Shu Yao's breath snagged in his chest.
He curled into himself in the empty corridor—knees drawn in, spine trembling, head buried as if the world had become too bright, too loud, too cruel to face.
I can't breathe… I can't breathe… I don't know what to do anymore…
The thought ricocheted through his skull until even thinking hurt.
George crouched near him, his shadow falling over Shu Yao like a shield. "Shu Yao," he said, voice low but fierce, "look at me."
Shu Yao lifted his face.
Red-rimmed eyes.
Tear-stained cheeks.
A boy wearing the expression of someone who had been stabbed a hundred times in places no one could see.
"Mr. George…" Shu Yao whispered. "You don't need to do anything." I am the damage.
George's jaw clenched. He looked one heartbeat away from violence. "He grabbed your wrist in front of the entire board. He thinks he can do anything he wants."
"I can't… I can't fight him," Shu Yao breathed.
George's expression hardened into something carved from stone. "Then breathe. One breath. The situation is hell, I know. But you must stay composed until Shen Haoxuan leaves."
Shu Yao's lashes quivered. "I always make a mess of everything… all the worst things start from me. Always me."
George grabbed his shoulders sharply—not hurting, but grounding him. "Stop. Shu Yao. Stop saying that."
Shu Yao shook his head, tears spilling again.
"I always let them do whatever they want… I was too weak to defend myself… I let my sister die.
Tell me, Mr. George… how am I supposed to continue when the only thing left is the memory of my failure? If I end it… maybe I'll find peace. Everything is too much. I can't… I can't handle this anymore."
The words sliced the air open.
George's voice softened, trembling around the edges. "Enough, Shu Yao."
But Shu Yao pushed him weakly, palms shaking. "I am worthless. I want to join her too."
George faltered—like someone punched him. "Who?" he whispered.
Shu Yao choked. "Qing Yue… I want to go after Qing Yue. I don't want to live."
The shock on George's face was immediate, violent.
Fear.
Genuine fear.
He tightened his hold around the boy, afraid that if he loosened even a fraction, Shu Yao would collapse into some abyss he would never escape from.
"Shu Yao, listen to me—" he tried.
But Shu Yao was already pushing him harder, his knuckles aching from the effort. "Let me go… please—just let me go…"
George held firm, heart pounding. If I let go now… he might do something unforgivable…
Suddenly George's phone rang. A shrill, grating sound.
He didn't move.
He didn't even look.
He held Shu Yao tighter.
The boy's breathing was unsteady, every inhale a tearful quake. "Mr. George… please let me go…"
"No."
"Let me go!"
"No, Shu Yao."
The struggle continued—Shu Yao pushing with every ounce of his fragile strength, George absorbing all of it like a wall refusing to crumble.
And then—
Footsteps.
Cold.
Measured.
Deliberate.
George knew those footsteps before he even turned.
The boardroom door opened at the end of the corridor. Shen Haoxuan stepped out, adjusting his cuffs with a casual elegance that made the moment feel obscene.
His assistant trailed behind him silently—just a pawn.
Shen's smirk curled slowly, like a serpent waking. "Well… let's see what Bai Qi can actually do now."
He walked leisurely, savoring every second.
He enjoyed chaos.
He enjoyed wounds.
He enjoyed Shu Yao's fear.
Shen's voice hummed in amusement. "I must say… the look on Shu Yao's face when Ming Su entered was—"
He chuckled.
"A masterpiece. Almost poetic."
He kept walking.
And then he saw them.
George holding the trembling boy.
Shu Yao gasping against his grip.
Tears drying unevenly on his cheeks.
Shen's eyes lit up—like a predator spotting a wounded fawn.
"Oh my," Shen murmured, delighted. "Now what do we have here?"
Shu Yao froze—not a full-body stillness but a broken, terrified paralysis. His eyes went wide, glassy, raw. His entire chest rose and fell in tiny, panicked gasps.
George whipped his head toward Shen, placing himself slightly in front of Shu Yao. "You."
Shen lifted a finger to his lips mockingly. "Shhh."
Shu Yao's breath hitched—painfully.
He looked like his soul had been ripped from his ribs.
"Well, Mr. George," Shen drawled, "Shu Yao isn't looking very good. You should take him home. Or else he might break worse than he already has."
"Don't listen to him," George said quickly. "He can't do anything."
Shen tilted his head.
