Chapter 2

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of Lian Hao's small apartment, gently coaxing him from his dreams. As he slowly woke, the quiet hum of his surroundings felt comforting, yet his mind was buzzing with thoughts of the night before. Han Yuzhou. The man had left such a profound impact on him in such a short time.

He rose from the bed, stretching his arms above his head, his body still warm from the memory of their conversation, the dinner they shared, and the subtle but undeniable chemistry that had sparked between them. A little sigh escaped his lips as he walked into the small kitchen, already thinking about the day ahead.

The coffee machine hummed as it brewed, and Lian Hao set about preparing a simple breakfast—scrambled eggs with toast, a few slices of fruit. As he moved around the kitchen, his mind wandered back to the conversation with the system.

Han Yuzhou is a man of few words and even fewer expressions… Lian Hao repeated the words in his head. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the man's interest in him wasn't casual. Everything about him—the way he looked at Lian Hao, the subtle attentiveness he gave him—spoke volumes. It wasn't just idle curiosity.

His phone buzzed, pulling him from his reverie. It was a message from Shen Yue, asking what his plans were for the day. Lian Hao smiled to himself, typing a quick reply.

I'm heading to the cafe to paint today.

After hitting send, Lian Hao took a deep breath, setting his phone aside. Finishing his breakfast, Lian Hao quickly got dressed in a simple yet stylish outfit, something that would be comfortable enough for a day of painting but still presentable to meet with Han Yuzhou. With one last glance at his apartment, Lian Hao grabbed his bag, slipped on his jacket, and left, locking the door behind him.

The soft morning sun bathed the streets of B City in a golden hue as Lian Hao arrived at the familiar cafe. A bell above the door chimed gently as he stepped inside, the warm scent of roasted coffee beans and vanilla wrapping around him like an old friend. The cafe wasn't crowded yet—just a few early patrons chatting quietly or working on their laptops, their voices low and soothing like the jazz music drifting through the speakers.

"Ah, Lian Hao! You're here," the cafe owner greeted with a smile from behind the counter. "Your spot's ready." Lian Hao smiled back and gave a small bow of thanks. "Good morning, Thank you."

He made his way toward his usual place and sets down his bag and began to unpack—his travel easel, canvas pad, brushes, and a palette of soft-toned paints. His movements were practiced, almost ritualistic, but each brush he unwrapped and each color he mixed was touched with a growing sense of calm. Painting always did that to him, it quieted the noise of the world.

Sliding onto the cushioned bench, he reached for his half-finished canvas—the cafe itself immortalized in hues of gold and honeyed browns. He studied it for a moment under the stream of light filtering through the large windows, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Then, wordlessly, he picked up his brush and made bold, confident strokes.

"Here's your drink and snacks Lin Hao, keep up the good work today." The owner said and Lin Hao smiled gratefully thanking the lady before continuing to paint. The soft bristles glided across the canvas like whispers, breathing new life into the shapes. He deepened the shadows near the doorway, softened the glow of the morning sun spilling over the counters, and warmed the subtle curves of the steaming coffee cups on each table. The entire space began to shimmer on the canvas, transformed through his eyes into something both magical and achingly real.

Time slowed.

The gentle clatter of cups, the low murmur of conversation, the smooth jazz playing over the cafe speakers, all of it faded into the background. Lian Hao was immersed. Every movement of his hand was measured, purposeful. His brow furrowed slightly in thought, lips parted in concentration, the tip of his tongue just brushing his lower lip as he blended color into light.

A few customers had started to glance over, subtle at first, but then lingering. There was something captivating about him in that moment. His quiet focus. His beauty. The way sunlight kissed his skin and caught on the pale strands of his hair, framing him like a living painting.

"Host," the system's voice gently broke into his thoughts, like a breeze through an open window.

"Han Yuzhou has just entered the building."

The brush froze mid-air.

The chime of the café door opening was soft—just a whisper of sound—but it felt like a thunderclap to Lian Hao's ears.

He didn't look up. Not yet.

But he felt it.

The weight of a gaze. Sharp and heavy, laced with unspoken tension.

Han Yuzhou had entered.

The billionaire CEO was dressed more casually than he had been the night before, but only slightly. A crisp black shirt tucked into slate-gray slacks, no tie today, but still every inch the man who ruled boardrooms with a glance. He didn't need a suit to command a room—he was the suit, the authority, the weight of a name that echoed through the city like thunder.

And yet, his steps slowed the moment he stepped inside.

Because there—bathed in morning sunlight and completely absorbed in his work—sat Lian Hao.

