Han Su stood outside Ji Yanluo's office, smoothing his collar like he was about to walk into a battlefield — except his only weapon was sarcasm and his opponent had zero expression.
He knocked once, then let himself in without waiting for a reply. "Good morning, Boss."
Ji Yanluo glanced up from a stack of documents. "You're late."
"Late to what? A heart-to-heart?" Han Su closed the door behind him, striding in like he owned the place. "I figured I'd give you some space. You looked like a man who needed time to reflect… on veils and violins."
Ji Yanluo's pen paused mid-stroke. "Is there a point to this visit?"
"Oh, there's a *crescendo* coming," Han Su said, taking the seat opposite his boss. "A musical one, in fact. Shall I hum the theme from 'Unexpected Feelings: The CEO Edition'?"
Ji Yanluo leaned back slightly, not amused, but not surprised either.
Han Su folded his arms. "Let's talk about last night. Specifically, the moment when you were staring at Miss Bai like she'd personally rewritten your entire playlist."
"She played well," Ji Yanluo replied evenly.
"Uh-huh. And the moon's just a rock." Han Su raised a brow. "She didn't just play well. You looked like you were *tuned* to her frequency. Like your icy little emotional piano just hit a warm key for the first time."
"I am not an instrument."
"You say that, but I swear I heard your heartbeat do a drumroll when she looked at you."
Ji Yanluo's expression didn't waver. "Your imagination is excessive today."
Han Su grinned. "I call it creative realism. You're the metronome of Lingfeng Media, and last night? You skipped a beat."
Ji Yanluo flipped a page in the file. "You came in here for this?"
"Oh no, I came in here to *check* on you. You've been unusually silent — even for you. You're either plotting a company acquisition or a confession letter."
"No such letter exists."
Han Su tapped his chin. "Should I draft one? Something like, 'Dear Miss Bai, you struck a chord I didn't know existed. Yours in rhythm, Ji Yanluo.'"
"Leave."
"I would, but this symphony of denial is too good to walk out on." Han Su smirked, standing slowly. "You know what your problem is, Boss?"
"I doubt you'll tell me."
"You don't know whether to be her producer or her partner."
That earned a long pause. Ji Yanluo didn't speak. He didn't blink. But something sharp flickered in his gaze — not denial, not agreement — just depth.
Han Su nodded to himself like he'd won. "There it is. That famous Ji Yanluo silence. You only use it when something matters."
"You're reading too much."
"I *read* people for a living. And last night?" He stepped toward the door. "You weren't watching the stage. You were watching *her*. Every note, every breath, like the music wasn't just performance — it was *personal*."
Ji Yanluo's voice was quiet, but it cut clean. "She deserves to be watched. She earned it."
Han Su turned halfway, hand on the door. "And when she looks back?"
Another pause. Ji Yanluo didn't answer.
Han Su smiled. "Didn't think so."
Just as he pushed the door open, Ji Yanluo's voice stopped him.
"Han Su."
"Sir?"
Ji Yanluo looked at him, still calm. Still unreadable. But this time, there was something… amused.
"If I ever decide to confess," he said, "you'll be the last to know."
Han Su beamed. "Good. That means I'm still first on the suspicion list."
With a mock salute, he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Ji Yanluo sat back in his chair, pen still in hand. The papers in front of him had blurred. A note echoed in his mind — the last one Bai Zhiqi had played the night before.
Soft. Controlled. But not cold.
Just like her.
And despite Han Su's puns, he knew one thing for certain:
There was a melody between them.
He just hadn't decided if he'd play it yet.