Sunlight pierced through the gaps in the blinds, stabbing at Zhiyuan's eyelids. He woke to a deep, aching soreness that seemed to live in his very bones. And there was a heavy, warm weight across his waist.
He blinked his eyes open, the fog of sleep clearing to a horrifying reality.
Chen Yichen was curled against him, naked, his arm possessively draped over Zhiyuan's hips, his face nestled against Zhiyuan's bare stomach, breathing softly in sleep.
And then, like a dam breaking, the memories of the night flooded back. The desperate clinging, the bitten skin, the raw, hungry kisses, the blur of heat and skin and losing himself completely… with his bodyguard.
His heart plummeted into a cold, sickening pit. Shame, hot and acidic, burned through his veins. How could I? What did I do?
A low groan came from the man beside him. Yichen stirred, nuzzling unconsciously against his skin before his eyes fluttered open. He blinked up sleepily, a soft, contented smile touching his lips… until he saw the expression on Zhiyuan's face.
Yichen sat up quickly, the sheet falling away. "Zhiyuan? Are you okay? You look… upset."
Zhiyuan couldn't look at him. He stared at the far wall, his face a mask of frozen mortification. His voice, when it came, was deadly calm and colder than ice. "Get out."
The two words hung in the air. Yichen froze, the last remnants of sleep evaporating. The realization dawned Zhiyuan remembered everything, and he was horrified.
"Zhiyuan, listen, I—" Yichen began, scrambling for words, his own face paling. "I'm so sorry. Last night… you were in so much pain, you were asking… and I lost control. I shouldn't have. It's my fault. I'm so sorry."
"Don't," Zhiyuan cut him off, his eyes squeezing shut as if in physical pain. His own whispered pleas from the night echoed in his head, haunting him. "Please, don't remind me. Don't remind me how miserably, desperately I was asking for…" He couldn't even say it. "Something so disgusting. I'm already ashamed. Don't make me more ashamed."
Yichen felt the words like physical blows. Disgusting. "It wasn't disgusting, you were just—"
"I beg you," Zhiyuan's voice cracked, raw and pleading. He finally looked at Yichen, his eyes filled with a humiliated agony that was worse than any anger. "Leave me alone. Just go. Please."
Yichen stared at him, his own heart aching with a confused mix of guilt, concern, and a wounded feeling he couldn't name. He wanted to argue, to explain, to hold him again and tell him it was okay. But the look on Zhiyuan's face was a fortress wall. He nodded slowly, the movement stiff.
He got out of bed, finding his clothes in a silent, awkward scramble. As he reached the door, Zhiyuan's voice stopped him, still cold, but quieter now, drained.
"And please… do not ever remind me about last night again. Forget what happened. Never bring it up. Ever."
Yichen paused, his hand on the doorknob. He looked back at the man in the bed, who was now staring resolutely at the ceiling, jaw clenched. After a long moment, Yichen gave another silent nod. Then he slipped out, closing the door with a soft, final click.
The moment he was gone, the rigid tension left Zhiyuan's body. He sagged back against the headboard, a shuddering breath escaping him. With trembling hands, he yanked open the bedside drawer and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with fumbling fingers.
He took a deep, ragged drag, the smoke doing nothing to cleanse the taste of shame in his mouth. He looked at his own shaking hand.
"Disgusting," he whispered to the empty room, his voice thick with self-loathing. "Pathetic. Idiot."
He replayed every moment, every touch, every sound he'd made, and each memory was a fresh lash. The powerful, untouchable CEO had been reduced to a clinging, begging, wanton mess. And the worst part wasn't just that it happened. It was that, in the heart of the storm, a part of him had wanted it. And that was the most disgusting truth of all.
Downstairs, the grand, sunlit living room felt like a tomb. Yichen sat slumped on the large sofa, his head buried in his hands. The memory of Zhiyuan's cold, ashamed face played on a loop behind his eyes. Regret, thick and sour, filled his throat.
Meilin walked in, carrying a tray for morning tea. She took one look at him and stopped, her maternal instincts instantly alert.
"Yichen? What's wrong? Is everything alright? Did something happen to the Young Master?" she asked, her voice tight with worry.
Yichen didn't look up. His voice was muffled by his palms. "No. He's… physically fine. But I… I messed everything up, Nainai."
"Messed up? What do you mean? What did you do?"
Yichen lifted his head, his face a portrait of tortured confusion. "I just… I fell in love." He said it like it was a terminal diagnosis. "I was only supposed to protect him. That was the job. But I messed everything up. I lost control."
Meilin's eyes went wide. She slowly set the tray down on the coffee table. "Fell in love? With whom? In this house…?" Her words trailed off as the only possible answer dawned on her. Her hand flew to her chest. "Oh, heavens. Don't tell me… you fell in love with Yuan?" She used the childhood nickname, the one only she used.
Yichen let out a groan of pure agony, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair. He nodded, unable to meet her eyes. "And I did something terribly wrong last night."
