The morning after the dinner felt... different.
Shen Miao walked into the office in her usual crisp blazer, coffee in hand, but there was a lightness in her step she hadn't felt in years. The memory of He Ran's fingers wrapped around hers across that candlelit table, his voice low and sure—"I want you"—still echoed in her ears.
But if she was a fluttering storm inside, she was a fortress on the outside. Calm. Composed. Completely pretending that last night wasn't still clinging to her like invisible perfume.
He Ran, of course, didn't pretend at all.
When she stepped into the meeting room for the morning brief, he was already there. His eyes met hers immediately, and the faintest grin tugged at his lips—barely noticeable, but meant only for her.
She sat opposite him.
He leaned back and casually said, "Hope everyone got enough rest last night. Some of us had... eventful evenings."
Shen Miao narrowed her eyes subtly.
No one else noticed. But her ears burned.
After the meeting, as she packed up her laptop, He Ran walked past her and murmured low enough for only her to hear, "Still pretending to be professional, Miss Shen?"
She didn't look up. "Still pretending that wine didn't go to your head, Mr. He?"
He chuckled as he walked out, hands in his pockets.
God, he was dangerous when he was relaxed.
---
The teasing didn't stop there.
Around noon, she found a chocolate bar on her desk.
A sticky note was attached:
"Emergency sugar rush. For stressful campaign managers only. – HR"
She looked around, half-annoyed, half-grinning. He was nowhere in sight.
But Irene was.
Irene walked up with her usual manicured poise, holding a folder to her chest. "Chocolate? That's unlike you."
Shen Miao kept her tone breezy. "You'd be surprised what I'm like."
Irene tilted her head. "Ran seems lighter these days. Happier. I guess the stress is finally off his shoulders."
Shen Miao smiled coolly. "Or he's finally surrounded by capable people."
"Oh, I'm sure that's it," Irene said sweetly, but her eyes said something else.
---
That evening, He Ran messaged her:
"Late tonight. Final edits on the winter campaign. You, me, and coffee?"
She didn't reply right away.
When she finally walked into his office at 8:30 PM, he was pouring two cups already.
"Thought you'd stand me up," he said, handing her one.
"I almost did," she said truthfully. "Irene kept dropping hints that you two were 'close.'"
He raised a brow. "That's her favorite sport. Playing memory keeper."
"Were you ever with her?" she asked, surprising even herself.
There was a pause. He didn't dodge it.
"In college, yes. Briefly. I mistook loneliness for compatibility. We were done before we even began."
Shen Miao nodded slowly. "She still looks at you like there's something left."
"There's nothing. She just hates to lose."
"Lose what?"
He looked at her meaningfully. "Me. To you."
Her heart skipped.
He moved closer—not touching, but his presence alone curled heat into her skin. "Why don't you believe I've always been yours?"
She didn't look up. "Because if I admit it, I won't be able to hate you anymore."
His voice softened. "Then stop trying so hard."
She smiled weakly. "You think I'm not scared? That kiss... that dinner... it's everything I wanted. And that terrifies me."
He gently touched her hand. "I won't leave this time. You don't have to be scared alone."
A long silence stretched. The kind that spoke more than words.
Then she sighed and said, "I used to imagine what it'd be like if you came back. I thought you'd apologize, and I'd tell you I moved on. I'd be cold, elegant, unattached."
He grinned. "Elegant? Sure. Cold? You melt faster than chocolate on a dashboard."
She laughed despite herself.
It was strange—this safety in their rhythm. Like a song they both remembered.
---
The next day, everything changed again.
Their growing closeness had begun to show.
When He Ran entered the design room and instantly asked, "Shen, can you take a look at this layout?"—people looked.
When she walked into his office without knocking and left with a smile—people whispered.
And when Irene caught them both in the hallway laughing about something—she didn't smile.
That afternoon, Shen Miao was called for a quick brand alignment discussion. To her surprise, Irene was already in the room.
"Ran's on his way," Irene said.
Shen Miao nodded and sat, guarded.
Irene closed the door behind her. "You're a good strategist, Shen."
"I know."
"I mean it. Which is why I wonder... if you've thought through all the consequences."
Shen Miao met her gaze. "Of?"
"Getting involved with the CEO. You know how the board reacts to internal relationships."
Shen Miao kept her voice neutral. "Thanks for the concern. But I can handle myself."
"Of course. I just thought you'd want to keep your position based on merit—not gossip."
Before Shen Miao could respond, the door opened and He Ran entered.
He looked at both women, immediately sensing the tension.
"Irene, you can leave us."
She blinked. "But—"
"I said we're done here."
She hesitated, then walked out with one last glance.
He closed the door and turned to Shen Miao. "What did she say?"
Shen Miao exhaled. "That I should watch myself. That being close to you might cost me more than it's worth."
He walked over, eyes burning now—not with playfulness, but protectiveness.
"If anyone questions your place here again, I'll set the boardroom on fire myself."
She half-laughed, half-sighed. "I don't need saving, He Ran."
"I know. But I'll always stand beside you. Even when you pretend not to need me."
Their eyes locked.
It was getting harder to deny what was happening.
Between campaign briefs, subtle glances, teasing messages, and coffee breaks that turned into quiet confessions—they weren't just circling each other anymore.
They were falling.
Again.
—Flashback Begins—
The school courtyard was nearly empty, painted in soft hues of dusk. Shen Miao sat on the lowest step by the old basketball court, hugging her sketchpad to her chest.
He Ran walked over, backpack slung on one shoulder, hair slightly messy from practice. "You skipped art club," he said, tossing her a chilled juice box from the vending machine.
"I didn't feel like being around people," she replied softly. "Too much noise in my head today."
He didn't press for details. He never did. Instead, he sat beside her, close enough for their shoulders to brush, but not enough to make her move away.
They watched the sky shift colors in silence.
"You know," she said suddenly, "sometimes I wonder if I'm just... ordinary. If I disappeared tomorrow, would anyone even notice?"
He turned his head sharply, eyes unreadable.
"I'd notice," he said quietly. "Every day. Every hour."
She blinked. Looked at him. But he was already staring ahead again, pretending the words hadn't slipped out.
She smiled faintly and looked down at the unopened juice box in her hands.
They didn't speak of it again.
But something settled between them that day—a thread quietly tying two hearts together.