A brush danced between his fingers, paint blooming against the canvas in elegant, deliberate strokes. His features were softened in concentration, eyes narrowed slightly, lips pursed, unaware of the quiet reverence his presence inspired. His light brown hair caught the gold of the sun like threads of silk, tousled just enough to look effortless. The oversized white shirt he wore was smudged faintly with color, and it slipped just slightly off one shoulder, exposing a sliver of skin that made Han Yuzhou's throat go dry.

And in that moment, the scene from last night came rushing back—like a match struck in the dark.

The laughter.

The warm flicker of candlelight in that small apartment.

The way Lian Hao had looked at him at the supermarket, soft and curious, utterly unguarded.

"Do you want to come to my place?"

Han Yuzhou had replayed those words more times than he could count since he left. The subtle hope in Lian Hao's voice. The fearless invitation.

It was madness.

A week ago, this boy hadn't existed in his life.

Now, he was everywhere.

He walked past the counter without ordering, eyes never leaving the painter. Which was weird because a week ago he would come here order his coffee and be on his way out. But now, he felt as if he was drawn by some invisible string, he made his way to the a table—just near enough to watch without interrupting, but close enough to feel the quiet pull between them.

Lian Hao, sensing the nearness, finally lifted his head. Their eyes met.

And just like the first time—it shifted something.

This time, it wasn't curiosity.

It was memory. It was heat.

Lian Hao tilted his head slightly, lips curving into the ghost of a smile. "No coffee today?"

Han Yuzhou's voice was low, velvet smooth. "I was already awake."

Lian Hao chuckled softly, setting his brush down. "You came all the way here just to see me paint?"

There was a pause. Then—

"I couldn't help it."

"Congratulations host, Han Yuzhou's percentage towards you is 62%." The system's voice rings inside Lian Hao's head as the world around them kept turning—the espresso machine humming, conversations drifting through the room, and yet the only thing Han Yuzhou could see was the boy before him.

Brush-stained fingers.

Sunlight in his hair.

Lian Hao's smile deepened, the kind that didn't show teeth but bloomed gently at the corners of his lips, a smile that carried both warmth and mischief.

"Give me a little more time," he said softly, fingers brushing over the curve of his canvas. "I'm almost finished with this piece. Wait for me."

His voice was light, almost teasing, but there was something intimate in the way he said it—wait for me—as though the simple request carried weight beyond its words.

"I'll wait." Across from him, Han Yuzhou watched in silence. Watched the delicate way Lian Hao moved—careful, precise, but fluid like water. Every now and then, Lian Hao would glance up, meet Han's eyes, then quickly return to his work with a smile curling his lips as if he'd caught himself staring too long.

The air between them shimmered with something unspoken. Like a string stretched between them, taut and electric.

And Han, the ever-imposing CEO who ruled boardrooms and sent powerful men scrambling, sat there quietly, waiting. For a boy with paint on his fingers and stars in his eyes.

It was madness. And yet, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Just as Lian Hao dipped his brush into a gentle wash of blue, he heard a sharp vibration buzzed from Han Yuzhou's tabletop. Han Yuzhou's sleek black phone lit up, the name "Secretary Huang" flashing across the screen.

He frowned.

Not because of the call itself—Huang Lin never contacted him without reason—but because this was his rare, chosen moment of peace. And interruptions weren't welcomed when he was… here. With him.

He let out a slow exhale, the only visible sign of irritation, and stood from his chair with a smooth, unhurried grace.

Lian Hao looked up from his canvas briefly. "Work?"

Han gave a small nod, his voice low. "Just a minute. I'll be right back."

The glass door whispered shut behind him, the late morning sun casting long lines across his fitted black coat as he stepped out under the café's awning. He brought the phone to his ear, already expecting trouble.

"What is it?" he asked, voice clipped, efficient.

Huang Lin didn't bother with preamble.

"CEO Han, my apologies for disturbing you during your personal hours, but the Xu Group just pulled a move. They've backtracked on the revised equity terms and submitted a counterproposal that's… significantly different."

Han Yuzhou's jaw tensed.

He could feel the press of time again, the endless wheel of strategy and power snapping back into motion. But just beyond the glass—he could see the outline of Lian Hao, still seated in the same spot, sunlight brushing over the soft waves of his hair, his brush moving with intent and grace.

He didn't want to leave.

"I want a full breakdown in my inbox within the hour," Han said coolly. "Have legal prepare two responses. One aggressive, one dismissive."

"Yes, sir. Should I prepare a return to HQ this afternoon?"

