The house returned to its usual silence after Xiaoyu left the CEO's room. The faint glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the shadows on the dark walls, and he remained still for a long moment, staring at the ceiling. The nightmare clung to him like a shadow, and though the immediate terror had passed, the memory beneath it refused to fade.
He recalled the night vividly—the night when everything changed.
He was sixteen. The world had been deceptively ordinary until it wasn't. His parents had been at home, a quiet evening in a suburban house, when the intruders came. The gunshots still rang in his mind, echoing like the toll of some inevitable bell. He had been frozen in the hallway, unable to move, until his father had grabbed him and dragged him outside.
Under the cold night sky, the cars on the street blurred past in yellow streaks of light, the screaming in the house muted by the pounding of his own heartbeat. His father had forced him under the hood of a parked car, pressing him flat against the metal with trembling hands.
"Don't make a sound," his father had whispered. "Just hide. Survive."
And he had done as he was told, curled up under the cold metal, hands over his ears, praying the dark wouldn't find him. Every shadow felt alive. Every whisper of wind through the trees seemed like a predator, ready to tear him from the fragile hiding place his father had given him.
The dark had felt like it would swallow him. The weight of fear had been suffocating, inescapable. And then, in that unthinkable, frozen moment, there had been a light. Bright. Warm. Blinding in its purity. Not the flicker of a streetlamp, not the feeble glow of a neighbor's porch, but a light that seemed to pierce through the darkness itself.
That memory had been buried, locked away behind his calm, rigid exterior. But Xiaoyu—just by being there, by listening without judgment, by simply existing in his space—had brought it back. She had woken him up after the nightmare. Not with words, not with impatience, not with judgment—just gently, patiently, a quiet hand on his shoulder, a voice coaxing him back from the shadows.
He had felt it then, an undeniable connection. Something in her presence, in the warmth she brought into the cold, ordered structure of his world, was different. She was… special. He had no formula for how to manage it, how to contain it. She disarmed him. She disrupted him. And yet, he couldn't pull away.
He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to suppress the flood of vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge. Every time he thought of her, the memory of light returned—not just the one from his nightmare, but the one she had brought into the room.
Even now, long after she had slipped back to the guest room, he could feel her presence lingering like an echo. The sensation unsettled him in ways he wasn't accustomed to. He wasn't used to needing anyone. Not in the past sixteen years, not in the controlled world he had built around himself. But Xiaoyu… Xiaoyu was different.
By the time sunlight began filtering faintly through the curtains, the nightmare had receded to a dull ache at the edges of his consciousness. The house stirred, not with chaos, but with quiet, precise movement—the rhythm of a life lived in wealth and control. The CEO rose, buttoned his shirt with meticulous precision, and prepared himself to face the day.
Xiaoyu had already left the guest room, drawn by curiosity and hunger to the breakfast hall. Even after the ordeal of the night before, the grandeur of the house made her pause. The ceilings were high, painted with subtle relief patterns, and delicate chandeliers hung like frozen constellations. The floors gleamed faintly, polished marble reflecting the muted morning light. Every corner spoke of wealth restrained and curated.
She was ushered into a long dining hall by a uniformed staff member, who moved with discreet efficiency. The hall smelled faintly of fresh flowers and polished wood, the air cool and fragranced. A long table stretched almost the length of the room, set with pristine china, crystal glasses, and polished silverware. Behind it, staff in crisp uniforms moved like clockwork, attending to the smallest details without a word. One poured juice, another arranged a plate of fruit, and yet another removed dishes before the diners could even ask.
Xiaoyu's eyes widened. She had grown up in modest surroundings, where breakfast was toast or rice and eggs, hurried and functional. Here, every item on the table seemed to exist as a statement of care and intention, the world of the rich and famous made tangible in silver trays, delicate pastries, and fruit arranged like a painting.
She could hear the faint hum of conversation from the staff, the soft clatter of cutlery being polished, the quiet tap of shoes on marble. The CEO arrived a few moments later, walking with that same commanding presence, the shadow of his nightmare still lingering behind his calm exterior.
