The sky was still pale when Gu Ze Yan stirred awake. The quiet hum of the heating system blended with the soft rustle of wind against the wide windows of his mansion. He turned on his side, instinctively reaching for the empty space beside him.
Of course, she wasn't there.
She never slept in the master bedroom.
Ze Yan sat up, slipped into his robe, and padded down the hallway. His steps, usually firm and heavy with purpose, felt cautious now, as though the wrong sound might shatter the fragile air holding his world together.
When he reached the study, the door stood ajar, light spilling faintly across the polished floor.
Inside, Lin Qing Yun was curled on the leather sofa, a book resting against her chest, her long lashes casting delicate shadows across her cheeks. Her breathing was steady but light, like someone who never allowed herself to fall into true slumber.
Ze Yan paused at the doorway, his chest tightening.
Even asleep, she seemed distant.
He moved quietly, draping a blanket over her. His fingers lingered a moment on the edge, brushing against her hair. She didn't stir.
Only then did he retreat, forcing himself toward the shower.
When he returned twenty minutes later, towel still around his neck, she was awake. Sitting upright, the blanket folded neatly at her side, the book already open on her lap.
Her eyes lifted when she sensed him, calm, unreadable.
"Good morning," she said softly, her voice polite.
He swallowed the ache in his throat. "Good morning."
---
Breakfast
The dining hall felt too vast for two people, yet Ze Yan insisted on bringing breakfast himself. He set the tray between them: delicate porridge, pickled vegetables, a pot of warm tea he'd brewed with his own hands.
She ate little. A few spoonfuls, a sip of tea.
He watched her every movement, worry tightening his chest.
"Is it not to your taste?" he asked carefully, afraid of the answer.
Her head shook slightly. "It's fine."
But her eyes—distant, tired, as though the act of eating itself was another obligation—made his heart ache.
He didn't press. He never pressed.
Instead, he reached across, refilling her cup even though she hadn't asked.
---
At the Office
Later that morning, he forced himself to leave for Luminar. The black luxury car carried him to the city, chauffeur silent at the wheel.
In his office, his staff reported updates, numbers, proposals. He heard every word, yet absorbed none. His pen tapped against the desk, restless.
Chen Rui knocked once before barging in, a grin on his face as usual. "Boss, why do you look like you're about to attend your own funeral?"
Ze Yan lifted his eyes, sharp enough to cut.
The grin faltered. Chen Rui froze, then sighed, shoulders drooping.
"…It's about Miss Lin, isn't it?"
Silence.
Chen Rui shifted awkwardly, then softened. "I've never seen you like this. You're scared she'll disappear again."
The words hit too close. Ze Yan's fingers tightened around the pen until it snapped.
---
Afternoon at the Mansion
He returned early, unable to stay away.
When he entered the garden, he found her seated in the tea pavilion, a book balanced delicately in her hands. Plum blossoms drifted around her like pale snow, petals scattering across the table.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, watching her.
She seemed carved from serenity, untouchable.
He moved closer, brushing fallen petals from her book. His fingers lingered near hers, but she didn't pull away.
"Are you comfortable here?" he asked gently.
Her gaze lifted, steady. "It's quiet. I like the quiet."
Something loosened in his chest, a small thread of relief.
---
A Flicker of Connection
He sat with her, speaking softly about Luminar—about a new project, about Shen Qiao's efficiency, about Chen Rui's antics.
She didn't respond. Her eyes stayed on the page.
But later, just as he thought she hadn't heard, she asked quietly: "What kind of project?"
The simple question stole his breath.
She had been listening.
A smile curved his lips, unbidden, fragile with hope.
---
Nightfall
The study lamp cast a warm glow across her features. She sat with her book, calm, composed, while he sat opposite, unable to look away.
The silence stretched.
Finally, he spoke, voice low, almost trembling.
"Sometimes I wake in the night, afraid you'll be gone again. Afraid I'll open my eyes and this house will be empty."
Her eyes lifted slowly to his. No anger, no mockery—only calm, like still water.
Her lips parted, soft words slipping into the quiet.
"If one day you can't find me, don't be surprised, Mr. Gu. I never promised to stay."
The world tilted.
Those words were knives, pressed gently but mercilessly against his chest.
His breath stilled, but he forced himself not to plead, not to grab her and lock her away. Instead, he reached for her hand, gripping it as though it was the last thread holding him to the world.
"Even so," he whispered, voice raw, "I'll keep searching. Even if it takes another lifetime."
Her hand didn't move. She didn't pull away. But she didn't return his grip either.
---
The Long Night
Hours later, she drifted to sleep on the sofa, book slipping from her hand.
Ze Yan remained awake, seated beside her.
He studied every curve of her face, every shadow beneath her eyes. His thumb brushed lightly against her knuckles, afraid to let go even in her sleep.
This time, he vowed silently, I won't lose her. No matter what it takes.
The house was silent but for the faint ripple of water in the koi pond outside. And in that silence, Gu Ze Yan held onto her hand as though holding onto his very life.