilizers and advanced gene therapies. Then came their newest partnership: X Holdings.
Rui Lan’s mouth twitched. He didn’t need to read the rest to know who was behind that.

“Hua Yong,” he said softly, tasting the name like a mild irritation. “Always where he shouldn't be. When will he learn to stay out of my way.”

He reached forward, tapping the edge of the tablet until the photo filled the screen again. Shaoyou’s expression remained still, calm, untouchable.

“Let’s see what it takes,” Rui Lan murmured, “to make that calm face fall apart.”

The phone beside him buzzed once, shattering the silence. He didn’t flinch — just picked it up and pressed it to his ear. “Chen,” he greeted smoothly, voice as even as ever. “You’re late.”

“Apologies, sir,” came the reply, static faint in the background. “The files you requested , on Sheng Fang Biotech , they’re ready.”

“Good,” Rui Lan said, stretching his legs out. “Send them through. And, Chen”

A pause. “Yes, sir?”

“Go deeper,” he said, voice dropping. “Their structure, their board, the family behind it. Every detail. I want to know what holds that empire up — and what could make it fall.”

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then: “Understood. Though… there’s one thing you might find interesting.”

Rui Lan’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Go on.”

“Preliminary checks show a secondary account tied to the Sheng name,” Chen continued. “Off the books. It seems their CEO, Sheng Fang, supports another son , illegitimate. Sheng Shaoqing.”

For the first time all evening, Rui Lan’s composure shifted. Just barely.
“…illegitimate son?”

“Yes, sir. Records suggest a history of gambling debt, small-scale embezzlement, nothing major yet , but he seems to hold a deep hatred towards Sheng shaoyou. Resentful, from what we can tell.”

Rui Lan’s eyes sharpened, interest blooming like a dark flower. “Resentful,” he repeated, the word almost a purr. “Now that is interesting.”

He rose from the sofa, pacing slowly toward the window. The glass stretched from floor to ceiling, reflecting his silhouette against the city’s glow. He looked like a shadow among shadows.

“Find out where he is,” Rui Lan said finally. “I want every detail ; habits, vices, who he owes. "

“Yes, sir. And… if I may—”
Chen hesitated. “Is this about Hua Yong’s move?”

Rui Lan’s lips curved faintly. “No,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “This isn’t about Hua Yong. Not yet.”

A beat. “Then what—?”

“This is about watching something beautiful crumble,” Rui Lan murmured, turning back toward the photograph on the tablet. “And finding out just how much he can endure before he breaks.”

He ended the call without waiting for a reply. The penthouse fell silent again, the faint hum of the city the only sound left.

Rui Lan placed the phone on the table, then lifted the glass once more. The liquor caught the light, amber burning like gold. He raised it slightly toward the city, as though toasting an invisible figure far away.

“To you, Sheng Shaoyou,” he whispered.

He drank, slow and unhurried, eyes never leaving the glowing skyline. Behind that stillness, the air felt charged — like the moment before a storm.

---

The morning light was gray.

It slipped through the half-drawn curtains in thin, colorless ribbons, cutting across the floor and the edge of the bed where Shaoyou sat, still, eyes open but unfocused. The air smelled faintly of rain and disinfectant, the same scent that filled every corner of the house — inescapable.

He hadn’t slept. Not really. The night had passed in fragments: the echo of glass shattering, his father’s voice, the steady ticking of the clock. Each sound had sunk into him like sediment, leaving him heavier by the hour.

All he could hear was the shattering of the glass over and over again. Bang. Bang. Bang. It wouldn't stop.

The alarm on his phone pulsed softly on the nightstand. 6:00 a.m.
He turned it off without looking.

For a long moment, he just sat there. His body ached with the dull stiffness that came from stillness, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. The thought of standing, of dressing, of pretending again—it pressed against him like a mountain.

But habit was stronger than thought. Habit was what kept him alive.

He rose.

