The Devil's Spiral

"You can stay here. Enjoy your vacation," Jiang Yanxu replied, his tone distant as he walked past Ye Xinren without sparing him a glance.

Ye Xinren's jaw clenched. His irritation boiled over. "Look at you! You're ignoring me again!"

Jiang Yanxu halted, turning his head just slightly to regard Ye Xinren with an almost lazy expression. "Ignoring you? Didn't I just respond?"

The indifference in his voice made Ye Xinren's blood simmer. His patience had long since worn thin. "You've changed," he said through gritted teeth. "And don't tell me it's nothing. I refuse to believe this sudden shift is random. I'm tired of asking, but I'll ask anyway—what the hell is going on with you? What happened? If you could just be honest with me for once, it'd be better than making me keep guessing!"

Jiang Yanxu's eyes stayed fixed on his laptop, his fingers tapping against the keyboard without purpose. He could hear every ounce of frustration in Ye Xinren's voice, but he didn't react. Instead, he exhaled slowly and said, "You're tired of asking the same thing, and I'm tired of giving the same answer. This is a devil's spiral. Why don't we stop and take a break?"

"I need you to tell me the truth." Ye Xinren's voice wavered, but he forced himself to stay composed. "You shut me out, then you push me away. How am I supposed to not worry about us?"

Jiang Yanxu's fingers stilled. Us. That single word carried a weight he wasn't ready to acknowledge. But instead of responding, he kept his gaze on the screen, pretending not to hear.

Ye Xinren's patience snapped. He strode forward and slammed his palm against the desk. The sharp sound cut through the cold tension between them, a declaration of war.

Jiang Yanxu's shoulders tensed. Slowly, he pushed his chair back and stood to his full height. His presence loomed over Ye Xinren, the difference in their physiques stark.

But Ye Xinren didn't shrink back. He held his ground, eyes blazing with fury. "You've changed," he repeated, voice rising. "You were acting strange on the ship, and now it's even more obvious! And don't you dare tell me it's nothing."

His breath hitched, but he pressed on, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me. Who did you meet at the art gallery today?"

Jiang Yanxu's expression didn't falter, but there was a flicker—barely noticeable, but there. His lips parted just slightly, as if caught off guard. A moment too long.

Ye Xinren's stomach clenched.

Jiang Yanxu recovered quickly, his voice smooth, detached. "What do you mean, who did I meet?"

"Wen Haoyi told me you went to the gallery," Ye Xinren shot back, his tone sharp.

Jiang Yanxu chuckled. Not because it was funny, but because the sheer absurdity of the situation made his chest feel tight.

Ye Xinren scowled. "This isn't a joke."

Shaking his head, Jiang Yanxu wiped at the corner of his eye as if swiping away a nonexistent tear. "I know, I know," he muttered before leaning back in his chair.

Then, with effortless ease, he answered, "I met Wen Haoyi. Who else? He dragged me there under the excuse of something 'important.' Turns out, it wasn't. If you want to be mad, be mad at him. I'm just a victim here."

Ye Xinren hesitated. It sounded convincing. Logical.

But deep down, something gnawed at him. A whisper of doubt that refused to fade.

It wasn't just about the gallery. It was why Jiang Yanxu had gone there. It was the way he was acting. The way his distance felt deliberate. And most of all—the reason that sent a cold dread creeping into his bones—he knew Yan An was in this city. The thought alone made his heart clench painfully. Did he go to see him?

"… Fine," Ye Xinren muttered, but he wasn't done. He crossed his arms, gaze unwavering. "Then tell me. What exactly was so urgent?"

Jiang Yanxu barely hesitated. "Yuhang said someone wanted to meet me. I was worried about it." He exhaled, rubbing his temple. "You know how much pressure we're under from investors right now. My people need me back there. I can't just sit around while they struggle."

Ye Xinren let out a short, bitter laugh. "So that's why you're leaving me?"

Jiang Yanxu shook his head, his voice quieter this time. "No. I'm not leaving you. I just … I can't drag the person I love into this mess."

It should have sounded reassuring. Romantic, even.

But it wasn't.

Because there was no emotion behind his words. No warmth.

Just cold, practiced detachment.

And Ye Xinren felt it.

He swallowed thickly, blinking away the sting behind his eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You're treating me like Yan An now."

Jiang Yanxu heard him. Every word. But he didn't respond.

Maybe Ye Xinren didn't need him to.

With a quiet sigh, Ye Xinren turned and walked to the bed. He collapsed onto the mattress, his back to Jiang Yanxu, silent tears slipping down his face.

Three times.

Jiang Yanxu had made him cry three times.

The first was when he married Yan An.

The second was when they married.

And the third was now—when the man he loved felt like a stranger.

Jiang Yanxu sat motionless, listening to the quiet, stifled sobs behind him. He turned his head slightly, watching Ye Xinren's trembling shoulders.

For a moment, something inside him twisted. A nagging sensation that maybe—just maybe—he had gone too far.

But he felt no guilt.

With a slow, heavy breath, he pushed away from his desk and walked to the bed. Silently, he lay behind Ye Xinren, close but not touching. His hand hovered over his back, hesitating.

In the end, he let it fall around him, pulling him into a loose embrace. Not quite comforting. Not quite apologetic.

Just there.

And somehow, despite everything, it was enough.

For now.