A pause.

Han Yuhou's gaze lingered through the café window.

"No. I'll return later."

His voice softened, barely.

"Understood."

Han ended the call, slipping the phone into his coat pocket, his face composed, but a current of frustration coiled beneath his stillness.

This wasn't just about a business interruption.

It was the fact that he was here, for once—not behind some monolithic desk or inside a glass conference room. And in front of him was something rare. Something real.

Something he wasn't ready to be pulled away from.

He stepped back into the café. The door chimed gently, warm air wrapping around him once more.

Lian Hao looked up again, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "All good, CEO Han?"

Han Yuzhou slid back into the seat across from him, his eyes calm but piercing.

"All good," he said, voice smooth. "They'll wait."

And for the first time in a very long time, he meant it.

*

The final brushstroke swept across the canvas in a gentle arc—light spilling through painted windows, coffee cups rendered in delicate detail, and figures seated in quiet conversations. The cozy essence of the café had come to life under Lian Hao's fingertips, the muted colors glowing with a dreamy softness.

He leaned back slightly, brush still in hand, as a satisfied smile curved his lips.

"All done," he murmured, mostly to himself.

As if on cue, the café owners approached with their usual warmth. The wife clapped her hands together in delight, her eyes sparkling as she studied the finished painting.

"Lian Hao, it's beautiful. Just perfect! You've captured the soul of this place."

The husband nodded in agreement and handed over an envelope. "Here's your payment. We added a little extra—consider it a thank you for making us look like a five-star spot."

Lian Hao laughed softly, bowing slightly. "Thank you. I'm just happy you like it."

From the corner of the cafe, Han Yuzhou had been watching the entire exchange, silently observing the way Lian Hao's face lit up when he was complimented, how effortlessly he handled gratitude and praise. He couldn't look away, he didn't want to.

Once Lian Hao packed up his things, Han stood, buttoning his coat with practiced ease, and approached him.

"Finished?" he asked, his voice low, calm.

Lian Hao nodded, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "Mm. Just wrapped up."

Han Yuzhou looked at him for a long moment before speaking again. "Have lunch with me."

Lian Hao blinked. "Right now?"

A faint smile ghosted over Han Yuzhou's lips. "I have some work to do in my office, do you wanna come with me? I already had something prepared."

*

The car glided smoothly through the polished gates of Han Corporation, the towering glass structure rising like a monument to power and wealth in the heart of B City. Sleek and modern, the building was a blend of minimalism and grandeur—steel lines and sky-touched windows reflecting the pale glow of the Saturday sun.

Lian Hao stepped out of the car, instinctively clutching the strap of his bag a little tighter. He tilted his head back, taking in the sheer height of the building, the way it seemed to pierce the clouds.

"This is your company?" he asked, more to himself than Han Yuzhou, who came around to stand beside him.

Han Yuzhou cast him a sidelong glance, his voice cool and even. "Yes."

Of course. Of course it is, Lian Hao thought, lips twitching.

The inside was quieter than he expected—no rush of heels, no echo of corporate chatter. It was Saturday, after all, and the lobby was hushed, touched only by the low murmur of distant voices and the soft hum of elevators. The marble floor gleamed beneath their feet as they passed security without pause, the guards nodding respectfully to Han Yuzhou.

He led Lian Hao into the private elevator at the far end of the hall, swiping his card with a quiet beep. As the doors closed behind them, the golden lights overhead reflected off the brushed walls, casting their faces in a warm glow.

"Does it feel intimidating?" Han Yuzhou asked suddenly.

Lian Hao turned toward him, his eyes wide but curious. "A little. But it suits you. Cold. Impressive. A bit dramatic."

To his surprise, the man's lips curved slightly—almost a smile.

The elevator dinged softly and opened to the top floor, revealing an expansive private suite. The CEO's office was every bit as luxurious as Lian Hao imagined—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the cityscape, framed by sheer curtains that fluttered gently in the breeze of the climate control. The interior was monochrome elegance: deep mahogany, brushed gold, and leather in shades of charcoal.

Lian Hao walked in slowly, drinking it all in. A massive desk sat at the far end, but it was the sitting area by the window that caught his eye—a sleek black table already set with two plates, the soft scent of food wafting gently in the air.

"You really did plan this," he murmured, glancing at Han Yuzhou.

Han Yuzhou joined him, sliding the dish cover away to reveal perfectly prepared steak with truffle mash, a side of buttered vegetables, and a bottle of vintage red wine already breathing.

