Ye Chen felt no guilt at all as he polished off the bento box—satisfied, full, and genuinely content. It had been a long time since he'd had such delicious, comforting homemade food.
How long, exactly?
So long he couldn't even remember anymore.
All afternoon, Ye Chen had been moody and volatile. His usually refined, icy expression had darkened to the point where it looked like it could start raining indoors. If he was typically the picture of elegant aloofness, today he was all stormy gloom and bone-deep chill.
Cheng Anya bore the brunt of it—scolded multiple times for no reason. The entire secretary's office felt like mid-winter. Everyone was walking on eggshells. Anyone summoned into the president's office came out looking like they'd been through a small war.
Ye Chen was clearly unsettled. And Cheng Anya could see it.
Near the end of the day, he asked her to make him a cup of coffee. When she brought it in, he was standing before the floor-to-ceiling window, tall and straight, his presence carrying an almost tangible pressure.
It was dusk. The sunset cast a warm, golden glow through the room, bathing everything in a gentle light.
Cheng Anya placed the coffee down quietly and offered a soft reminder.
"Miss Cheng, cancel my appointments for tonight," Ye Chen said without turning around. His voice was hoarse, almost raspy. In the golden glow of twilight, that voice carried a quiet sorrow, heavy and deep.
"Yes, sir."
She stepped out slowly. But as she closed the door, she couldn't help but look back at him once more.
There was something irresistibly magnetic about that man—his elegance, his icy demeanor, his heartless exterior...
He had everything it took to be a lady-killer.
To her, Ye Chen had always been unshakably powerful—almost omnipotent.
But today, he was different.
Today, he radiated a quiet grief, a longing mixed with sorrow. He seemed to be remembering someone. And the warm dusk sunlight, though it bathed the room, felt like it couldn't touch him.
It couldn't melt into the sadness and memories that clung to him.
Cheng Anya's heart ached, just a little. The stronger a person appeared, the more they hid their vulnerabilities. They weren't allowed to cry. Couldn't show weakness. But people like that…
Were often the most fragile inside.
Damn it, with this lighting, this man, and that backlit silhouette—it's like the perfect setup for a melodramatic, soap-opera male lead!
Ye Chen, are you switching to the tragic heartthrob route now?
Well—
It's tragically hilarious.