Xu Tao packed like a man pretending to leave.
The suitcase lay open on the bed, perfectly aligned with the mattress, expensive and underused. One side was already neat—pressed shirts rolled with military precision, a suit jacket folded just so. The other side remained conspicuously empty, as if waiting for permission.
He stood over it, phone in hand.
Another photo slid into view.
Yinlin, caught mid-step outside a bakery. Hair loose today. No makeup. She looked tired. She also looked… softer than she ever did around him. In one hand, she held Xiao Mei's mitten; in the other, a paper bag stamped with a smiling cartoon croissant.
Xu Tao zoomed in without thinking.
"Mm," he murmured. "She bought the red bean one."
He swiped.
Xiao Mei on a swing. Yinlin standing just behind her, one hand lightly bracing the chain. The angle was distant, discreet—Zhengqiang was very good at his job. Too good, perhaps.
Xu Tao scrolled like it was a morning ritual. Coffee. News. Yinlin.
Daily entertainment, he thought without irony.
Another image: Yinlin crouched to fix Xiao Mei's scarf, brows furrowed, lips pressed thin in concentration. The sight tugged at something low and insistent in his chest.
He locked the screen abruptly and tossed the phone onto the bed.
This was getting ridiculous.
A sharp buzz broke the quiet.
Hong Kong.
He sighed and answered.
"You're still packing?" Chen Yuren's voice cut through the room, dry and unimpressed. "Please tell me you're at least pretending to move faster."
"I am moving," Xu Tao said calmly. "Emotionally."
"That explains nothing."
Xu Tao returned to the suitcase, lifted a cufflink case, set it down again. "The meeting can survive one more day."
"The board cannot." Chen paused. "You were supposed to be on the flight tonight."
"And miss the river view?" Tao glanced toward the window, where Shanghai glittered, unapologetic. "Cruel of you to ask."
"You like Shanghai too much," Chen said. "It's making you sentimental."
"I've always been sentimental."
"No," Chen corrected. "You've always been indulgent. There's a difference."
Xu Tao smiled faintly. "Is this about the hotel?"
"This is about you." Chen lowered his voice. "You've been… distracted."
Tao thought of Yinlin's frown. Of the way she looked at him like she was always measuring the exit. "I'm perfectly focused."
"You delayed three approvals. You rescheduled two dinners. And you've been staying in Shanghai longer than necessary."
"I like the food."
"Don't insult me." A beat. "You're attached."
Xu Tao didn't answer.
Chen exhaled. "Look, whatever this is—woman, problem, midlife crisis—put it down for a week. Hong Kong needs you present. Not lurking."
"Lurking is such an ugly word."
"Accurate, though."
The line went dead.
Xu Tao stood still, phone heavy in his hand.
A week.
He didn't like the way that sounded. A week was enough time for habits to break. For distance to calcify. For Yinlin to slip back into her carefully constructed life where he was unnecessary.
He reopened the phone.
Scrolled again.
Another image loaded: Yinlin at home, window lit warm against the dark. Xiao Mei asleep on the couch, a cartoon paused mid-frame. Yinlin sat beside her, one arm tucked protectively around the small body, the other holding a book she wasn't reading.
Xu Tao felt it then—a tight, restless pressure behind his ribs.
"You leave her alone," he muttered to the empty room. "And she forgets you exist."
He hated that.
He hated even more that it was true.
He poured himself a drink, paced once, then twice.
He wasn't reckless. He reminded himself of that often. Everything he did was calculated. Even indulgence had structure.
He picked up the phone again, scrolling to Zhengqiang's contact.
Xu Tao: How's tonight's schedule?
The reply came almost instantly.
Zhengqiang: Miss Yinlin just finished dinner. Her daughter is asleep. No plans.
Efficient. Discreet. Loyal.
Xu Tao typed, paused, then deleted a reply.
He didn't need more information. He needed an excuse.
Xintiandi would do. Neutral ground. Upscale enough to justify security. Private enough to control variables. A catering job made sense—temporary, discreet, well-paid. Something Yinlin wouldn't immediately refuse.
He smiled to himself.
"You're predictable," he said fondly, like she could hear him.
He dialed.
The line rang.
Once. Twice.
She picked up.
"Hello?"
Her voice was cautious already. Good. That meant she still cared.
"Yinlin," he said. "Are you free tonight?"
A pause. "It's late."
"I know. This won't take long." He leaned back against the counter. "There's a discreet VVIP event at Xintiandi. Catering support. One night only."
"I don't do last-minute calls."
"I pay well."
She snorted softly. "That's not persuasive."
"It should be. You're practical."
Another pause. He imagined her frowning.
"I don't drink," she said.
"You won't have to."
A lie. But a small one. Contained.
"And you won't be there?"
"Oh, I'll be there," he said lightly. "But not in your way."
Silence stretched.
He waited. He was good at that.
"Send me the details," she said finally.
He smiled.
After the call, Xu Tao returned to the suitcase.
He placed one more shirt inside. Closed the zipper halfway. Stopped.
This wasn't about sex, he told himself. Not entirely. It was about presence. About reminding her that he existed beyond coincidence and convenience.
A memory, he thought. Something warm. Something confusing.
Something that would stay with her while he was gone.
He picked up the phone once more, scrolling back to her photos.
"Just a week," he murmured. "Behave yourself."
The city lights flickered outside, indifferent and alive.
Xu Tao snapped the suitcase shut.
Not yet.