Lin Yaoyue had never realized how loud the world had been until it finally quieted down.
There were no scandals trending with her name, no meetings overshadowed by side glances, no rival waiting for her to slip. Just a soft breeze moving through the open window, the faint clinking of cups in the kitchen, and the sound of Zeyan shuffling through a drawer, muttering something under his breath about where she'd hidden the tea strainer.
She leaned against the counter, watching him. "You know, for someone who supposedly runs a multibillion-dollar company, you lose things a lot."
"I don't lose them," he said. "You rearranged everything."
"I reorganized," she corrected. "For your benefit."
He shot her a dry look over his shoulder. "It's chaos."
"It's improvement. Try drinking tea without having a near-existential crisis about where the spoons are."
Despite himself, he smiled. "You're insufferable in the morning."
"And yet here we are."
He finally found the strainer and dropped it into the teapot with exaggerated precision. "You know what I've realized?"
"That I'm right?"
"That I've let you take over my kitchen, my penthouse, and most of my sanity. All without a single formal request."
She smiled as she reached for her mug. "You're welcome."
---
The rest of the morning passed with surprising ease. They ate breakfast barefoot in the living room, her legs draped over his lap while he scrolled through a few financial documents and she caught up on a novel she'd abandoned weeks ago.
Every so often, she glanced up from the page just to look at him, not in the dramatic, swept-off-her-feet way, but in the quiet realization that she liked this version of him. Focused, but not distant. Present. Comfortable. Hers.
At one point, he caught her staring.
"What?"
She shrugged. "Nothing."
"You're making that face."
"I don't have a face."
"You have a very specific face when you're thinking something soft and trying not to say it."
"Sounds like projection."
He set the tablet down. "Say it."
She hesitated, then closed her book and leaned back against the arm of the couch.
"I like being here. With you. Like this."
Zeyan didn't say anything at first. He just reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers, holding it quietly on her knee.
"I like it too," he said.
"You sure? You don't look tortured enough."
He laughed under his breath, then leaned in and kissed her softly, the kind of kiss that didn't ask for attention or demand a reaction. It just was. Warm. Steady. Real.
When they parted, she rested her forehead against his.
"This isn't what I expected when I signed that contract," she said.
He stroked a thumb over her knuckles. "It's not what I expected when I wrote it."
"So what are we now?"
Zeyan tilted his head slightly, as if considering it.
"We're something that matters," he said. "Something that lasts."
---
Later in the day, they took a walk together, something so ordinary it almost felt surreal. No bodyguards. No reporters. Just the two of them, hands occasionally brushing as they strolled down a quiet side street lined with cafés and late-blooming flowers.
They stopped by a small bakery, one she remembered from her old neighborhood.
Zeyan looked mildly alarmed at the pastry selection. "Why does everything look like it could end me in one bite?"
"That's how you know it's good," she said, already ordering two things she knew he'd never try unless forced.
He followed her to a small bench outside. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"I'm trying to introduce you to joy."
He took a cautious bite and blinked. "This is dangerously good."
"Told you."
He looked at her for a long moment, then said, "You always do that."
"What?"
"Catch me off guard. Make me say things I didn't think I was capable of saying."
She gave him a small, satisfied grin. "That's love for you."
He didn't respond right away.
Instead, he took her hand again, this time more deliberately.
Then, very softly, he said, "I love you."
No build-up. No fanfare.
Just honesty.
She blinked, heart suddenly full and far too loud in her chest.
"I love you too," she said.
It wasn't the first time she'd thought it. But saying it owning it changed something. Not in a dramatic way. Just enough to feel like she'd stepped into a new room with him, one where things weren't uncertain anymore.
They sat in the soft shade, hands clasped, pastry forgotten.
And for once, there was no rush.
---
That evening, back at the penthouse, she wandered through the apartment with a sense of ease that surprised her. It no longer felt like Zeyan's space. It was theirs. Her things were here. Her laugh echoed off the walls. Her rhythm set the pace of the rooms.
She curled up on the sofa beside him as the city lights flickered to life outside.
"I like this life," she said softly. "I didn't think I would, but I do."
Zeyan reached for her, pulling her gently into his arms.
"It's only going to get better," he said.
"Promise?"
He looked down at her, eyes steady and serious. "I won't always be perfect. I'll mess up. I'll retreat when I shouldn't. But I won't let go. Not ever."
She pressed her forehead against his chest.
"Then I'll hold on too."