The evening sky had already darkened by the time Lin Che finished the last dish. What had begun as one thoughtful plate meant for Gong Rui gradually spiraled into a full banquet's worth of work. Each time she wiped sweat from her brow, Second Madam Gong would appear with another instruction—another idea, another adjustment—and before Lin Che could even protest, the woman would drift away with that perfectly poised smile, leaving her alone with the growing mountain of tasks.
By the end of it, her arms were trembling. Her head throbbed with a dull, pulsing ache, and her vision felt as if it were swaying. Auntie Li tried to get her to rest, but the woman was pulled away too often by the frantic preparations. Lin Che simply kept going, pushing through the haze that clouded her thoughts.
When the final tray was sent out, her knees nearly buckled.
She removed her apron, folded it slowly, and stepped out of the kitchen. The mansion was nearly silent now—most of the servants had hurried to the other side of the estate where the garden party was being arranged. Their hurried footsteps echoed faintly from the far hallways, leaving this wing of the mansion almost eerily empty.
Lin Che began climbing the stairs.
Her body felt unbearably heavy. Each step seemed to take more strength than she had left. Her head pounded so painfully that she had to blink several times just to keep the hallway in focus. The lights were dimmer than they usually were; some lamps had already been turned off to conserve energy for the event.
By the time she reached the second floor, everything looked the same—dark wooden doors, dim wall lamps, long shadows.
She paused and squinted.Was this the right hallway?
Her mind was too foggy to recall.
She walked forward anyway, letting instinct guide her feet. She reached the first door on the left, the one she assumed was hers. She pushed it open. The room was pitch black.
Her thoughts whispered something uncertain—this doesn't feel right—but the moment she saw the outline of a bed, all rationality dissolved.
She was so tired. So very, very tired.
Her body moved on its own.
She walked inside, closed the door, and swayed toward the bed. The scent in the room was unfamiliar—clean, faintly warm, masculine—but her thoughts were too heavy to grasp its importance. She pulled the blankets back, slipped beneath them, and felt warmth envelop her immediately. A soft, deep comfort wrapped around her. The sheets smelled incredibly soothing.
Her last coherent thought was that the bed was surprisingly large.
Then everything went dark.
Outside, the preparations for the grand garden ball continued with mounting urgency. Chandeliers were being tested, floral arrangements adjusted, carpets straightened, tables set with gleaming silverware. Laughter and chatter traveled faintly through the night as extended members of the Gong family arrived one by one.
Yet the moment someone whispered into Second Madam Gong's ear, she paused mid-step, her lips curving in satisfaction. She said nothing. She simply turned and resumed giving orders, her tone sharper, more energized.
Meanwhile, a sleek black car pulled up at the mansion's private entrance.
Gong Feng arrived just as the sky turned a deep shade of indigo, the last traces of daylight disappearing behind the towering mansion. The driver announced their arrival, but Gong Feng barely waited for the car to come to a full stop before stepping out. He was exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that settled into the bones, slow and heavy, but he still moved with that composed grace he always carried.
He intended to rest for a few minutes before the party began. Just a moment of quiet. Just enough time to shut the world out.
The hallway upstairs was quiet, unnervingly so, and as he walked, a faint wrinkle formed between his brows. Most of the staff had already rushed to the other side of the estate to assist with the preparations. The silence felt… unusual.
He reached his bedroom and paused.
The door — which he always locked — was slightly ajar.
A breath left him, soft and controlled, but inside, something tightened. The last time someone entered his room unannounced, he had been caught off guard by a very particular someone.
Curiosity moved before logic did.
He pushed the door open.
The room was dark, save for the faint outline of furniture illuminated by the moonlight slipping through the windows. At first, he thought the darkness was playing tricks on him — but then he saw the shape on his bed. A small, curled figure beneath his blankets.
He didn't need to turn on the light to know who it was.
Even in the dark, he could feel her presence.
Lin Che.
A warmth that didn't belong in his room, but somehow fit perfectly.
His fingers loosened around his coat. He placed it soundlessly over the back of a chair, undid his cufflinks one by one, setting them on the table with quiet clicks. His movements were deliberate, almost reverent, as if any sudden gesture might disturb the fragile stillness surrounding her.
Only then did he walk to the bedside.
When he leaned closer, her features became clearer — faint outlines softening into shape.
Her breathing was unsteady.Her cheeks were flushed.Her hair clung to her forehead, damp with sweat.
Concern washed through him so swiftly that it almost startled him.
The lamp beside the bed flicked on with a warm glow, and the sight before him sharpened into painful clarity.
Lin Che looked small, fragile, and exhausted. Curled into his blankets as if instinctively searching for safety. She was feverish — he could see the heat on her skin even before he touched her.
And when he finally placed his hand against her forehead, his chest tightened.
Too warm.
Far too warm.
His expression remained composed, but inside, something shifted — a quiet panic, sharp and unwelcome. He hadn't felt this kind of fear in years, the kind that came from seeing someone fragile in a place where they should have been fine.
His eyes softened despite himself.
Why her?
Why always her?