Meilin's sharp intake of breath was audible. She sat down heavily beside him. "Yichen… tell me you didn't… don't tell me you kissed him."
Yichen looked up at her, his amber eyes filled with such raw guilt and confession that no words were needed. Then, in a burst of self-loathing, he brought his hand up and slapped his own cheek, hard. "How could I do that? How could I be so stupid?"
"Aiyo, stop that!" Meilin scolded, grabbing his wrist to prevent another slap. But then, to his surprise, a soft, knowing chuckle escaped her. She shook her head, a sad, fond smile on her face. "Oh, you poor, foolish boy. Falling in love with a person who knows nothing about love… and who is getting married to someone else in a matter of weeks."
The reminder of the wedding was like a bucket of ice water. Yichen's head snapped up. "The wedding!" he choked out, his eyes wide with fresh horror. "How could I forget about his wedding?!" He buried his face in his hands again, his voice a muffled scream of frustration. "Ahhhhhh! Oh God, why am I so stupid?!"
Meilin patted his back gently. "Shh, calm down. You're not stupid. Your heart is just… reckless. It always has been." She sighed. "Listen to me. You will get over this. It will hurt, but you will. For now, you have a job to do. You must protect him. And to do that, you need to stay. So, you must make sure to avoid flirting with him. No more teasing, no more touching. Be a stone wall. If you don't want to get kicked out or worse, break his heart and yours even more you must lock these feelings away. Do you understand?"
Yichen took a deep, shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He nodded, the movement heavy. "I understand."
Upstairs, in the master bedroom, a different kind of storm was brewing.
Zhiyuan attempted to swing his legs out of bed, but a sharp, deep ache radiated from his core, making his legs wobble and almost give out. He had to grab the headboard to steady himself. A fresh wave of humiliation and anger washed over him.
He clenched his jaw so tight it ached. His eyes, cold and furious, landed on the empty space where Yichen had been.
"That… that animal," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and venomous. He straightened up slowly, wincing. "Just you wait. Once you're no use to me… I'll personally cut off your… your anaconda."
The crude threat, spoken aloud in the empty room, was a pathetic attempt to reclaim some power, to coat his shame in anger. But even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. The real battle wasn't with Yichen's… anatomy. It was with the confusing, shameful echo of his own desire, and the terrifying, unfamiliar ache that wasn't entirely from physical soreness. It was the ache of a line crossed, a boundary obliterated, and a world that had tilted on its axis and refused to right itself.
Zhiyuan's phone buzzed on the nightstand, a welcome distraction from the swirling shame in his head. It was Miss Zhang.
"Sir, we've managed to unlock the door to the late CEO's old office, as you requested."
A flicker of purpose cut through the fog. "Good," Zhiyuan said, his voice still a bit rough. "Do I have any critical meetings today?"
She listed his schedule a conference call, a departmental review, lunch with a minor partner.
He thought for a moment, his body aching a silent protest. "Cancel all of them for today. Reschedule. Tell them I'm unwell."
"Sir? Are you… alright?" she asked, her professional tone edged with genuine concern.
"I'm fine. Just need a day. Handle it, please." He ended the call before she could ask more. He let the phone drop and sank back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
A soft knock came at the door. Before he could say anything, it opened. Yichen walked in, carrying a tray. He didn't make eye contact. He simply placed the tray on the bedside table plain congee, a soft-boiled egg, and a large bottle of water alongside a glass of fresh juice.
"Your lips look pale," Yichen said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual teasing warmth. It was just a clinical observation. "You lost a lot of fluids. It's better if you drink a lot of water. Too much sweating… is not good." The unspoken reference to the feverish, sweaty night hung between them.
Zhiyuan kept his face turned towards the window, his jaw tight. "Okay. Now leave."
Yichen hesitated. He clasped his hands behind his back, a formal posture. "Um… if you don't mind… will you get up? I just… want to change the sheets." He paused, then added in an even lower voice, "I mean… you don't want to let anyone else find out about… our… about last night."
The blush that heated Zhiyuan's cheeks was instant and furious. He refused to look at him. "Get my clothes first."
"Yes, sir." Yichen practically fled into the walk-in closet, returning quickly with the soft, comfortable clothes.
Moving with deliberate slowness and hidden winces, Zhiyuan changed while sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Yichen. Every movement was a reminder. Once dressed, he tried to stand to move away so Yichen could strip the bed, but his legs, sore and weak, betrayed him. He stumbled, grabbing the carved wooden bedpost for support.
Yichen, who had been watching from the corner of his eye while pretending to look away, moved instantly. He rushed over, his hand outstretched to steady him.
"Don't touch me!" Zhiyuan snapped, slapping his hand away with more force than necessary. The rejection was sharp, cold. Using sheer willpower, he managed to shuffle the few steps to a nearby armchair and sink into it, his body protesting.