The two of them sat, surrounded by the silence of a city paused for the weekend, and in the quiet warmth of Han Yuzhou's office, something softer stirred between them. Not just flirtation, but interest. A thread pulling tighter.

"Do you always have lunch like this?" Lian Hao asked, raising a brow.

Han looked at him, a rare glint in his eyes. "No. Only when I want the company."

Lian Hao took a bite of the tender steak, savoring the flavor. "This is amazing," he said with genuine surprise. "Did you cook it?"

Han Yuzhou lifted his glass, watching the way the wine caught the light before taking a slow sip. "I have a private chef who sends meals here, just in case. But I do cook," he added after a pause. "Rarely."

Lian Hao tilted his head, eyes curious. "What do you cook?"

"Mostly Western cuisine. French, sometimes Italian," Han Yuzhou replied. "I find it calming."

Lian Hao smiled, setting down his fork. "That's unexpected."

Han Yuzhou looked at him, his gaze steady. "What? That I can be domestic?"

"No," Lian Hao said with a small laugh, "just that you're not what I thought you'd be."

"And what did you think I'd be?" Han Yuzhou asked, leaning back slightly, his wine glass dangling lightly between two fingers.

"A cold, ruthless CEO with no personality," Lian Hao replied without missing a beat. "But instead, here you are… offering me lunch in your private office on a Saturday, casually admitting you like to cook."

Han Yuzhou's lips curved, subtle and unreadable. "And are you disappointed?"

Lian Hao met his eyes, gaze steady. "No. Intrigued, maybe."

Silence settled for a moment, comfortable and warm. Han's gaze lingered on him—not with the sharp, assessing look of a businessman, but something slower. Softer.

"You're different too," Han Yuzhou said suddenly. "From what I expected. When I first saw you painting… I thought you'd be shy. Quiet. Someone who fades into the background. But you're—"

"Annoyingly talkative?" Lian Hao offered with a grin.

"No," Han Yuzhou said softly. "Bright. Like a flame. Difficult to look away from."

Lian Hao's breath caught in his throat for a second, cheeks warming. He looked down at his plate, his voice quieter now. "That's… not something people usually say about me."

"Then they haven't looked closely enough."

The weight of the words sat between them, lingering.

Lian Hao slowly looked up, and their eyes met again—something unspoken sparking in the air, subtle but electric.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep the heat from climbing further into his cheeks. "So… what do you usually do on your weekends? Aside from luring innocent painters into luxury buildings and feeding them gourmet food."

Han Yuzhou chuckled lowly, the sound rich and rare. "Believe it or not, this is already a deviation from my usual schedule."

"Oh?" Lian Hao leaned forward, chin resting on his hand. "So what's the usual Han Yuzhou weekend look like?"

"Emails. Reports. More coffee than any doctor would recommend." He paused. "It's quiet. Efficient. But dull."

Lian Hao's gaze softened. "Sounds lonely."

Han Yuzhou's eyes flickered—just briefly. "It is."

"Well, at least today wasn't dull."

"No," Han Yuzhou agreed, his eyes never leaving Lian Hao. "Today was anything but dull."

After finishing their meal, Han Yuzhou gestured toward the glass door leading out of the dining area. "Let me show you around the office," he said casually, though there was a certain warmth in his tone. "It's a bit empty on weekends, but I like it that way."

Lian Hao nodded, standing up and following him as they exited the dining room. The space was vast and open, with polished marble floors that gleamed under the soft light filtering through the tall windows. The office had an air of quiet sophistication, the modern decor mixing with subtle touches of comfort—plush sofas in one corner, low wooden tables adorned with fresh flowers, and sleek glass walls separating different areas.

"Impressive," Lian Hao commented as he took in the sight. "It's more like a gallery than an office."

Han Yuzhou gave him a small smile. "I like clean spaces. They help me think clearly." His gaze lingered on Lian Hao for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "But I do have one part of the office that's a little... more personal."

He led Lian Hao down a long hallway, past the glass-walled conference rooms and into a secluded area where the atmosphere shifted. The decor here was more muted, more intimate—dark wood paneling, a dimmer lighting fixture, and a large set of French doors opening into a private suite.

Han Yuzhou unlocked the door and motioned for Lian Hao to enter first. "This is my personal space," he said softly.

The bedroom inside was surprisingly warm and inviting, given the sterile nature of the rest of the building. A massive king-sized bed with crisp white linens was at the center of the room, surrounded by bookshelves filled with a mix of business literature and novels, a few art books scattered across the top. There were paintings on the walls, mostly abstract, soft in color. A tall lamp cast a golden glow, creating an atmosphere of quiet comfort. On the far side, the room opened into an adjacent bathroom with a marble bathtub large enough to sink into completely.

