Shu Yao sat quietly in his office, the faint tapping of rain against the glass filling the silence. His pen moved, but his mind didn't follow. Every word, every line blurred together like a faded echo of someone else's life.
The door creaked open.
A young employee stepped in, lowering his head respectfully. "Mr,Shu… the boss has summoned you."
Shu Yao paused, his fingers tightening around the pen. He only nodded — no words, just that quiet movement of obedience.
He rose from his chair, every step deliberate, heavy. The world felt too bright, too sharp. His head throbbed dully, but he didn't care.
Inside the elevator, his reflection stared back at him in the mirrored wall — pale skin, tired eyes, collar slightly askew. He looked like a man hollowed out from the inside.
The doors slid open with a soft chime.
He stepped out.
The top floor felt colder.
The corridor stretched endlessly, lined with muted lights. At the end — Niklas's office.
Shu Yao stopped before the door, hesitating. His hand hovered near the handle as a thought struck like lightning:
What if Bai Qi is already inside?
His heart skipped.
Then Niklas's calm voice came from beyond the door. "Come in."
Shu Yao exhaled softly and pushed the door open.
Niklas sat behind a wide mahogany desk, his posture perfectly straight, his expression as unreadable as glass. A single file lay on the desk, angled deliberately toward Shu Yao.
"You've denied my offer twice," Niklas began, his tone clipped but not unkind.
Shu Yao flinched slightly. He remembered now — the proposal to be part of Niklas's personal brand project, one he'd rejected, politely but firmly, both times.
Before Shu Yao could form an apology, Niklas continued, his voice smoother.
"It's fine if you're not ready," he said. "But I've already rewarded you."
Shu Yao's brows furrowed faintly. "Rewarded…?"
Niklas slid the file forward across the glass.
"Don't take it the wrong way," he said quietly. "I know my son's fiancée has passed away. I also know she was your sister."
Shu Yao's throat tightened. His heart lurched painfully, but he stayed still — head bowed, expression neutral.
Niklas clasped his hands together, leaning slightly forward. "I didn't plan this as a consolation. You earned it. The day you were absent… my son insisted you deserved a day off."
Shu Yao's gaze fell to the carpet — a deep German red that looked too much like blood when the light hit it wrong.
Niklas's tone softened, almost imperceptibly.
"From now on, you will serve as my son's personal assistant."
The words froze Shu Yao in place.
His gaze lifted involuntarily to the file.
Niklas leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly.
"Not today," he said, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "But someday, Shu Yao… celebrate what you've earned."
He reached for another document, signaling the conversation's end. "I'll be leaving tomorrow for a business trip abroad. Until I return, you'll work directly under Bai Qi."
Shu Yao's lips parted, then pressed thin. "Yes, sir," he murmured. His voice was calm — too calm.
He gathered the file against his chest, bowed slightly, and turned toward the door.
But before his hand even touched the handle—
He bumped into someone's chest.
The faint scent of cologne.
The firmness of the frame he knew all too well.
His breath caught.
Bai Qi.
Shu Yao froze where he stood, his heart ricocheting painfully inside his ribs. He wanted to speak — anything, even a quiet sorry — but Bai Qi moved past him without a word, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
Cold. Distant. As if Shu Yao were nothing but air.
Shu Yao's lips trembled, the words dying before they could form.
He lowered his head, clutching the file tighter to his chest.
Without another glance, he turned and left the office, the door closing softly behind him
a sound quieter than heartbreak,
but heavier than silence.
The door clicked shut, muffling the sound of footsteps fading down the hall.
Inside, Bai Qi stood still.
The faint scent of rain and paper still lingered — the trace Shu Yao just left behind, soft, restrained, yet impossible to ignore.
Niklas didn't look up. "You saw him."
And avoid him but why.
Bai Qi's jaw tightened. "I did."
Niklas turned a page, his voice deceptively casual. "He'll be working under you now. You don't have to like it, but you'll need to tolerate it."
Silence.
Bai Qi's hands slid into his pockets. "You think I asked for this?"
Niklas's gaze lifted then, sharp and unreadable. "No. I don't think so."
For a moment, something flickered behind Bai Qi's eyes — guilt, memory, maybe both. Then it vanished, leaving only the practiced indifference of a man who'd learned how to stay untouchable.
"I'll handle it," he said finally, his tone clipped.
Niklas rose from his chair, his movements measured, deliberate — the kind that carried both authority and exhaustion.
"Just so you know, Bai Qi," he said, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, "I'm going abroad for business. In my absence, don't make a mess of things."
Bai Qi didn't turn.
He stood by the tall glass window, city lights bleeding across his reflection — a blurred echo of the man he once was. Hands buried in his pockets, voice low and steady, he murmured,
"I'll handle everything."
Niklas's eyes lingered on his son for a brief, silent beat — then a knock rapped softly at the door.
"Come in," he said.
Charles stepped inside, holding a dark coat draped neatly over one arm. He approached, careful and quiet, placing the coat over Niklas's broad shoulders with practiced precision.
Niklas fastened the collar, the faint scent of cedar and cold air rising between them. He looked toward Bai Qi again.
"You're a man now," he said, his tone a blend of pride and warning. "I know what just happened. But while I'm gone, don't let your guard down."
