Like a sixth sense, he feels me.
I don't know how it happens. There is no sound, no movement loud enough to explain it. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe it's memory. Maybe it's that invisible thread that never really broke, only stretched thin and dangerous, vibrating even when neither of us touched it.
But he turns around.
So fast it startles me.
His head snaps toward the reception desk, eyes scanning the space like he's been pulled by gravity itself. Not searching—finding. Like he already knows where to look.
And then he sees me.
For a second, everything else dissolves.
The polished marble floor.The chandeliers dripping with crystal light.The muted conversations of people who look important, wealthy, untouchable.
There's no time to hide.
No time to wipe the droplets sliding down my temples, clinging to my collarbone, soaking the thin edge of my swimsuit. No time to press my hair flat or straighten my posture or rehearse an explanation that would sound reasonable instead of desperate.
No time to prepare myself for the way his expression changes.
Shock.Relief.Fear.
All colliding at once, like waves crashing into each other inside his eyes.
He walks toward me quickly, long strides eating the distance between us. He doesn't slow down. Doesn't look away. Doesn't care about the people he almost bumps into, about the luxury surrounding us, about the fact that he looks like a man who has lost all sense of propriety.
Like a man on a mission.
"What happened?" he asks the second he's in front of me.
His voice is low but urgent, tight with something he's barely holding back. His eyes drop immediately, taking me in—the wet strands of hair sticking to my neck, the water darkening the fabric at my waist, the way I'm clutching my arms around myself like I might fall apart if I let go.
"Why are you dripping?"
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
My throat tightens so suddenly it hurts, like someone has reached inside me and twisted something vital. I feel ridiculous standing there half-wet, half-exposed, surrounded by chandeliers and marble floors and people dressed like royalty. I feel small. Out of place. A mistake that wandered into the wrong story.
But all of that fades when I look at him.
The relief hits first.
A sudden, overwhelming release that makes my knees weaken. Then the shame—sharp and humiliating, curling in my stomach. Then the exhaustion, heavy and bone-deep, the kind that comes from holding yourself together for too long.
And then something else.
Something warm. Something quiet. Something that settles deep in my chest and refuses to leave.
I'm just… happy to see him.
Before I can force words past my lips, he shrugs off his suit jacket and places it around my shoulders. The fabric is warm from his body, heavy, grounding. It smells faintly like him—clean, familiar, dangerous. He adjusts it instinctively, tugging it closed, making sure it covers me properly.
Like he's done it a thousand times before.
"I—I can expl—"
He doesn't let me finish.
His hand closes around my wrist—not rough, not gentle, just firm enough to say come with me. No hesitation. No questions. He pulls me away from the lobby, away from the staring eyes and the silent judgments, into a long, quiet hallway lined with gold-accented mirrors and soft lighting.
The sound of the lobby fades behind us.
The silence here is thick.
It presses in on my ears, on my thoughts. My heartbeat becomes too loud, echoing in my chest. I'm suddenly aware of everything—my breathing, the heat of his hand on my skin, the way my body follows him without resistance.
He stops abruptly and turns.
I barely have time to register it before my back meets the wall.
Not hard.Not violent.
Soft. Controlled.
Like he's furious but terrified of hurting me.
And then he kisses me.
Hard.
Hungry.
Like he's been holding his breath for hours and finally remembers how to breathe.
The kiss steals whatever thoughts I had left. My lips part instantly, like they were waiting for this, like they recognize him before my mind does. There's nothing careful about it. No testing, no hesitation. His mouth moves against mine like he's trying to make sure I'm real.
Like he needs proof that I'm standing here and not disappearing again.
Damn.
My knees almost give out.
His hand slides to my waist, fingers gripping tight, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. I can feel his heartbeat through his chest—fast, erratic, almost frantic. It matches my own, racing and unsteady.
For a moment, there is nothing else.
No past.No consequences.No tomorrow.
When he finally pulls back, it's only enough to let me breathe.
I stare at him, stunned, my lips tingling, my thoughts scattered and useless.
"Wha—why—what was that?"
It's the only sentence my brain manages to assemble.
"I deserved it," he says quietly.
His eyes search my face, intense and raw, like he's afraid of what he might find there.
"You made me sick with worry."
The words hit deeper than the kiss.
My chest tightens.
"I'm sorry, I—I—"
Again, he cuts me off.
"Don't," he says softly. "Don't explain. I don't want to know."
I blink.
"What?"
He exhales slowly, like he's standing at the edge of something dangerous and choosing to step forward anyway.
"Let's just enjoy this trip together."
The words hit me harder than anything else.
I didn't expect that.Didn't even imagine it as a possibility.
Something inside me loosens. My shoulders relax without my permission, like my body understands before my mind does.
"Wait—you can stay?" I ask.
He blinks, then smiles faintly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"I took a few days off. It has nothing to do with the company trip."
Of course he did.
Effortless.Casual.
Like rearranging his life around me is the most normal thing in the world.
I laugh despite myself. A small, breathless sound that escapes before I can stop it.
"Your brother—or your father—can't see you here," I say, trying to ground us back into reality. "You know that."
"They won't," he replies calmly. "No one knows I'm here."
Then he tilts his head slightly and taps the tip of my nose with his finger.
"I don't even have a room."
My heart skips.
"So," he continues, completely serious, "you're going to host me."
"Huh?"
"I mean—I'm okay with it," I rush out, heat rising to my face, "but I forgot my key card inside my room…"
"It's fine," he says easily. "You grab the key, I'll wait somewhere on your floor. I'll hide."
Hide.
The word echoes too loudly in my head.
From them.From him.From Yiran.
My stomach twists painfully.
