The door clicked open with a sharp snap, the echo falling heavy in the silent study.
Han Su and Xiao Lin stood still at the center of the room. They had been summoned, not invited. Neither dared to sit. Across the room, Ji Yanluo stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to them, hands clasped behind him. The city lights reflected off the glass, painting his silhouette in cold steel blue.
"Close the door," his voice came, low and controlled.
Xiao Lin turned and did as told. The faint sound of the latch falling into place seemed louder than it should've been.
Ji Yanluo remained still for a long moment before he finally spoke again.
"Which of you brought the drug into this house?"
The room stiffened.
Han Su cleared his throat quietly. "I did."
"Why?" The question cut straight and sharp.
"I—it wasn't meant for anyone here," Han Su said carefully. "It was just a small bottle, I gave it to Xiao Lin in passing. It wasn't even for—"
"You brought an aphrodisiac into my house, where Bai Zhiqi lives, and you 'passed it in passing'?" Ji Yanluo's voice was still calm, but his tone had turned cold. "Are you that careless, Han Su? Or simply stupid?"
Han Su flinched. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
"And yet it did."
Silence.
Ji Yanluo turned slowly, eyes dark and unreadable, fixing them both with a gaze neither could meet for long.
"She could've been hurt," he said, voice quieter now—but far more dangerous. "Do you understand that?"
Xiao Lin stepped forward. "It was my fault too. I put the bottle down next to your sleeping pills. I didn't think—"
"No, you didn't," Ji Yanluo snapped, cutting her off. "That's the problem. You didn't think. You both didn't."
He walked toward them now, each step precise, measured.
"I have tolerated a lot under this roof. But what you did—bringing an unmarked substance into this house, leaving it unattended, and letting it end up in my hands—is not something I can overlook."
"We didn't expect Bai Zhiqi to walk in that night," Han Su tried, his voice tight now.
Ji Yanluo stopped just before them.
"This isn't about her walking in," he said flatly. "This is about the fact that the line between safety and violation was almost crossed because of your negligence."
Xiao Lin's eyes flickered down. "We're sorry."
"I'm not interested in apologies," he said. "I want responsibility. And consequences."
Han Su lifted his gaze slowly. "Are you firing us?"
Ji Yanluo didn't answer immediately. The silence was heavy, suffocating.
Finally, he spoke.
"No," he said. "But from this moment on, there will be changes."
His voice was ice.
"Xiao Lin, you will no longer be left alone to handle Zhiqi's medications or schedule. Everything goes through me, or through her directly. Any mistake after this, and I will remove you from her side—personally."
Xiao Lin swallowed. "Understood."
"Han Su, you are never to bring unregulated substances into this home again. Not as a joke. Not as a favor. Not for any reason."
Han Su nodded, his face stripped of its usual lightness. "Yes."
Ji Yanluo studied them for a long moment.
"I trust very few people," he said at last. "And the two of you were among them."
There was no need to say what followed.
*Were.*
The silence that followed was not empty—it was loaded with the weight of trust fractured, the sting of disappointment, the cold edge of restraint.
After several heartbeats, Ji Yanluo stepped back and turned away from them again.
"You can go."
Xiao Lin bowed her head. "We're truly sorry, Yanluo."
No response.
They turned and left quietly.
The door shut behind them with a muted thud.
Ji Yanluo remained standing there, eyes fixed on the city lights he no longer saw.
He'd kept his voice even. He hadn't raised it. But inside, he was seething—not just with anger, but with fear. The kind of fear that crept in too late, after disaster had nearly knocked.
He had nearly lost control.
She had walked in. Soft, damp hair, her scent filling the room, her eyes not yet wary. And he—drugged and dazed—had nearly closed the distance.
If she hadn't stopped him…
His hands curled into fists behind his back.
They had endangered her—someone already too wounded, already too guarded.
And it had taken every ounce of his restraint to not become the thing she should fear.
Never again.
He would not allow it.
Not even by accident.
Not on his watch.
Not to her