The next morning, Lin Yuyan woke to warmth—not the sunshine kind, but the kind that wrapped around her like a second skin.
Zhao Luchen.
He hadn't left her side. His arms were still loosely around her, his breath slow against the back of her neck, his presence steady and grounding. Despite the storm that had shaken them both the night before, sleep had found her here—safe, for once.
She didn't move, didn't want to disturb the fragile peace.
But her mind was racing.
The video still echoed in her memory—Lemin's face, contorted in anger and desperation, that chilling voice threatening her life. He hadn't abandoned her after all. He'd protected her. Walked away because someone forced him to. And now, whoever that was… still wasn't done.
She turned in Luchen's arms gently. He stirred, eyes blinking open.
"Morning," he said, voice rough from sleep.
She smiled faintly. "You stayed."
"Of course I did."
Her smile faded. "That video…"
"I've already sent it to someone I trust. It's being analyzed for voice recognition and metadata. We'll know more soon."
Yuyan exhaled. "Why now, though? Why not send it earlier?"
Luchen brushed a thumb over her cheek. "Because someone wants to keep the wound fresh. They don't want you to heal."
She looked into his eyes. "But you do."
He didn't answer with words. He simply leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there, as if he could will away everything haunting her.
She closed her eyes.
But even in this sanctuary of arms and warmth, she couldn't escape the truth: her heart was still tangled in the past, even as it reached desperately for the present.
**
By midday, the penthouse had returned to its usual quiet elegance. Yuyan sat at the piano—she hadn't touched it in months. The keys were smooth beneath her fingers, cool and familiar. She let her hands wander, playing something soft, slow, unresolved.
Luchen watched from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand.
"You play when you're thinking too much," he said gently.
She glanced over. "I'm always thinking too much."
He crossed to her and leaned against the piano. "You know, the first time I saw you play, I thought you were invincible."
She laughed quietly. "That's ridiculous."
"Maybe. But you didn't look fragile. You looked like you could survive anything."
Her hands stilled on the keys. "And now?"
"Now I know better," he said softly. "You don't need to be invincible. You just need someone who won't let you fall."
Her throat tightened.
She rose slowly, the music fading behind her. "Luchen... there's something I need to ask."
He nodded.
"If we find out Lemin was protecting me… If everything that happened that day was because of someone else… What does that make us?"
He didn't look away. "It makes us real."
"But it started with a mistake."
"So did fire," he replied. "But that doesn't mean it didn't burn."
She blinked at him.
Luchen stepped closer. "What we have now—this—wasn't part of anyone's plan. Not mine. Not yours. Not his. But it's here. And I'm not walking away from it."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Even if he comes back?"
"I'll face him. I'll face whatever you need me to. But I won't give you up."
She leaned into him, pressing her forehead to his chest.
"I don't want to be split in two anymore," she whispered.
"Then don't be," he said. "Choose us. Choose now."
**
That night, a new message arrived.
No video. No name.
Just three words: Come find me.
Luchen read it twice, then showed it to Yuyan. She stared at it for a long time, jaw tightening.
"Lemin?"
Luchen nodded grimly. "I think so."
"Then we're not done," she said quietly. "None of us."
But her hand found Luchen's, and she held on tighter than before.
**
Across the city, in the shadows of an abandoned gallery, Zhao Lemin watched the city lights blink awake one by one.
He turned the ring in his palm—the same one he was meant to give her.
His voice was low, bitter, fond.
"She was never supposed to end up with you, brother."
Then softer, almost breaking:
"But maybe she's safer with you after all."
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