Chapter 17: Fractures in the Spotlight

The mansion was quiet.

Too quiet.

Ren sat on the floor of the studio, knees pulled to his chest, surrounded by torn sketches and wrinkled documents. The flash drive lay on the table like a landmine he'd already stepped on.

Zeyan stood at the doorway.

"You haven't eaten," he said.

Ren didn't look up. "Not hungry."

Zeyan walked in, set a tray down beside the couch. Toast, tea, and a single bowl of congee—Ren's comfort food.

Ren glanced at it and looked away again.

Zeyan knelt in front of him. "You can't fight if you fall apart."

"I'm not falling apart," Ren murmured. "I'm planning."

Zeyan's jaw tightened. "Planning what?"

"To go public."

Zeyan stood abruptly. "No."

Ren looked up. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean it's not safe."

"I don't care."

"I do."

Ren stood too. "Zeyan, if I keep hiding, they win. I spent years thinking my life was a series of bad coincidences. Now I know better."

Zeyan's voice lowered. "They will come after you harder."

Ren met his gaze steadily. "Let them."

Zeyan stepped closer. "I won't let them touch you."

Ren's voice trembled. "Then stand beside me. Not in front of me."

The press conference was scheduled two days later.

Zeyan's PR team nearly fainted when they heard the plan: a "special announcement" from the Li Corporation, with Ren standing beside the CEO himself.

The media exploded with speculation.

Was the elusive artist finally unveiling a partnership? Were they getting a divorce?

Nobody guessed the truth.

That's how Ren wanted it.

Shen, surprisingly, offered no resistance.

"Do what you want," he said, lounging in the solarium, flipping through an old art book Ren had abandoned.

"You don't care?" Ren asked.

Shen smiled faintly. "You're either brave… or reckless."

Ren paused. "What about you?"

Shen turned a page. "I stopped being either when I stopped being real."

Ren stared. "You are real."

Shen looked up, his eyes strange and sad. "Only because you are."

The day of the press conference arrived with thick fog and low gray clouds.

Ren wore black—sharp, elegant, tailored. Zeyan wore the same.

Matching on accident, or purpose? Ren wasn't sure.

But it felt right.

Zeyan squeezed his hand before they entered the media hall.

"Say what you need to say," he murmured. "And if it becomes too much—"

"I won't stop," Ren replied.

Zeyan nodded once.

Then they stepped into the lights.

Flashes exploded like gunfire.

Ren squinted against the storm of cameras. The room buzzed with reporters. He could see people whispering, pointing. One even gasped.

He was shaking.

But Zeyan's hand never left his lower back.

That anchored him.

At the podium, Ren took a breath, adjusted the mic, and began.

"My name is Ren Yuhan," he said clearly. "And for the past few years, my life has been anything but mine."

The hall went still.

He told them about the lost sponsorships, the staged gallery show, the manipulation. He stopped short of saying the word "clone," but hinted at the experimentation. The betrayal. The surveillance.

And then he said:

"But this isn't a story about control. It's about taking it back."

Flashes again.

Then someone in the back stood up. A voice rang out.

"Mr. Ren! What evidence do you have?"

Zeyan stepped forward smoothly. "We do not speak without proof."

He pulled out a sealed document packet. "This contains classified research and a recorded confession. All will be submitted to the Bureau of Ethics."

The cameras went wild.

But Ren only saw one thing.

The shadow moving at the far side of the room—slipping behind the curtain.

A chill crept down his spine.

Then—

A sound.

Something sharp. Metallic.

Security moved instantly.

But not fast enough.

A shot rang out.

Chaos erupted.

Ren was pulled down by strong arms—Zeyan's. They hit the ground hard, his ears ringing.

Guards shouted.

Reporters screamed.

Ren looked up to see Zeyan on top of him, shielding him with his body.

"You okay?" Zeyan's voice was tight, shaken.

Ren nodded. "You?"

"Fine."

But blood trickled from Zeyan's arm.

Ren's heart froze. "You're bleeding."

Zeyan didn't flinch. "Just grazed. We have to move."

They were hustled out the back, through a swarm of panicked employees.

Ren's legs felt weak, but he didn't let go of Zeyan's hand.

Back at the mansion, medics tended to Zeyan's arm.

Ren paced the hallway, fuming.

"They tried to shoot me."

"They tried to silence you," Zeyan corrected.

Ren looked at him. "Do you regret letting me do it?"

Zeyan's voice was soft. "No. I only regret not being faster."

Then Shen walked in.

He looked too calm.

Ren narrowed his eyes. "Did you know?"

"About the attempt?" Shen asked. "No. But I'm not surprised."

Ren stepped forward. "Who's behind it?"

Shen paused.

Then he said the name: "Dr. He Lian."

Zeyan's eyes darkened. "He's dead."

"Officially, yes," Shen said. "Unofficially… he's the one who designed Project Reflection. He faked his death after the board shut him down."

Ren whispered, "And now he wants me gone."

"Not just you," Shen said. "He wants me too. And anyone who knows."

Zeyan stood. "Where is he?"

Shen looked Ren straight in the eyes.

"He's waiting for you to come to him."

That night, Ren sat by the window again, the city lights blinking softly in the distance.

He felt tired.

Not physically—but in that way a soul gets tired from carrying too many truths.

Zeyan came in quietly, now bandaged and dressed in fresh black silk.

"You should rest," he said gently.

Ren turned to him. "I can't. Not yet."

Zeyan didn't ask why.

Instead, he came to sit beside him.

Their shoulders touched.

Their silence spoke volumes.

"I'm scared," Ren whispered.

Zeyan laced their fingers together.

"So am I."

Ren looked at him.

Then leaned in.

Their foreheads touched.

"You saved me today," Ren murmured.

Zeyan's voice was barely audible. "I'll always save you."

And for a moment, the war outside couldn't touch them.