Jiang Zeyan didn't like chaos.
He built his life around structure. Numbers. Control. Every hour of his day was scheduled. Every decision calculated. He didn't guess. He didn't hope. He executed.
Emotions were the kind of variables that ruined otherwise perfect equations.
That's why he'd created rules.
No personal entanglements.
No impulsive decisions.
No illusions of love.
And for years, it had worked.
Until now.
He stood alone in his study, the lights dimmed, fingers lightly resting on the edge of his desk as he stared out at the city skyline. His reflection glimmered faintly on the glass, expression unreadable, just the way he preferred it.
But inside, the evening's events replayed like a scratched reel. Too many eyes. Too many unspoken things. And one particular image that refused to leave him:
Lin Yaoyue in that black dress.
She had stepped out of her room, and for a few seconds, he hadn't said anything. Not because he didn't have words, but because his mind had gone unusually, annoyingly blank.
He had trained himself to analyze everything. But her, he couldn't quite place. She wasn't predictable. She didn't act grateful or submissive. She rolled her eyes at his instructions. She snapped back when others would've stayed quiet. She didn't try to impress him. Didn't try to please anyone.
That was what made her dangerous.
Not to the contract.
To him.
Zeyan had watched Tang Min closely tonight, not because she mattered to him personally, but because she was always strategic. She played the long game. Every smile had a motive. Every word was placed like a move on a chessboard.
The auction stunt? Clever. Public. Designed to draw blood without leaving visible scars.
He should've expected it.
What he hadn't expected was the tight look in Yaoyue's eyes after it happened. Not panic. Not confusion.
Hurt.
It had lasted only a second, hidden behind her practiced smile. But he saw it. And it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
The contract was clear.
One month.
Public affection.
No emotional involvement.
She had agreed. She had known the terms.
So why did the weight in his chest feel like something had shifted?
He walked over to the sideboard, poured himself a drink, and sat down. The scotch was smooth, aged, familiar. But even the burn didn't cut through the tension curling in his shoulders.
He had told her that letting Tang Min believe she still held power was the smarter move.
But maybe that had just been an excuse.
The truth was, if he'd said something, if he'd pushed back publicly, it would've made things messier.
And he hated messy.
Still... when he'd looked at Yaoyue in that moment, he'd seen something fragile behind her sharp exterior.
Trust. Slight, unspoken, and unintentional.
And he hadn't done anything to protect it.
He hated himself a little for that.
---
His phone buzzed on the desk. A message from Tang Min.
**Dinner soon? We have so much to talk about.**
He deleted it without replying.
Then opened his calendar and stared at the weekend she had ambushed.
A forced getaway. Public, scheduled, all eyes on them.
Tang Min thought she was clever.
She didn't realize that the closer she tried to press in, the more clearly Zeyan saw through her.
He'd tried once, years ago, to let someone into his life under the guise of practicality. It had nearly cost him everything.
He wouldn't repeat that mistake.
And yet, here he was again, letting someone into his space, into his routine. Into his silence.
But this time, it wasn't about convenience.
Lin Yaoyue didn't fit neatly into his world. She pushed at the corners. Disrupted the stillness. Brought life into the cold.
It irritated him.
And intrigued him.
That was the problem.
He didn't like what he couldn't explain.
And nothing about her, from the way she quietly took up space, to the way her presence lingered long after she left the room, made any logical sense.
Jiang Zeyan set down the empty glass, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
He needed to pull back. Reinforce the boundaries.
This was business. A contract. A performance.
But even as he thought it, he knew something was beginning to fray.
Not the act.
Him.
---
Somewhere across the hall, the faint sound of movement told him she was still awake.
He didn't go to her. He didn't speak.
But he stood in the dark, watching the soft glow under her door.
And for the first time in years, Jiang Zeyan couldn't tell whether what he was feeling was part of the plan or the beginning of its unraveling.