The house was quiet.
Xiamen woke in the middle of the night, her throat dry. She reached for the water jug beside the bed—empty.
With a sigh, she got up carefully so she wouldn't wake Haoyu and tip-toed toward the kitchen.
The hallway was dark except for a faint glow spilling from the balcony.
She paused.
A voice—low, controlled, but strained—carried through the half-open balcony door.
Hong Yi.
"…No. I said I'll handle it myself," he was saying to his secretary. "This is personal, and I don't want it recorded or reported anywhere. Not until I decide."
His tone was sharper than usual, the kind of coldness he used only when something hit too close to his heart.
Xiamen didn't mean to listen.
She hugged herself, feeling intrusive, and stepped back quietly.
He was talking about Xiamen father , Hong yi sent his spy to know her father move.
The secretary left shortly after, footsteps fading down the corridor.
Hong Yi remained on the balcony for a moment, breathing hard—as if fighting something inside him.
When he finally turned to return to his room, he stopped.
He saw her.
"Xiamen?" His voice tightened. "What are you doing here?"
She blinked, startled. "I—I just woke up. The water jug was empty… I didn't hear anything."
But the moment she said it, he stiffened.
His brows drew together, anger sharp and sudden—anger she didn't understand.
When she said she didn't hear anything, he stepped closer, voice rough: he is angry , clench his hand
did I say anything, do you want to avoid me that badly ,
"…I wasn't avoiding you."
"You were," he said immediately. Too fast. Too certain.
He wasn't accusing her—he was hurt. She doesn't understand him.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, eyes flickering away for a moment before returning to her.
"I'm not investigating you," he said sharply, as if the idea offended him deeply. "I would never do that to you."
He clenched his fists, jaw grinding.
He wasn't just angry—he was hurt. Frustrated. As if her distance from him had been burning at him all day.
He had been different at lunch too—quieter, distracted, eyes flickering toward her but never staying.
She saw it again now.
A shadow of guilt in his expression.
A conflict she didn't understand.
Xiamen swallowed, keeping her voice steady.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. But… if you treat me differently than everyone else, there's no need."
Those words hit him like something sharp.
Hong Yi's breath caught.
His eyes hardened—not in cruelty, but in a storm of emotion he was desperately trying to hide.
"Special treatment?" he echoed, voice trembling almost imperceptibly. "Is that what you think I've been doing?"
He took a step toward her, unable to stop himself.
And the tension in the hallway tightened like a pulled string.