The press conference ended in a blur of flashing lights, sharp voices, and questions that felt like small blades thrown carelessly in her direction.
Xiaoyu barely remembered how she stood up from her seat.
She remembered the heat first—the suffocating warmth of the room, the way the air felt thick with perfume, sweat, and anticipation. Then the sound: shutters clicking endlessly, reporters calling her name as if they had always known it, as if she had always belonged to them.
"Miss Xiaoyu, is the relationship real?""Did you know about the announcement beforehand?""Were you drunk last night?"
That last question lodged itself deep in her chest.
She kept her face composed, just like she had been told. Smile gently. Look calm. Don't say more than necessary. The CEO sat beside her, posture impeccable, expression unreadable—his presence a solid wall of composure that only made her feel more fragile by contrast.
She stole a glance at him once.
He didn't look back.
His gaze was fixed forward, cold and distant, as though this chaos had nothing to do with him—like he hadn't been the one who stood beside her when everything spiraled out of control.
By the time they left the venue through the private exit, Xiaoyu's head was throbbing. The alcohol from the night before had long faded, but the consequences remained—sharp, humiliating, relentless.
Inside the car, silence settled heavily between them.
The city lights streaked past the tinted windows, neon blurs against the dark. Xiaoyu folded her hands on her lap, fingers trembling slightly. She pressed her nails into her skin, grounding herself in the faint sting.
What had she been thinking?
She could still remember the warmth of the glass in her hand, the way laughter came too easily, the way the world had seemed softer, slower. She hadn't planned to drink that much. She hadn't planned to lose control. She certainly hadn't planned to wake up to headlines and a press conference that felt more like a trial.
I made a mess of everything.
The car stopped in front of the CEO's residence—an understated but imposing building hidden behind tall gates and thick greenery. Even from the outside, it radiated quiet authority. This wasn't a place meant for comfort. It was a fortress.
Inside, the house was vast and immaculately maintained. Polished stone floors reflected the warm but restrained lighting. The furniture was modern, minimal, and clearly expensive—dark wood, clean lines, nothing unnecessary. It felt less like a home and more like a carefully curated space designed to project control.
Xiaoyu suddenly felt very small.
"You'll stay here tonight," the CEO said finally, breaking the silence.
His voice was calm, professional.
"The press knows where you live. It's safer this way."
She nodded quickly. "I understand."
No apology passed his lips. No reassurance. No softness.
A staff member showed her to a guest room on the far side of the house. The room was spacious, elegant, and cold in its perfection. A large bed dressed in neutral tones. A wide window overlooking a dark garden. Everything smelled faintly of clean linen and wood polish.
Xiaoyu sat on the edge of the bed once she was alone, shoulders slumping as the adrenaline finally drained from her body.
The quiet pressed in.
She buried her face in her hands, breathing shakily.
How did it come to this?
She had wanted a simple life. A quiet job. Nights where her biggest worry was whether she'd make it home before the last train. Now strangers knew her face. Her name. Her mistakes.
Her chest tightened as embarrassment washed over her again.
I got drunk.I caused trouble.I dragged him into this.
No matter how carefully she tried to justify it, the truth remained: she had lost control, and now she was paying for it.
Sleep came slowly, fitfully.
Hours later, she woke with a dry throat. The digital clock on the bedside table glowed faintly—2:17 a.m.
Xiaoyu sat up and reached for her phone, but thought better of it. The last thing she needed was to scroll through headlines again. Instead, she slipped out of bed quietly, wrapping a cardigan around herself as she stepped into the dim hallway in search of water.
The house was silent, the kind of silence that felt deliberate.
She had just reached the kitchen when a sound stopped her cold.
A voice.
Low. Strained. Broken.
"…No—don't…"
Her breath caught.
The sound came from down the hall. From the CEO's bedroom.
Xiaoyu froze, heart pounding. She told herself it was none of her business. That she should go back to her room. That whatever was happening behind that door had nothing to do with her.
Then she heard it again.
"…stop…"
There was pain in his voice. Real pain. The kind that made her chest ache in response.
Before she could overthink it, her feet moved.
The door to his bedroom was slightly ajar. Soft light spilled into the hallway. Xiaoyu hesitated only a second before pushing it open.
The room was larger than the guest room, but just as restrained. Dark walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows partially covered by sheer curtains. A desk near the window, perfectly organized. A bookshelf lined with neatly arranged volumes—business, history, psychology. No personal photos.
The bed was a mess.
The CEO lay twisted in the sheets, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. His breathing was uneven, labored. One hand fisted in the fabric as though he were holding onto something slipping away.
"No…" he murmured again, voice hoarse. "I didn't—"
Xiaoyu's heart squeezed painfully.
She approached the bed slowly, uncertain. She had never seen him like this. Never imagined that the man who stood unshaken before cameras could look so… human.
So vulnerable.
"CEO…" she whispered.
No response.
She swallowed and reached out, fingers hovering for a moment before gently touching his arm.
"It's okay," she said softly. "You're safe."
He jolted suddenly, eyes flying open. For a split second, confusion and fear flashed across his face—raw and unguarded.
Then recognition settled in.
His body went rigid.
"Xiaoyu?" His voice was rough, strained.
"I—" She pulled her hand back immediately. "I'm sorry. I heard you and… I thought you might need help."
Silence stretched between them.
He pushed himself up slightly, running a hand through his hair. In the low light, she noticed dark circles beneath his eyes—signs of exhaustion he never showed in public.
"I'm fine," he said curtly.
But his breathing hadn't fully steadied.
Xiaoyu didn't move away. "You were having a nightmare."
His jaw tightened.
"That's none of your concern."
The words stung, but she stayed. Something in his eyes stopped her from retreating—the lingering shadow of fear that hadn't quite faded.
She spoke quietly. "You helped me today. Even when I made things complicated. I just wanted to… return the favor."
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, finally, his shoulders dropped—just slightly.
"…It's been happening more often," he admitted, voice low. "Stress."
Xiaoyu nodded, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, keeping her distance. "Do you want some water?"
He hesitated, then nodded.
She poured a glass from the carafe on his bedside table and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through her.
He drank slowly, gaze fixed on the floor.
The room felt different now. Less like a controlled space. More like a place where cracks had begun to show.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," Xiaoyu said quietly, surprising herself.
He let out a short, humorless laugh. "That's easy to say."
She looked at him, really looked at him—not the CEO, not the man from the headlines, but the person sitting before her, burdened and tired.
"I know I caused trouble," she said softly. "I'm sorry."
He looked at her then.
Truly looked at her.
"…This situation isn't your fault alone," he said after a pause. "Get some rest. Tomorrow will be worse."
It wasn't comfort, but it wasn't cold either.
Xiaoyu stood, relief and lingering concern tangled in her chest. "Good night," she said.
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
"Xiaoyu."
She glanced back.
"…Thank you."
The word was quiet. Unpolished. Real.
She returned to the guest room with a lighter step, heart still racing—not from fear, but from something unfamiliar and fragile.
Outside, the city slept.
Inside the house, two people lay awake, both haunted by different regrets—unaware that this night, born from chaos and mistakes, had quietly shifted something neither of them was ready to name.