The bathroom mirror greeted him with the same impassive reflection as always—neat hair, pale skin, faint shadows beneath his eyes that no amount of sleep ever erased. The face of a man who had learned long ago how to disappear behind poise.
He reached for the tap, turned it, and water hissed to life. Steam gathered on the glass, softening his edges.

He stepped beneath the stream, and the world went quiet.

The water hit his shoulders with dull heat, coursing down in steady, rhythmic lines. It should have felt grounding. It didn’t. He stood there until his skin prickled, until the sound of it blurred into static. He let it run down his face, his neck, over the faint red mark near his collarbone where a shard of glass had grazed him the night before.

The sting was faint now. He wished it hurt more.

He thought of pain, the brief release of relief it would provide and with it came a strong wave of shame.

He was Sheng Shaoyou. An s-class alpha. Top of the food chain. Yet here he was contemplating hurting himself. Tears swelled in his eyes, Shaoyou could do nothing to stop their fall or anything to stop his hands as they moved. Unlocking the draw where he knew the razor blades were stored.

He braced a hand against the tiled wall, fingers splayed, eyes closed. His other hand gripping the blade. In the quiet, his father’s voice drifted back—not words, just tone. Disappointment given shape. Expectation heavy as stone.

It weight him down. The water from the shower head crashed down upon him, trying to wash away his sorrows. The blade made contact with the inside of his thigh.

Shaoyou stopped trying to defend himself years ago. Every protest only proved the weakness his father accused him of.
So he’d learned to nod. To bow his head.
To let the shards fall where they may.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

The steam thickened, fogging the glass shower doors until his reflection vanished entirely. For a brief, fragile second, he found comfort in that — not seeing himself.

Blood riveted down his leg. Ten perfectly straight lines. Symmetrical to each other graced his skin. The sight of them, all neat and even provoked an uncontrollable sense of despair.

The blade returned again, more vicious, more hateful. It caught skin, tore and ripped, no longer graceful cuts but ragged and violent slashes. No longer straight and parallel, but short and long, up and down.

By the time the reality of what he had just done crashed down upon him, his thigh had already been converted into a battlefield of blood and lacerations.

Mortification and humiliation filled him. Shaoyou had never touched a blade with the intent of harm before. Never considered this route. Yet despite all the guilt, he found himself experiencing an immense feeling of freedom and comfort.

The power of control he had never knew he needed, in his hands, for the first time in his life felt euphoric. His fathers voice had faded, the haunting sound of glass was silence. And for once he felt peace.

He stayed like that for a long time. Allowing the water to clean and wash away the blood. Long enough that the hot water began to cool.

Shaoyou knew he would need to bandage and dress the wounds.He knew if his father ever found out he most likely would not make it out of the confrontation alive.

When he emerged, the mirror had cleared just enough for his reflection to take shape again. He looked at it without expression — droplets of water tracing paths down his throat, his hair clinging in damp strands. He reached for a towel, dried his face, and stared a moment longer.

The skin beneath his eyes was pale and thin, almost translucent.His lips were colorless.

For a fleeting instant, he wondered if anyone would notice if he simply didn’t come in today. If he vanished.
But he knew the answer before the thought even settled. The world would keep moving, Sheng Fang Biotech would keep producing, and his father would find another son to stand in his place — someone more efficient, more obedient, less human.

He pressed his palms flat against the counter, leaning forward slightly.

He whispered something to it — a soundless exhale, not even a word — then straightened.

By the time he dressed, cleaned and plastered the cuts, the mask had returned. Cufflinks aligned. Tie symmetrical. Posture exact. His face, smooth and composed, showed no trace of the storm underneath.
He caught his own scent faintly in the air — orange and rum, diluted by soap and the metallic taste of blood. It lingered like a ghost, the only thing that still felt like him.

He glanced once at the clock.

6:45 a.m.

Right on time.

He picked up his briefcase, stepped into the hall, and left the room as if he’d never been there.