Bai Qi's reply came sharp and simple.
"I won't."
"Perfect," Niklas said with a faint, approving nod.
Then he turned and left — the door closing behind him with a sound that seemed to swallow the room whole. His assistant's footsteps faded down the marble hall until only silence remained.
Bai Qi stayed where he was.
The world outside was a haze of rain and headlights, a thousand moving ghosts reflected in the glass.
His hand lifted, slow and uncertain, to his wrist — where a thin silver band rested, cold against his skin. Beside it, another band — Qing Yue's, like a promise he could never keep.
He brought it to his lips, a breath trembling against metal.
"Why didn't you tell me…"
His voice cracked, soft and bitter, swallowed by the empty air.
"When you left the house that night?"
The rain answered in silence, streaking down the window like tears he refused to shed.
The black car slid away from the building, its taillights bleeding red into the drizzle. From the window above, Bai Qi watched it disappear, his reflection wavering on the rain-streaked glass.
His father sat inside, beside Charles, already placing his briefcase. The sight should have calmed him. It didn't.
When the car turned the corner and vanished completely, Bai Qi exhaled — slow, trembling — and whispered to the empty room,
"Now, now…"
But the voice that answered in the echo wasn't his.
It was lower, colder, like something that had been hiding under his skin all along.
"Finally."
He turned from the window and crossed the room with deliberate grace. Every step sounded heavier than it should, as if the ground itself were reluctant to hold him.
The chair behind the mahogany desk — his father's chair — waited like a throne. Bai Qi sat, fingers grazing the polished edge, and the faintest smile curved his lips. It wasn't really a smile; not a smirk either. It was the signature of a man beginning to fracture.
He pushed his wolfcut hair back from his forehead, the movement sharp, almost theatrical.
"I'll make you regret every last breath you're taking," he murmured.
The sound of it slithered through the room like smoke.
"I'll make you forget who Bai Qi ever was."
His laugh followed — a strange, hollow sound that carried no joy. It scraped against the silence, raw and unrecognizable, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.
"Shu Yao…" he whispered, his gaze darkening.
"You'll regret everything."
He leaned back in the chair, eyes half-lidded, the fluorescent light flickering across his expression like lightning over a storm sea.
Down below, in another world of the same building, Shu Yao felt something shift.
He was sitting at his desk, the hum of the rain pressing faintly against the windowpane. His hand hovered over a glass of water — trembling slightly — before he brought it to his lips. The taste was clean but bitter.
Something inside his chest ached, a pulse of unease.
Then the door burst open.
The sound cracked through the room like thunder, and Shu Yao jolted. The glass clattered softly against the desk, water spilling onto a pile of unfinished reports.
He looked up — and froze.
Bai Qi stood in the doorway, a silhouette carved from rage and shadow. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes — his eyes were burning.
"Bai Qi…" Shu Yao breathed, barely audible.
"Silence."
The word hit like a strike. Shu Yao flinched so hard his knuckles went white against the desk's edge.
Bai Qi stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the sound of his shoes cutting through the hush between them. His voice was low but seething.
"Scared?"
The question was almost tender — except it wasn't. The fury beneath it burned like a wire about to snap.
Shu Yao's lips parted, but his voice failed him. His eyes glimmered faintly — not tears yet, just the threat of them.
"From now on," Bai Qi said, each word measured, "you won't speak my name."
Shu Yao blinked, his throat tightening. "Bai—"
"Don't."
The sound tore through the air, deeper, harsher than Shu Yao had ever heard. His heart tripped painfully in his chest.
"You will not speak my name," Bai Qi repeated, his tone lowering to a dangerous whisper. "from now on You'll call me sir. Nothing else."
Shu Yao's mouth trembled, the word catching between apology and disbelief.
"I… I understand, sir."
"Good."
Bai Qi's gaze lingered on him, heavy, relentless. The air between them tightened — like a thread drawn too far.
"From now on," Bai Qi continued, "you'll endure every order I give. Every hour, every task. You'll bear it all, just like you do quietly."
Shu Yao lowered his head, the ache in his chest almost unbearable. "Yes, sir."
"You won't talk to anyone," Bai Qi went on, voice steady but trembling underneath with something that wasn't quite anger — something darker. "You won't seek help. You won't look for sympathy. Because You don't deserve any."
The words sliced clean through him. Shu Yao's hands tightened against his desk, and his breath came shallow.
Tears threatened. He tried to hold them back. He always did.
Bai Qi stepped closer, close enough for Shu Yao to feel the heat of his presence — cold fury wrapped in human form.
He tilted Shu Yao's chin up with hand, forcing their gazes to meet. The pressure was firm, cruel in its precision.
"You're not my assistant," Bai Qi said softly. "You're just the mess I have to clean up."
For a moment, the silence hung like smoke. Then Bai Qi drew back, eyes unreadable once again.
"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath. "Coward."
And just like that, he turned, his coat flaring behind him as he stormed out — leaving the door wide open and the air suffocating in his wake.
Shu Yao stood frozen.
Then, slowly, his hand slipped from the edge of the desk. He sank into his chair, the sound of the rain filling the hollow left behind.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice cracking.
"Bai Qi… it was all my fault."
But Bai Qi wasn't there to hear him.
The silence answered instead — sharp, merciless, and infinite.