Chapter 11: Traces of the Past

The mansion's silence was thicker than usual.

Ren stood in the hallway outside his room, staring down at the paper still clenched in his hand.

"You're getting too close. Don't make the same mistake they did."

The handwriting was crisp. Calculated. Not rushed. Not panicked.

Who was they?

And why did it feel like he wasn't the first to be dragged into Li Zeyan's world of secrets and steel walls?

He read the note again. Not out of fear. Not anymore. But because it confirmed something he'd been suspecting for weeks:

This wasn't just a contract marriage.

Something bigger was happening. And he was at the center of it.

At breakfast, Zeyan said nothing. He sat across from Ren as if the note didn't exist, sipping his black coffee, dressed in a tailored navy suit that looked like it had been sewn directly onto his frame.

Ren ate quietly too, picking at his toast, fingers twitching beneath the table.

Finally, he said, "Someone left a note in my room."

Zeyan didn't flinch. "What did it say?"

Ren slid the folded paper across the table.

Zeyan read it once. Then again. His expression didn't change.

But Ren caught the way his thumb rubbed over the edge—just once—before he set the paper down.

"I'll increase security."

"That's not an answer," Ren said flatly. "Who is this person? What mistake are they talking about?"

Zeyan met his gaze. "I don't know."

Ren leaned forward. "That's getting hard to believe."

Zeyan's jaw tightened.

Ren stood. "I'm not asking for fairy tale honesty. Just don't lie to my face."

"I'm not lying."

"You're withholding."

Zeyan pushed back his chair and stood, just as calm, just as composed. "I'm doing what I have to."

Ren stepped closer. "No, you're doing what you think is safest. That's different."

For a moment, Ren expected Zeyan to walk away. Like he always did when things got emotional.

But instead, he said, "Follow me."

They walked in silence through the west wing, past the art closet, and into a door Ren hadn't noticed before.

Zeyan unlocked it with a small silver key.

Inside was a study. Small, warm-toned, with floor-to-ceiling shelves, an old wooden desk, and a locked filing cabinet in the corner.

"This was my father's," Zeyan said. "No one comes in here."

Ren looked around. "Why are you showing me this?"

Zeyan pulled a folder from the cabinet and placed it on the desk. He opened it slowly, revealing photos, notes, news clippings.

Ren stepped closer and felt his breath catch.

There was a photo of a man who looked eerily like Zeyan—sharper features, but the same eyes. Standing beside him was a woman with a kind smile.

"My parents," Zeyan said quietly.

Ren nodded, not interrupting.

"They were in a fake marriage," Zeyan said, voice low. "Business arrangement. Power consolidation between two families. But they fell in love. For real."

Ren swallowed. "What happened?"

"They died. Car crash. Officially."

"Officially?"

Zeyan met his eyes. "Unofficially, my father was being watched. Pressured. Threatened. The company was young and dangerous competitors wanted him gone."

Ren looked down at the documents again. "You think someone caused the crash?"

"I know they did."

Ren felt the air shift.

"You think whoever left this note knows about that?"

Zeyan didn't answer.

And that, more than anything, told Ren he was right.

That afternoon, Ren was restless.

He couldn't focus on drawing, eating, or even doom-scrolling on his phone. Everything felt suffocating.

He wandered into the garden, letting the drizzle from the storm still hanging in the air dot his sleeves and soak his hair. His fingers itched for a brush, for something to channel the swirl of questions in his chest.

He didn't realize Zeyan had followed him until he heard his voice.

"You're not going to find answers in the rain."

Ren didn't turn around. "Maybe not. But at least the rain doesn't lie."

Zeyan stood beside him silently.

Then, without warning, he held out a black umbrella over both of them.

Ren turned to look at him.

Zeyan's expression was unreadable, but the umbrella was steady. And Zeyan was soaked already.

"Thanks," Ren said quietly.

They walked together toward the glass gazebo.

Inside, Ren sat on one of the benches, arms crossed, waiting.

Zeyan took off his wet jacket and draped it over the chair across from him.

"Why me?" Ren asked finally.

Zeyan looked at him.

"You could've chosen anyone to take the fall. For the debt. The fake marriage. Why me?"

Zeyan didn't answer immediately.

Then he said, "Because I saw your name on the gallery piece years ago. I remembered it."

Ren blinked. "You picked me because you liked my art?"

"No," Zeyan said. "I picked you because I remembered how your work made me feel. And when I saw your name on the police report… I didn't hesitate."

Ren's chest ached.

"So you saved me?"

"I offered a choice."

"You call that saving?"

"I call it giving you an alternative to jail."

Silence stretched between them.

Ren said, "I would've painted you anyway."

Zeyan looked at him.

Ren met his gaze. "Even if we'd never met, if I'd seen you in the street, I would've wanted to draw you. You carry too much weight in your eyes."

Zeyan's voice was quieter. "And you carry too much light in yours."

The words hit Ren like a physical touch.

He looked away.

That night, Ren didn't go to his own room.

He stood in Zeyan's doorway for ten full seconds before knocking lightly.

Zeyan opened it in a dark gray robe, freshly showered.

Ren said, "Can I stay here tonight?"

Zeyan didn't ask why.

He simply stepped aside.

The room was cooler than Ren's. Less decorated. More impersonal. But the air smelled faintly like cedar and cologne.

Ren sat on the edge of the bed. "You sleep like a soldier."

Zeyan raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"Back straight. Hands perfectly placed. It's creepy."

"Maybe I'm always ready for war."

Ren laughed softly. "That's sad."

Zeyan walked to the other side of the bed and pulled back the covers. "You think life isn't?"

Ren didn't respond.

They lay side by side. Not touching. Not speaking.

Until Ren whispered, "I got another text tonight."

Zeyan stiffened.

Ren showed him the screen.

"Don't trust the one who has everything to lose."

Zeyan's jaw tightened.

"I think they're trying to break us apart," Ren said.

Zeyan turned to face him. "Then don't let them."

Ren looked at him. "That sounds like something a real husband would say."

Zeyan didn't blink. "Maybe I'm starting to feel like one."