"Are you sure?" I ask carefully. "Maybe you could just stay for the day and go back tonight…?"
The look on his face shuts me up instantly.
He hates the idea.
"There's no way I'm leaving you here alone," he says flatly.
Of course he won't.
"…Okay," I sigh. "We'll go with your plan."
I head back toward the reception alone, his jacket still wrapped tightly around me. Each step feels heavier than the last. The confidence I had seconds ago evaporates the moment I remember I'm still wearing a swimsuit underneath.
I feel exposed.
Vulnerable.
Out of place.
The receptionist smiles politely when I approach, professional and composed.
"I… lost my key card," I explain. "I need a replacement."
She nods, fingers moving quickly over the keyboard.
"May I see your ID, please?"
My heart drops.
"I—I don't have it on me," I admit. "It's in my room."
She pauses. Then smiles apologetically.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't issue a new key without identification."
Panic crawls up my spine, cold and sharp.
"I'm attending a company convention," I say quickly. "I just—"
"I understand," she says gently, "but I'll need to contact the person who made the reservation."
Oh no.
If my colleagues see me like this…If my supervisor sees me…If anyone sees me standing here in a swimsuit asking for a room key—
My career flashes before my eyes, fragile and uncertain.
"Okay," I whisper. "I'll wait."
The receptionist makes the call.
Minutes pass.
Ten of them.
Each second feels heavier than the last, stretching and folding in on itself. I keep my eyes down, pretending to scroll through my phone, acutely aware of every passing glance.
And then—
"Ms. Hua?"
I turn.
My breath catches.
Zhang Wei.
Yichen's assistant.
He steps forward, professional and composed, shows his identification to the receptionist, exchanges a few words with her. She nods and hands him a key card.
I'm frozen.
"So it was Yichen who booked the room for me?" I ask quietly.
Zhang Wei glances at me.
"No," he answers. "I did."
Then he turns toward the elevator.
I rush after him, barely keeping up.
"You came with him today?" I ask as the elevator doors slide open.
We step inside.
The doors close with a soft chime.
He presses the button for my floor.
"No," he replies. "I came only so you could enter your room."
His voice is flat.
Cold.
Almost… angry.
I look at his reflection in the elevator mirror.
Confused.
And suddenly—
Very uneasy.
---
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Okay.Deep breath together.
Let's talk.
First of all: that opening moment.That sixth sense.
This chapter is about recognition.Not "I see you across the room," but I know you exist before my eyes confirm it. And the moment their gazes lock, everything else—the chandeliers, the wealth, the people, the hotel—ceases to matter.
That's intentional.
Because for Hua, that moment is relief before anything else.
Not desire.Not excitement.Relief.
She's exhausted. She's been emotionally cornered. She's been pulled backward into a past she thought she had locked away. And suddenly, there he is—the person who represents safety, choice, and the life she actively chose.
So when he moves toward her like a man who has lost all sense of decorum, it's not romantic in a polished way.
It's raw.Messy.Human.
Now… let's talk about the kiss.
Because yes, it was intense.Yes, it was impulsive.Yes, it was hungry.
But here's the thing I want you to think about:
That kiss wasn't about desire.
It was about panic.
He thought he might lose her.He thought something had happened.He thought she was hurt, or gone, or slipping away again.
And when fear takes over, people don't always act gently. They act honestly.
That kiss is not "I want you."It's "You're here. You're real. You didn't disappear."
And that's why it leaves Hua so shaken.
Because it bypasses logic.It bypasses words.It goes straight to the place where emotion lives before reason has time to intervene.
And then—just when it could spiral further—he stops.
Not because he lacks control.
But because he has it.
Which brings me to the line that quietly changes everything:
"Don't explain. I don't want to know."
This is important.
He is choosing ignorance on purpose.
Why?
Because knowing would force him to react.Knowing would demand decisions.Knowing would break the fragile balance he's trying to maintain.
So instead, he chooses the present.
"Let's just enjoy this trip together."
That line isn't romantic escapism—it's emotional avoidance dressed up as tenderness.
And that should make you a little uneasy.
Because avoiding the truth doesn't make it disappear.It just delays the impact.
Now let's talk about hosting him.
On the surface, it sounds almost lighthearted. Cute, even. Him hiding. Him not having a room. Her laughing despite herself.
But underneath that softness is something much heavier.
Hiding from his family.Hiding from Yiran.Hiding from consequences.
This is the first time Hua actively steps into secrecy—not because she wants to deceive, but because circumstances corner her into it.
And that matters.
Because secrets change dynamics.
They shift power.They create tension.They demand silence.
And the fear she feels there isn't about love—it's about her life. Her career. Her dignity.
So when help arrives…
And it's Zhang Wei…
That's not comfort.
That's tension in human form.
Because Zhang Wei is not just an assistant. He's an extension of Yichen's world. His order. His control. His information network.
And the revelation that he booked the room?
That changes everything.
It means Yichen didn't just bring Hua here emotionally—he arranged the logistics. The safety net. The space she occupies.
Which makes Zhang Wei's coldness impossible to ignore.
His presence raises questions instead of answering them.
Why is he angry?What does he know?What has he seen?What conclusions has he already drawn?
And perhaps the most unsettling question of all:
Is he protecting Yichen… or Hua?
I want you to sit with that discomfort, because it's intentional.
Before I end this note,
Thank you for reading this far.Thank you for sitting with the discomfort, the tenderness, the tension.Thank you for letting these characters breathe in your imagination.
As always, every comment, every reaction, every save helps more than you know. I'm writing this story alongside a full-time job, late nights, and stolen moments of inspiration—so your support truly keeps it alive.
Take care of yourselves.And brace your hearts.
Because things are about to get complicated.