Lian Hao stood there for a moment, taking it all in. "This is... your bedroom?" He asked, his voice slightly hushed as he let the details sink in.

"Mm," Han Yuzhou replied. "It's a place to rest when I don't want to go home. Sometimes, after long nights at the office, it's just easier to stay here."

Lian Hao wandered around the room, his fingers brushing the spines of the books on the shelves. "It's surprising," he said with a glance over his shoulder. "I expected something more... minimalistic. Cold, even."

Han Yuzhou chuckled softly. "I'm not all business, you know. I don't like too many distractions, but I do need a space to unwind. This room is my escape."

Lian Hao turned toward him, his gaze lingering for a moment on the man who, despite all the wealth and power, seemed strangely grounded in this room. "It's a nice escape," he said, stepping closer. "I can see why you'd need it."

Han Yuzhou met his gaze, and for a brief second, the air between them felt heavy. His usual composed expression softened, and his eyes locked with Lian Hao.

The silence in the room was thick, the atmosphere between them heavy with unspoken words. Lian Hao could feel the space between them closing in, and it wasn't just the proximity—it was the weight of something growing, something that neither of them had yet named.

He took a step back, but as he did, Han Yuzhou moved closer, closing the distance with such quiet intensity that Lian Hao didn't even have time to react. Their eyes locked, the world outside the room fading into a blur as they stood there, inches apart. The weight of Han Yuzhou's gaze seemed to press against his skin, a silent tension crackling in the air.

Lian Hao's breath caught in his throat, but he didn't look away. Something in him knew this was a moment that would change everything. His heart began to race, a warmth flooding his chest.

Han Yuzhou's hand, gentle yet firm, reached up, brushing the hair away from Lian Hao's forehead. The touch was soft, almost tender, as if he were treating something fragile, something delicate. Lian Hao's eyes fluttered closed at the contact, the soft caress sending a shiver down his spine.

Slowly, Han Yuzhou's hand cupped his cheek, the roughness of his palm against Lian Hao's smooth skin sending a wave of warmth through him. The touch lingered, almost possessive in its tenderness, before Han Yuzhou tilted Lian Hao's face up, guiding him with a gentleness that contrasted with his usual controlled demeanor.

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to still. The room, the world, all faded away, leaving only the two of them in this private moment.

Then, Han Yuzhou leaned down, his lips brushing against Lian Hao's forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn't hurried, nor was it a bold claim, it was a delicate, intimate gesture, as if he were savoring the moment, as if he were grounding himself in the quiet intensity of their connection. Lian Hao's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching as the warmth of Han Yuzhou's lips lingered, pressing a sense of quiet intimacy into the very core of his being.

When Han Yuzhou pulled away, his thumb gently stroked the side of Lian Hao's face, his gaze still soft but charged with an emotion Lian Hao couldn't fully name.

"There's no rush," Han Yuzhou whispered, his voice hushed, the rawness of the moment settling between them. "You don't have to go just yet."

Lian Hao's heart was still racing, his mind swirling with the aftermath of the gentle kiss. The space between them had never felt so alive, so charged with something delicate and powerful.

For a moment, Lian Hao simply stood there, his hand resting against his cheek, where Han Yuzhou's touch still lingered. Han Yuzhou took a step back, though the intensity in his eyes remained. "Stay a little longer," he suggested softly, as if the request held a deeper meaning than the words alone. "It's just us here."

Lian Hao hesitated for only a moment before nodding, a soft smile curving his lips. "Okay," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll stay."

Han Yuzhou's gaze lingered on Lian Hao, studying him quietly. "I think you'll find that I'm not the kind of man who lets go easily," he said, his words deliberate, each one carefully chosen. "When I decide to hold on to something... I don't let it slip away."

And then, Han Yuzhou closed the distance.

The kiss started slow, almost tentative, a whisper of contact at first. But the moment their lips touched, the world seemed to tilt, and all the restraint Han Yuzhou had fought to maintain dissolved. His hand slid to the back of Lian Hao's neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Lian Hao responded instantly, his lips parting slightly, a soft sigh escaping him as he let himself lean into the touch.

The kiss was slow, but it was no less intense. Every movement felt like it was written in the language of longing, a desire that had been building and now finally had an outlet. Han Yuzhou's pulse raced as Lian Hao's fingers traced along his jaw, memorizing the feel of him, the warmth of him, the closeness of him.