Smile sharpened.
Eyes gleaming.
"So… does George already know what we shared that night?" he asked sweetly.
Shu Yao flinched so violently his shoulder jerked under George's hand.
George's teeth ground together. "You dare—"
"Yes," Shen interrupted lightly. "I dare. And why wouldn't I? Anyone who tries to humiliate me with their weakness deserves consequences."
Shu Yao shook, voice trembling. "I… I didn't do anything…"
"I know you didn't," George murmured, holding him tighter.
Shen ignored them.
He leaned closer, voice dripping poison. "Our first night… wasn't gentle, Shu Yao."
His smirk widened.
"It was unforgettable."
Shu Yao's entire body jolted.
His breath shattered.
Images he fought so hard to bury clawed back to the surface—hands, laughter, pressure, the helplessness swallowing him whole.
"Stop," George hissed. "Stop it, you monster!"
Shen blinked, impressed. "Oho… wrath from Mr. George? Interesting. Didn't know you had it in you."
George's hands trembled with fury. He wanted to punch him—break his jaw—destroy him. But Shu Yao was in his arms, shaking like an autumn leaf in a storm.
If George let go even one second—
Shu Yao could disappear.
Shen leaned a little closer, savoring their misery. "I should have been gentler, I suppose."
Shu Yao's eyes squeezed shut.
His hands flew to his ears, desperate, as if the memories alone could suffocate him.
"Make it stoo… please… stop…" he whispered.
George snapped. "If Shu Yao wasn't in my arms right now, I swear—"
"What?" Shen stepped forward. "You'd hit me? Lay your hands on me? Hmph. There's no thrill in provoking someone who never follows through. You're a waste of my time."
He clicked his tongue, turning away.
The assistant flinched behind him, sensing the volatile energy rolling off George.
But Shen was unbothered.
Just before rounding the corner, he looked over his shoulder and said, almost lazily:
"But I still had a better time that night."
Shu Yao's breath burst out in a choked gasp—lungs burning, ribs aching, his mind drowning. His memories roared behind his eyes, each one slicing deeper. He curled in toward George's chest, barely able to breathe.
George rubbed his back fiercely. "Breathe, Shu Yao. Look at me. Breathe."
Shen laughed under his breath.
"Well. Have fun with your new business senior," he said.
Then he walked away—
slow, satisfied, triumphant.
And Shu Yao shattered silently in George's arms.
Meanwhile inside the boardroom, Ming Su stood near the head of the table, the velvet of her dress catching the light like a trap carefully baited. Her bob-cut hair framed her face with uncanny precision… and her smile—soft, lilting—belonged to someone Bai Qi.
Bai Qi's breath hitched.
He forced himself to look away, jaw tight, fingers curling under the table.
Ming Su's lips curved.
"Strange," she murmured lightly, "everyone here seems a little… unwell."
A small laugh followed—gentle, crystalline, familiar in a way that made Bai Qi's stomach flip sideways.
He stared at the wall instead of her. He couldn't risk looking straight at that face again.
She walked toward him, heels whispering across the polished floor. Bai Qi stiffened instantly.
"So, Mr. Bai Qi," she said, voice coated in the same softness Qing Yue used to wield when coaxing him into something, "are you interested in working with us?"
His pulse kicked.
The air felt too tight to swallow.
Her shadow slid over him a moment before her hand settled lightly on his shoulder.
"You're not feeling well either, are you, Mr. Bai?" Her tone feigned worry, but her eyes—those deceptively warm brown eyes—glimmered with something calculated.
Bai Qi forced himself to look up.
For one horrifying second, he didn't see Ming Su at all—he saw Qing Yue.
Her warmth.
Her eyes.
Her smile.
He jerked his gaze away again.
"I… I'm fine, Miss Su," he managed, voice a husk.
"I hope so," she said sweetly. "Now—your answer? Yes or no?"
The boardroom felt like it was closing in on him. The chandelier above seemed to sway. His heartbeat thundered too loud, too fast.
Before he could choke out a response, Armin rose from his chair.
"We will require some time to discuss everything," Armin said, tone firm enough to slice the air.
Ming Su blinked once, then smiled—slow, knowing, infuriatingly polite.
"Well, just as you say, Mr. Volker."
Armin clenched his jaw and looked away, clearly irritated. Her smile had the kind of softness he despised.
