As night fell, H. City shimmered beneath a veil of stars. Skyscrapers pierced the sky, their tips swallowed by darkness, windows glowing with ambition and sleepless secrets. Red and white lights streamed through the streets—some heading home, others just beginning their night.
High above the restless city—on the top floor of the G.L. Holdings skyscraper—the Chairman's office stood brightly lit, untouched by the night and far from the noise below.
Chairman Wang stood by the towering glass window, the hem of his charcoal suit grazing the polished marble floor as he looked down on the city—half of it owned by G.L. Holdings.
Hands clasped behind him, his reflection showed more than age: it held legacy, pride, and unshakable authority.
A soft knock broke the silence. Wang Zi Rui stepped inside, elegant in a sharp black suit.
"Adjusting well on your first day as vice president?" Chairman Wang asked, his back still turned gazing out the window.
"It's fine," Zi Rui answered, his voice low and controlled. For a fleeting second, warmth and pride stirred in Chairman Wang's eyes.
Then, slowly, he turned to face him—his expression composed and commanding, the weight of power etched into every line of his face.
"One year," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. "You'll be trained to become the next president of GL Holdings. Any objections?"
Wang Zi Rui's gaze wavered slightly under the weight of the command. He had always known he would inherit the company—his path laid out since the day he was born. But he hadn't expected it to come this soon.
A brief silence stretched between them before he spoke.
"No, Chairman."
But not everything followed order and legacy.
Some things—like guilt or obsession—bloomed in the quiet, far from the glass towers of power.
On the other side of the globe, Everbloom had just wrapped up the second night of their concert in Country J.
Back in her hotel room, Zheng Mengyao lay curled up in bed, mindlessly scrolling through trending posts—until one made her pause.
It was Si Haoran's new drama poster. He looked striking in a crisp military uniform, the backdrop evoking the turbulent Republic era—an age of fractured power and rising revolution.
As she stared at his face, her thoughts quietly drifted back to the night before they left Country C.
The low hum of music wove through the air, threading between hushed conversations and the occasional clink of glass. She and Si Haoran sat side by side at the bar counter, the soft lighting casting a muted glow over their quiet silhouettes.
There was tension in the air as both sat in silence, searching for the right words to say.
"Brother Haoran—"
"Mengyao—"
They spoke at the same time.
Their breath caught as their eyes met.
Si Haoran's gaze drifted—to the quiet corners, the untouched glass of water—before returning to hers.
"Mengyao…" he said again, softer this time, as though afraid of waking something between them.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you… I don't know what I was thinking. You're like a little sister to me—"
"I apologize too. I was probably too drunk… and I crossed a line."
She paused, her gaze lowering as memories of Song Meiqi—and the years of friendship they had shared—weighed heavily on her.
"Let's keep it between us, Brother Haoran," she said, her tone calm and resolute—though something flickered in her eyes, too fast to catch.
Si Haoran gave a faint smile and nodded. They both chuckled—relieved, almost playful—as the tension began to fade.
Zheng Mengyao stared at the white ceiling as she lay in bed, trying to bury the memories that played on repeat in her mind.
There was something stirring in her chest—familiar, unwanted, and growing harder to ignore.
She told herself it was nothing. Just a moment of weakness. A mistake blurred by alcohol and guilt.
But deep down, she knew.
She liked Haoran—more than she should.
And no matter how many times she tried to deny it, the truth was already there, quietly blooming in the silence.
In the room next to Zheng Mengyao's, Song Meiqi lay in bed.
A constant ping echoed in the quiet room.
She tried to ignore it, but the sound kept coming—persistent, insistent.
Finally, she reached for her phone and unlocked the screen.
There, waiting in her chatbox, were the messages—haunting, cold, and vile.
"Hey… I showered you with gifts and supported you, but you actually cheated?"
"How could you do this to me? I was here from the very start."
Each line was worse than the last.
"You whore. How could you sleep with someone else?"
"Are you ignoring me, bitch?!"
Song Meiqi stared at the messages—from the same anonymous sender as two days ago.
As an idol, there were always fans who grew too obsessed—some going as far as digging up her contact information or even finding out where she lived.
But this…
This was different.
"Ah… if you keep ignoring me—I'll get angry."
Another message popped up.
"Bitch! Do you think I can't do anything to you just because you're not in Country C?"
This one was colder, more threatening—sending a chill down her spine.
Then came a loud crack of thunder, shaking the windows.
She jolted in her bed, heart racing, breath catching.
It's just thunder, she told herself. Just thunder. No one can hurt me here.
But then—
A knock.
Sharp. Sudden.
Someone was at her door.
The sound echoed through the silence, and her heart pounded so loudly it nearly drowned it out.