Han Yuzhou could feel the way Lian Hao's body melted against his, the way their hearts seemed to beat in synchrony, each pulse a silent testament to something more than just attraction.

Eventually, they pulled away, just enough to breathe, their foreheads resting together as they caught their breath. Han Yuzhou's eyes lingered on Lian Hao's flushed face, his lips swollen from the kiss. He could feel the heat radiating between them, and for the first time in a long time, He wasn't thinking about control. He wasn't thinking about power, or business, or the empire he ran. He was thinking about Lian Hao—and how he didn't want to let go.

Lian Hao's eyes were dark, but there was a flicker of amusement there, a softness that contrasted with the tension in the air. He smiled, almost shyly, his fingers brushing against Han's chest.

"I told you now that I wouldn't let go," Han Yuzhou said, his voice rough, filled with a kind of possessiveness that startled him.

Lian Hao's heart raced at Han Yuzhou's words, a thrill of vulnerability and strength intertwining within him. "Then I suppose I'll have to hold you to that," he replied softly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a teasing smile. The warmth of their bodies melded together, creating an intimate cocoon that shielded them from the chaos of the world outside.

Han Yuzhou's hands slid down to Lian Hao's waist, fingers splaying possessively across his back as he closed the distance once more, lips hovering just above Lian's. "Good," he murmured, his breath warm against Lian's skin, "because now that I've tasted you, you're not going anywhere."

"Congratulations, Host. Han Youzhou's percentage towards you is 68%."

Lian Hao's eyes widened at the system's voice in his head, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Relief washed over him, subtle but undeniable. He hadn't expected it, but somewhere in the middle of this game they were playing, he had fallen too.

The warmth of Han Yuzhou's hand still rested on his waist, grounding him in the moment.

Suddenly, the sharp chime of a phone shattered the quiet between them. Lian Hao watched as Han Yuzhou's brows furrowed, the serene moment cracking ever so slightly. He didn't let go, though — one hand still firmly around Lian Hao, anchoring them together.

Han Yuzhou answered the call, voice clipped. "What now?"

On the other end, Huang Lin's voice came through, brisk and professional. "CEO Han, the matter has been resolved. The Xu Group has no room left to maneuver."

A visible shift passed through Han Yuzhou's body — the tension easing from his shoulders. He pulled Lian Hao in closer, his grip firm, almost possessive.

"Good work," he said simply, then tossed the phone carelessly onto the bed.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Lian Hao felt the subtle thump of Han Yuzhou's heart beneath his palm, heard the breath that hitched slightly before it steadied.

"You look like you just won a war," Lian Hao said softly, eyes searching his.

Han Yuzhou's lips curled into something between a smirk and a sigh. "Maybe I did."

Lian Hao tilted his head. "The Xu Group?"

Han's gaze lingered on him, quiet and intense. "Them too. But I was talking about you."

The Xu Group, much like the Han Corporation, was a titan forged from legacy. The empires rose from the ambitions of generations past, flourishing in media and advertising. Their influence shaping not just industries but culture itself. For decades, the Xu and Han families stood side by side — sometimes as rivals, sometimes as reluctant allies — their power woven deep into the city's financial fabric.

But in recent years, the Xu Group had begun to fracture. The decline wasn't due to market shifts or external threats, but something far more dangerous: internal collapse. Following the retirement of Father Li, the company became the battleground for a ruthless succession war between his three sons — Xu Yanfei, the eldest and most politically shrewd; Xu Yuehan, the charismatic middle son with a flair for public relations but no real strategic depth; and Xu Anhe, the youngest, impulsive and untested, clinging to delusions of innovation without substance to back it up.

Despite their upbringing, none of the three had proven themselves capable of leading the company. They bickered in boardrooms, undermined one another in the press, and gambled away resources trying to outshine each other rather than stabilize the legacy they were meant to inherit. Their feud left the company bleeding influence and investors wary.

Whispers had begun to swirl through B City's elite circles — hushed conversations over wine glasses, half-spoken warnings behind closed boardroom doors. The once-mighty Xu Group, once a pillar of prestige and power, was rotting from the inside out. Its gleaming image was just that — surface-level polish barely disguising a crumbling foundation. It was only a matter of time before the facade shattered completely.

And some, like Han Yuzhou, had already begun moving in the shadows, positioning themselves to seize whatever valuable pieces remained when the Xu empire inevitably fell.

Lian Hao watched the city lights flicker from his window, a quiet stillness in his apartment surrounding him as the weight of information settled in his mind.

