Zihan sighed, a low, tired sound that barely escaped his lips and pushed himself off the couch. His right hand slid through his dark hair, combing it back in a single, effortless motion as he ascended the grand staircase.
The soft creak of the door filled the silence as he stepped into the room. His gaze lifted and met hers in the mirror.
Guo Min's reflection froze.
For a brief moment, time itself seemed to pause between them.
Zihan stood still at the doorway, his expression unreadable, eyes dark and steady, but the way they lingered carried a quiet, dangerous weight. There was something predatory in his gaze, something restrained yet unspoken. His face, calm and collected as always, revealed nothing, yet his silence spoke volumes.
She looked breathtaking, the silk nightgown clinging delicately to her frame, moonlight brushing over her skin like a whisper. He didn't move closer, didn't speak but only stood there watching, the quiet between them turning heavier by the second.
Guo Min tried to ignore the way his eyes followed her, tracing every subtle movement. Her hands trembled as she applied her skincare, almost knocking over a small jar of cream. She flinched once… then again… before finally steadying herself.
Zihan's gaze broke away at last. Without a word, he walked past her, his tall frame moving with composed indifference as he disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water soon followed, soft and distant.
Guo Min's reflection stared back at her.
Her lips parted slightly as thoughts began to spiral, questions that had no answers. Was she wrong for reacting this way?
She gripped the edge of the vanity, her chest tightening. No, she wasn't. She couldn't be.
Because if the attack hadn't happened, he would have never said a word. He would have gone on with his secrets, his lies... hidden behind that perfect mask of control. He married her in deceit, bound her to his world without truth. Her reflection blinked back tears she refused to shed.
It wasn't fair.
She exhaled sharply, the words still echoing in her mind as she pushed back from the vanity. Rising from her seat, Guo Min walked toward the bed, snatched one of the pillows, and headed for the door.
She barely made it three steps before his voice broke the silence.
"Where to?"
Zihan's tone was calm, almost casual, but the weight behind it made her freeze. He stood by the dresser, rubbing a towel through his damp hair, water glistening faintly against his neck.
"Guest room," she said quickly, her voice steady, confident, or at least pretending to be. For a moment, she thought he'd let her go.
But his next words shattered that illusion.
"Get back to bed."
It wasn't a plea. It was an order, clipped, low and absolute. He moved toward the bed, sitting at the edge as he buttoned up his pajama shirt with precise, unhurried movements.
Turning, her brows furrowed. "But I..."
"Get. Back. To bed, Guo Min." This time, he raised his head. Their eyes met... his... calm and commanding, hers... defiant but trembling faintly beneath the surface.
For a long second, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing, the tension sharp enough to cut through the quiet.
Then, with a burst of restrained fury, she strode back to the bed, slamming the pillow down with enough force to make the sheets ripple.
Without another word, she lay down, her back to him, her shoulders stiff.
Zihan watched her in silence, his expression unreadable, towel still in hand. The distance between them felt suffocating.
A silent wall between them.
Neither spoke again. The air was thick with things unsaid, until eventually, silence claimed them both, and sleep settled in.
---
The Next Morning
Sunlight filtered softly through the tall curtains of Zhu Villa, gilding the dining room in pale gold.
Zihan was already seated at the head of the table, breakfast untouched before him, eyes scanning a few files beside his plate. His composure was the same as always.
Guo Min walked in quietly, her expression neutral, her movements graceful but distant. She sat opposite him, the clinking of cutlery the only sound that filled the room.
They ate in silence. Not the comfortable kind but the kind that carved distance, word by word, breath by breath.
Finally, Zihan spoke, his tone even, formal.
"We've been invited to a small gathering." He set down his cup of coffee. "A celebration for Yufan and Lixi's marriage."
Guo Min's gaze lifted briefly.
"Oh… okay," she murmured, forcing a faint nod before returning to her meal.
Silence fell again.
Moments later, Zihan stood, adjusting his blazer with practiced precision. He glanced at his watch, then raised his phone to his ear as he walked toward the door.
"Yes," his voice was low, commanding. "Do not do anything to her until I get there. I'll take care of the culprit myself."
Guo Min's hand froze around her cup. Even as his footsteps faded down the hall, fragments of that conversation lingered in her mind 'do not do anything to her'.
Her lips parted slightly, uneasy tightening in her chest, as he witnessed this other side of his which he never showed her. She knew one thing for certain, Zihan wasn't talking about business.
Meanwhile.
In a dimly lit, expansive room, the air smelled faintly of gun oil and smoke. Shadows clung to the concrete walls, and the faint hum of the ventilation system was the only sound, until laughter broke the quiet.
Around the table sat men who weren't ordinary guards. They were trained, honed by discipline, danger, and blood. Some broad-shouldered and muscular, others lean and agile, the kind of men whose eyes had seen more than they ever spoke of.
Yang Yufan and Wu Xiang sat at the center, whiskey glasses in hand, the amber liquid catching the low light as they raised their gazes toward the doorway.
The door opened.
Zhu Zihan stepped in.
Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the guards straightened unconsciously, the faint clink of ice in Yufan's glass the only sound that followed.
"You're late," Yufan said casually, his voice deep but tinged with curiosity. "That rarely happens."
Beside him, Wu Xiang smirked, swirling his drink. "He and Guo Min probably had a misunderstanding," he teased.
His tone was light, but his words landed heavier than he knew.
Zihan said nothing. He merely shrugged off his blazer with quiet precision, hanging it over a chair.
Rolling up his sleeves, he glanced at the bodyguards who immediately responded to the silent cue.
A moment later, two of them dragged a young woman into the room. Her wrists were bound, knees scraping the cold floor as she struggled weakly.
"Bring her forward," Zihan said, his tone low, calm... too calm.
Under the harsh overhead light, her face came into view. Pale. Terrified.
But what caught Zihan's eye wasn't her beauty, it was the cold familiarity behind her fear.
The same girl whose bullet had nearly cost him his life.
Yufan's smirk faded. Xiang's playful expression turned serious.
"She's the sniper" Yufan spoke.
Zihan didn't speak. His eyes remained locked on the trembling woman as he took the pistol from the table, testing its weight in his palm.
The metallic click of the safety being released echoed through the room. That alone was enough to make her break. Her lips trembled as she whispered, "Please… I...".
Zihan raised his gaze at last calm and cold. Such an innocent, pretty face… and yet, belonged to the one who had pulled the trigger.