Ming Su turned back to Bai Qi, dipping her head slightly.
"I look forward to our next meeting, Mr. Bai."
Bai Qi nodded, almost stuttering, "O-of course."
She left with a graceful sweep, her assistant Naina opening the door for her. The quiet click of the closing door felt like the world exhaling.
Bai Qi slumped into his chair the moment she was gone, dragging a hand through his hair. The facade cracked—exhaustion mixing with dread.
Armin watched him sharply.
"What are you going to do about this?"
"I… I don't know," Bai Qi said, voice rawer than he intended.
"We can't trust her," Armin continued. "She's connected to Shen Haoxuan. Everything about her is somehow off."
"But she's…" Bai Qi swallowed, the word clawing its way out. "She's like Qing Yue."
Armin froze.
Then he sighed, heavy and frustrated.
"Yes. I know. She looks like her. Talks like her. Moves like her."
Bai Qi's eyes tightened.
"But right now," Armin said, voice sharper, "you need to focus. Start with the basics. Explain how your signature ended up in that file. Explain how those designs were sold to Shen's company."
Bai Qi went stone-still.
The realization hit him like a slap—he had almost forgotten the biggest betrayal.
"It's Shu Yao," he said coldly. "He dared betray me behind my back. He dared shake hands with our rival. Where is he? Call him here. Now."
Armin answered calmly, "I saw him earlier. Shaking. Terrified. He went outside."
"I want him in my office in ten minutes," Bai Qi said, fixing his tie with a hand that trembled more than he would ever admit.
Armin nodded once.
"I'll get him."
And he left—while Bai Qi tried, and failed, to steady the war inside his own chest.
The hallway outside the boardroom was silent—too silent.
Only the faint hum of the overhead lights filled the space, and even that felt distant, swallowed by the gravity of everything that had just happened.
George crouched beside Shu Yao, one arm braced behind the boy's trembling back. Shu Yao wasn't merely shaking—he was unraveling. His pupils were blown wide, tears dried in uneven tracks down his cheeks, but the pain behind his eyes still thrashed violently.
"Shu Yao," George tried again, voice low, steady, "come on, Breathe."
No reaction.
Shu Yao stared blankly at the polished floor as if the world had drained of color, sound, reason.
George swallowed hard.
"Let me take you home. You need rest. I'll handle everything here."
Shu Yao finally moved—barely—a small, stubborn shake of his head.
"I don't want to."
"Shu Yao—"
"I said I don't want to go."
His voice broke halfway through, soft and frayed.
He placed a hand against the wall, trying to push himself up. His legs wobbled like thawing ice. George moved instantly to steady him, but Shu Yao sidestepped the touch, breathing through his teeth.
"I… I'll tell Bai Qi," Shu Yao whispered.
George froze.
"What?"
"I'll tell him everything about the file. That it's… it's all my fault." Shu Yao's gaze dropped to the floor again, eyelashes trembling. "It was me."
"Shu Yao—no you can't do that." George stepped forward, gripping Shu Yao's shoulders. "You can't say that. You didn't do anything."
Shu Yao didn't lift his head.
He looked small—smaller than George had ever seen him.
"No, Mr. George," he said softly. "At least… at least he wouldn't be disgusted if it comes from me. And he won't find out about… about that night."
The words cracked something in George.
He stared, horrified.
"Shu Yao…" His voice dimmed. "He would never be disgusted by you."
"You don't know that," Shu Yao whispered. "If Bai Qi ever learns what Shen Haoxuan did to me… he'll look at me differently. Everything between us will shatter."
George's jaw tightened, breath shaking with anger—not at Shu Yao, but at the cruelty that taught him to think this way.
"You would rather take the blame," George said quietly, "than tell him the truth."
Shu Yao finally looked up—eyes raw, hollow.
"If he wants to doubt me… then let him."
His throat bobbed, fresh tears threatening. "Even if he hates me… it's fine. It's better than watching his face fall apart when he knows what was taken from me."
George felt something in his chest sink, heavy and aching.
This boy—this trembling, stubborn, wounded boy—would rather destroy himself than let Bai Qi carry even an ounce of guilt.
"You don't deserve this," George murmured. "Not any of it."
Shu Yao looked away, voice a cracked whisper.
"But it's the only thing I can do."
And George realized, with a sick twist in his stomach, that Shu Yao had already decided.