"System?" he asked aloud, voice low, thoughtful.

"Yes, Host."

A pause. Then, "Will the Xu Group cause much trouble for Han Yuzhou in the future?"

The system responded without hesitation, its tone calm and confident.

"Nothing that he can't handle. The Xu Group now is just a fragile vase — pretty to look at, but hollow and cracked beneath the surface. You do not need to concern yourself, Host. If anything shifts significantly, I will alert you immediately."

Lian Hao exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing as the tension in his chest eased. He trusted the system. He blinked, suddenly aware of how close they still were — the heat of Han Yuzhou's body, the arm around his waist, the slow unraveling of distance that had crept between them over the past few weeks. He let out a small, nervous laugh and gently pulled back, though not too far.

"I should, uh… probably go," he said, brushing his hair behind his ear. "I still have to finish that painting assignment before tomorrow."

Han Yuzhou takes his phone from the bedside table and unlocks it before handing it to Lian Hao, "Let me have your number."

Lian Hao's lips curled into an amused smile as he notices a different phone from before, "You have two phones?" Han Yuzhou unlocks his phone and said, "This is my personal phone. Call me anytime and I will pick up the phone."

Lian Hao shakes his head in amusement and teases him, "You could've asked earlier, you know for my contact."

"I was waiting for the right moment," Han Yuzhou said with a low chuckle. "I think this counts." Lian Hao rolled his eyes with a quiet laugh, fingers dancing across the screen as he typed in his number. He saved the contact simply as "Lianlian", then added a paint emoji next to it on impulse, glancing up to see if Han noticed.

He did. His eyes flicked to the screen, then back to Lian Hao, his voice gentle.

"Lianlian?" Han Yuzhou echoed with a slight tilt of his head, lips quirking into something between amusement and affection. "Is that what people usually call you?"

Lian Hao's cheeks flushed a soft pink as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, suddenly shy under Han's gaze. "It's what the people closest to me call me," he murmured, eyes flicking away before drifting back. "And… since you're one of them now, you've been given the privilege."

Something shifted in Han Yuzhou's eyes — the lightness in his expression deepened, darkened with something warmer, heavier. His chest tightened, not from lust but from a swelling possessiveness he hadn't expected. Not sharp or demanding, but steady. Sure. Anchored.

"I'm honored," he said quietly, sincerely.

He took the phone from Lian Hao's hand again, glanced once more at the name saved on the screen — Lianlian, with the small paint emoji — and let a quiet smile tug at his lips before setting it aside.

Without thinking, his hand lifted, brushing a delicate strand of hair from Lian Hao's cheek. His fingers lingered a second too long, as if memorizing the texture of him — the softness, the warmth.

"I'll text my driver," Han said at last, though the reluctance in his voice was impossible to hide. "It's late. You've got a painting to finish."

Lian Hao looked up at him, lips parted slightly, a little dazed from the quiet intimacy of it all. "You didn't have to do that," he whispered.

Han Yuzhou's fingers moved smoothly over his phone screen, sending a quick message to summon the car. He glanced back at Lian Hao, voice low, almost reverent.

"Lianlian… now that you're with me," he said, brushing his thumb along the curve of Lian Hao's hand, "you deserve everything in this world. I would not let a single person or thing mistreat you." Lian Hao could feel his heart thumping so loud that he thinks Han Yuzhou could probably hear it.

"Lianlian," Han Yuzhou cups his neck and leans in. Not just a gentle brush of lips, but a slow, searching kiss — one that deepened gradually as Han tilted his head, pulling Lian Hao closer by the waist. His other hand slid up the curve of Lian Hao's back, drawing him in until there was no space left between them.

Lian Hao's hands instinctively found purchase against Han's chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he leaned in, breath catching against Han's mouth. The kiss wasn't rushed, but it wasn't shy either, it was full of quiet hunger, of emotion simmering just beneath the surface, of something neither of them dared name yet.

They pull away as Han Yuzhou kept his eyes closed for a second longer, as if grounding himself, as if holding on.

"You…" Han Yuzhou whispered, voice rough with emotion he hadn't expected to feel, "are going to be the death of me."

Lian Hao let out a quiet laugh, flushed and breathless, the sound so bright it cut right through Han's carefully built walls. His cheeks were a deep, lovely red, and he looked away bashfully — as if he hadn't just set Han Yuzhou's entire world on fire.

Han Yuzhou chuckled low in his throat, but it was tight, strained — not from amusement, but from restraint.

