The rain started in the late afternoon.
Not the gentle, romantic kind.
The aggressive, drenching, you-should-have-stayed-inside kind.
Lin Yaoyue sat on the covered terrace, a thin blanket around her shoulders and a mug of untouched tea in her hands. The storm had rolled in fast, drumming across the glass walls and blurring the ocean view into a wash of gray.
She hadn't spoken to Jiang Zeyan since that morning. Not out of anger, but out of something quieter. A hesitation that sat just beneath her skin.
Part of her wanted to go back to pretending. The professional distance. The scripted smiles. It was safer that way.
But after the leak, something inside her had changed.
And she didn't know how to hide it anymore.
She heard the sliding door open behind her, then the soft sound of footsteps.
She didn't turn.
He didn't speak.
He just sat next to her.
The silence stretched between them again, as it always did. But this time, it wasn't sharp. It wasn't cold.
It was heavy.
Real.
Eventually, he said, "This wasn't supposed to affect you."
She didn't answer at first.
Then, softly, "But it does."
He looked at her then, really looked. Her damp hair curling slightly at the ends, her face pale with exhaustion, her hands still wrapped around the tea as if they needed something to hold onto.
"You're not used to attention," he said.
"I'm not used to being exposed," she replied.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
"I know. But it still feels like I did."
She turned toward him, eyes tired but steady.
"I didn't ask for this. I didn't sign up to be hated by people I've never met, to be humiliated in tabloids, or to be questioned by strangers who don't even know my name."
"I'll handle it."
"It's not just about handling it."
Her voice cracked, just slightly.
"It's about feeling like I'm losing pieces of myself in something that isn't even real."
He stiffened. She saw it. That instinctive pullback. The reflex to retreat.
But this time, he didn't.
"Sometimes I forget," he said quietly. "That not everyone's used to pretending."
She blinked, surprised.
He rarely spoke about himself. He never peeled back the surface.
But now, something fragile glinted behind his words.
"I've spent years building walls," he said. "Not because I enjoy being alone, but because I stopped knowing what it felt like to be anything else."
She didn't move. Just listened.
"I thought this arrangement would be easy. Clean. Controlled. You play your part, I play mine, and it ends when the contract does."
His eyes met hers, and for the first time, she saw the truth behind them.
"But then you started making me forget I was acting."
The silence that followed was louder than thunder.
She set the tea down, slowly.
"You don't have to say that."
"I didn't plan to."
She let out a shaky breath, then said, "I don't know what I'm doing either."
He looked at her like he wanted to reach for her, but didn't.
"I don't expect anything from you," he said.
"But I do," she replied softly.
Another beat passed.
Then he stood and held out a hand.
"Come inside."
She stared at it. At him.
For once, there was no command in his voice. No expectation. Just a quiet offer.
She took it.
His hand was warm. Steady.
And when she rose to follow him inside, she realized something had shifted between them. Not enough to call it anything. But enough to know they couldn't go back to what it was before.
---
Inside, the air was warmer. Safer.
But neither of them let go.