And stuff

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Han Li's POV

> "Please come this way."

I gesture toward the twin beach chairs nestled beneath a wide, cream-colored umbrella. The wooden frames are positioned perfectly to overlook the ocean, where the sun paints the waves with strokes of molten gold.

Jiang Yuxi hesitates for half a second before following me. The breeze lifts strands of her dark hair, sending them dancing across her face. She brushes them back with an absent-minded grace that makes my stomach twist.

God, she's beautiful.

We sit, side by side, the soft cushions dipping slightly under our weight. I pretend to gaze out at the ocean, but from the corner of my eye, I watch her.

Her profile is sharp yet delicate—high cheekbones, slightly upturned nose, full lips pressed together as though she's lost in thought. The sunlight catches in her hair, turning the strands a deep raven-black with hints of brown when the light hits just right.

And then she smiles faintly at something unseen, and the expression is so genuine, so alive, that it hits me like a sucker punch to the chest.

Why do I like her?

Is it just the physical attraction? Am I really that shallow?

The thought makes me frown internally. I shift in my seat and force my eyes away from her, raising a hand to signal a passing waiter.

The man approaches swiftly, dressed in crisp white with a polished demeanor.

> "Two mojitos," I say without thinking.

> "Of course, ma'am."

As he leaves, I twirl the empty glass already in front of me, the ice melting into watered-down rum. Don't think about it. Don't overthink it.

The waiter returns with our drinks—a pair of tall glasses garnished with fresh mint and lime wedges. The condensation drips lazily down the sides, pooling in small circles on the side tables.

I hand one to Jiang Yuxi, who accepts it with a polite nod.

The silence between us stretches, comfortable yet charged with unspoken thoughts.

The kind of silence that demands to be filled.

I break it.

> "So… why acting?" I ask, swirling my glass.

The question startles her. Her gaze flicks to me, eyes wide for a moment before narrowing thoughtfully.

> "I don't know," she says slowly. "I guess I wanted something that was mine. Away from the Jiang family name."

Her lips quirk upward, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes.

> "And?" I prompt.

She sighs softly, fingers tracing patterns on the condensation of her glass.

> "I loved the attention too, if I'm being honest. The escape it gave me when I was immersed in my roles. It was like… stepping out of my life for a while."

Her voice trails off into the wind, words fading into the crash of distant waves.

She doesn't elaborate. I don't press.

I lean back in my chair, cradling my drink, eyes fixed on the horizon.

> "So you don't enjoy acting, then?" I ask lightly.

Her head jerks toward me, eyes wide with disbelief.

> "Of course I do," she says, her tone sharp with offense. "Why else would I be in the industry?"

She pauses.Her expression shifts and the spark in her eyes dims.

> "Well… was in the industry."

Her shoulders sag, the weight of reality pressing down. Her thumb rubs at a tear in the hem of her dress—a nervous tick she probably doesn't realize she's doing.

I tap my glass thoughtfully.

> "Do you want to act again?"

Her head snaps up.

Her instinctive response is on the tip of her tongue—I see it forming in the tension of her jaw, the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

Excuses.

She's preparing to tell me why she can't. Why she won't.

So before she can start with the self-pity parade, I cut in.

> "With my current reputation, who—" she begins.

> "That's not what I asked."

I say it softly. Firmly.She freezes.

The wind picks up again, blowing more strands of hair across her face. She doesn't brush them away this time.

Seconds pass.

She stares at her drink like it might contain the answer.

> "Yes," she whispers finally.

Her voice is so quiet I almost don't catch it.But I do.

I smile into my glass.

> "See? That wasn't so hard."

She groans and flops back against the chair, draping her arm over her eyes.

> "Why did you make me say it?" she mumbles.

The exposed skin of her throat glistens slightly from the heat, her collarbones peeking out beneath the white fabric of her dress. I look away.

Focus, Han. Why am I acting like a 17th century man, it's just collar bones.

> "Because admitting what you want is the first step toward getting it," I reply casually.

> "Ugh, you're annoying."

> "You don't hate it."

She drops her arm and gives me a mock glare.

We fall into silence again, but it's lighter this time. The tension softens. The ocean breeze cools our sun-warmed skin.

She looks so at ease.

So… real.

I grip the arm of my chair, grounding myself.She sits up suddenly, running a hand through her hair.

> "So you really think you can get me acting work?"

> "I can pull some strings." I shrug. "I have connections."

She cocks her head.

> "What connections?"

> "The kind who don't like questions."

Her mouth twitches into a smile, but curiosity burns behind her eyes.

> "No longer a secretary, huh?"

> "Yeah," I say, stretching lazily. "Turns out I'm more suited for giving orders than taking them and stuff"

> "And stuff?"

> "And stuff," I repeat with a grin not elaborating any further.