Yichen's hand hung in the air for a second before he dropped it. He looked like he'd been struck. He said nothing. He just turned and efficiently, silently, stripped the bed of the incriminating sheets, bundling them up. He replaced them with fresh, crisp linen from a nearby cabinet.
Once done, he stood by the newly made bed. "It's done," he said softly.
"Leave. Now," Zhiyuan repeated, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Yichen opened his mouth as if to say something an apology, an explanation, something but stopped himself. He gave a stiff, small nod. "Yes, sir." He picked up the bundle of sheets and left, closing the door with a quiet, final click.
At Liang Group Headquarters:
Aunt Ruifen was walking through the executive floor when she stopped dead. The solid teak door to her late brother Wenhao's office sealed for nearly two decades stood slightly ajar. A uniformed security guard was posted outside.
Her blood ran cold. Why is it open now?
She composed her face into one of mild curiosity and approached. "Oh, my! This door is open! After all these years!"
The guard straightened. "Madam Liang. CEO Liang's orders. It was unlocked this morning."
"Of course, of course. Silly me, I've dropped an earring somewhere around here. Would you be a dear and help me look near the elevator? My old eyes aren't what they used to be," she said with a charming, helpless smile.
The guard, unable to refuse a board member, nodded. "Of course, madam." He walked a few paces away, glancing at the floor.
The moment his back was turned, Ruifen slipped inside the office, closing the door almost all the way behind her.
The room was a time capsule, thick with dust. Wenhao's massive desk, his bookshelves, everything was as he left it. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The USB. He would have kept a record. It must be here.
She began a frantic, silent search pulling drawers, feeling under the desk, tapping the books for a hollow sound. Where could he have hidden it? Does Zhiyuan know about it? Why would he suddenly want this room open now, of all times?
She was on her knees, checking a floor vent, when she heard the guard's voice just outside the door. "Madam? Did you find it?"
Panic surged. She stood up quickly, brushing dust from her elegant skirt. As the guard pushed the door open, she turned with a bright, slightly flustered smile.
"Oh! There you are! No, no sign of it. Must have lost it at home. I was just… looking around. This office is very dusty!" she said, waving a hand. "The Young Master hates dirt. We must have it cleaned properly before he sees it. Don't you agree?"
The guard bowed. "Yes, madam. I'll inform facilities."
Ruifen swept out of the office, her smile dropping the second she was in the hallway. Her mind was racing, fear crystallizing into cold determination.
Zhiyuan is getting too close. He's digging in the right places. I have to do something. I have to find that USB and destroy it, before he uncovers everything.
The evening air in the private garden was cool and carried the scent of night-blooming jasmine. Zhiyuan sat on a stone bench, wrapped in a light cashmere sweater, trying to find some peace. The physical aches had dulled to a persistent throb, but the emotional turmoil was a storm just beneath his calm surface.
His phone buzzed. It was Xiao Xue.
"Zhiyuan! I just heard from my father! He said your Uncle Shuren was arrested! He said he tried to… to kill you? And that he might have… oh my god, your father too?" Her voice was a blend of shock and genuine concern.
Zhiyuan let out a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's… complicated. But yes. It seems he did. And yes, I think he's responsible for my father's accident."
There was a pause on the other end. "Zhiyuan… are you okay? Your voice… you sound so tired. More than usual."
"I'm fine," he said automatically, the lie smooth from years of practice. "Just feeling a bit unwell. It's been a long week."
"Do you want me to come over?" Xiao Xue asked, her tone softening. "I actually have an excuse. My mother is dragging me to another one of her interminable charity committee parties. I could tell her I'm visiting you instead. She'd definitely allow that."
The idea of company, of normalcy, was unexpectedly appealing. A small, tired chuckle escaped him. "Okay. Fine. Come over. It'll be quieter here than at one of your mother's parties."
"I'll be there in an hour!" she said, her voice brightening before she hung up.
As he put the phone down, a shadow fell across him. Yichen stood a few feet behind the bench, a silent, watchful presence since he'd come outside.
"Sir," Yichen began, his voice carefully neutral, devoid of any familiarity. "Perhaps we should head inside soon. The evening is getting cold."
Zhiyuan didn't turn to look at him. He kept his gaze fixed on the darkening flower beds. "If you're cold," he said, his voice flat and dismissive, "you can go inside. I'm fine here."
The rebuff was clear. Yichen's jaw tightened. He wanted to argue, to insist, to wrap his own jacket around him. But he knew he'd forfeited that right. He'd crossed a line, and Zhiyuan's icy anger was the wall he now had to face.
He stayed silent, taking a half-step back but not leaving his post. He simply stood there in the growing chill, a statue of regret and unwavering protection. He knew Zhiyuan was mad at him, seething with a mix of shame and anger. And Yichen knew, with a sinking certainty, that he had to find a way to make it up to him. Not with words...words were useless now. But with actions. With unwavering loyalty, even if it was met with nothing but frost.