The staff adjusted immediately, refilling his coffee cup, placing a folded napkin just so, anticipating his smallest needs. Xiaoyu felt almost invisible in comparison—an outsider in a world of flawless order.
"Sit," he said simply, gesturing to the seat beside him. His voice, low and steady, cut through the ambient quiet.
Xiaoyu obeyed, sitting carefully. She glanced down at the table, unsure where to start. The plates gleamed, each item precisely portioned: golden croissants, perfectly fried eggs, stacks of smoked salmon, bowls of exotic fruits she had never seen before. She picked up her fork hesitantly, feeling clumsy amidst the polished ritual.
He watched her for a moment, expression unreadable, before picking up his own knife and fork and starting silently. She could feel his eyes on her occasionally, assessing, but there was no judgment, only the quiet presence that seemed to command the room.
A server approached Xiaoyu, offering her a small dish of freshly baked pastries. "Madam," he said politely, "would you like some tea or coffee?"
Xiaoyu blinked, unused to such formality. "Uh… tea, please."
"Green tea or black?"
Her mouth went dry. "Green… please."
The servant inclined his head slightly and left without another word. Xiaoyu felt her heart still racing from the events of the previous day, from the lingering awe of the house, from the strange closeness and yet distance of the man sitting next to her.
She took a cautious bite of the croissant, the buttery flakiness melting in her mouth. She tried not to stare at the sheer opulence around her, at the staff moving with silent perfection, the crystal-clear juice, the golden hues of the morning light reflecting on the polished surfaces.
"This is… amazing," she whispered, almost to herself.
The CEO glanced at her, brow slightly raised. "It's breakfast," he said, his tone neutral, but something in his eyes betrayed a hint of amusement—or perhaps mild surprise at her reaction.
She swallowed nervously. "I've never… I mean, I've never seen anything like this."
He said nothing for a moment, then resumed eating. The quiet stretched comfortably between them, broken only by the soft sounds of cutlery and the rustle of napkins. Xiaoyu could feel herself growing more aware of his presence—the subtle tension in his shoulders, the calm precision in the way he handled his food, the faint echo of yesterday's nightmare still lurking in his expression.
Every so often, she glanced at him, noticing how the morning sunlight highlighted the sharp planes of his face, the way his dark hair caught the light. She felt an odd warmth, an inexplicable connection that had begun the night before, when he had been vulnerable and she had helped him.
It was unnerving. And yet, comforting in a strange way.
She looked down at her tea, taking slow, careful sips, trying to ground herself. The richness of the surroundings, the stark contrast to her own life, made her realize just how vast the gulf between their worlds was—and yet, she was here, seated beside him, sharing this strange, intimate space.
As breakfast continued, Xiaoyu noticed the small gestures of the staff: refilling his coffee before he had to ask, adjusting the napkin beside his plate, ensuring everything was exactly in place. It was a performance of care, of control, of wealth expressed not through words but through precision.
She tried to absorb it all without feeling out of place, and yet she couldn't help noticing the way the CEO seemed perfectly at ease, navigating his world with a confidence she could not hope to match. And still… there was something human in him, something soft that lingered beneath the perfection, beneath the calm, beneath the sharp lines and controlled demeanor.
It made her heart tighten.
She wasn't sure what that feeling was yet—but she knew one thing with certainty: she couldn't ignore it.
As they finished breakfast, the staff cleared the table with quiet efficiency, leaving them alone in the vast hall. Xiaoyu let out a small, incredulous breath, marveling at the sheer scale and order of the house, the way every detail seemed intentional, the way every movement exuded control and precision.
She glanced at the CEO, who looked out the window silently, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't speak, didn't acknowledge her presence, but the faint shadow of yesterday's nightmare seemed to linger in his posture, in the quiet tension that wrapped around him like a second skin.
And she felt it again—the pull, the connection, the inexplicable certainty that their lives, however different and chaotic, were somehow entwined now.