Because in that moment, all the years he'd spent building up his armor — the cold, calculated image of CEO Han Yuzhou, the untouchable — cracked wide open.

And all because of this boy standing in front of him with paint-stained fingers and a mouth that tasted like something he didn't know he'd been starving for.

Desire surged through him like a wave crashing against rock. It wasn't just lust — though that was there, sharp and undeniable — it was something deeper, more dangerous. It was need. Raw, aching need. The kind that dug into his ribs and whispered more.

He'd spent so many years alone, surrounded by power, ambition, silence. No warmth. No softness. His days were numbers and negotiations. His nights were nothing but cold sheets and unopened messages.

And now — now Lian Hao had walked in, and that kiss had shattered him.

*

The soft ding of the elevator broke the silence, grounding Lian Hao just enough to remember he had to leave — even if his heart didn't quite want to. As the doors slid open, he found himself still holding Han Yuzhou's hand tightly, his slender fingers curled around the rough, calloused strength of Han's larger palm.

There was something quietly grounding in that grip. The kind of hand that had weathered boardrooms, carried the weight of an empire, and yet now held his with surprising gentleness — as if it was something precious.

Their steps echoed through the quiet basement parking lot, but neither spoke until they reached the sleek black car waiting by the pillars, its polished surface gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

Han Yuzhou turned to him, eyes soft but unreadable under the dim light. He leaned in, pressed a light kiss to Lian Hao's lips — brief, but full of something that lingered, as if he were leaving a piece of himself behind.

"Text me when you're done, Lianlian," he murmured against his mouth. "I've got some reports to finish in the office."

Lian Hao smiled up at him, cheeks still faintly flushed. "I will, Yuzhou. Don't forget to eat something, okay? And get some sleep for once."

"I'll try," Han said with a quiet smile, his thumb brushing Lian Hao's cheek before letting him go.

The personal driver, who had been waiting beside the car with a perfectly professional expression, stepped forward and opened the rear door. His movements were smooth, respectful — but his eyes lingered for a second longer than usual.

He had served the Han family for years. He had seen business partners come and go, witnessed power plays behind tinted glass, watched cold greetings and colder goodbyes.

But this — this was something different.

He had never once seen the young master of the Han family kiss anyone goodbye. He had never seen him soften like that, or smile like a man who, for a fleeting moment, wasn't carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And now, seeing this gentle young man — this Lian Hao — whose presence seemed to quiet even the storm inside Han Yuzhou, the driver understood without needing to ask.

This one mattered.

Lian Hao slid into the car, offering the driver a polite nod and a small smile. "Thank you for the ride."

The driver bowed his head slightly, voice calm and full of quiet respect. "Of course, Mr. Lian. It's an honor."

He turned back and closed the door gently, then met Han Yuzhou's eyes across the roof of the car. The two men exchanged a silent nod — no words spoken, but much understood.

As the car pulled away, leaving the soft hum of the engine behind in the stillness of the underground lot, Han Yuzhou remained standing where he was, hands in his pockets, watching the red taillights disappear.

Inside the car, Lian Hao sat back against the leather seat, letting his fingers touch his lips again. They still tingled from the kiss.

*

Meanwhile, in his private office, Han Yuzhou sat at his desk, the city lights twinkling through the large windows behind him. The quiet hum of his computer and the soft ticking of the clock were the only sounds in the otherwise still room. He had told Lian Hao he'd have work to do, but even now, as the minutes stretched on, his mind kept drifting back to the evening.

The kiss.

The touch.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair.

His eyes growing in desire as he had grown hard from all the kissing earlier, holding Lian Hao's waist and body had him hungry beyond belief. the growing urge to claim lian hao had fill han yuzhou's mind.

He could feel his pants getting tighter as he lets out a small chuckle as he sees his growing bulge.He stands up and walk towards his private bedroom for a quick cold shower.

As he stepped into the bathroom, the cool tiles greeted his bare feet, sending a shiver up his spine. Han turned on the shower, steam rising like ethereal wisps that blurred the edges of his thoughts. He let the water cascade over him, each droplet washing away the lingering tension and igniting a newfound energy within.

With each splash, flashing images of Lian Hao flooded his mind—the playful banter, the way their fingers intertwined as if they were two pieces of an intricate puzzle meant to fit together. The warmth of that kiss still lingered on his lips like a sweet melody he couldn't shake off.

"Focus, Yuzhou," he muttered to himself, but even as he chided himself, the image of Lian Hao, with his charming smile and expressive eyes, danced tantalizingly in his mind.

"Haa… I am definitely fucked."