...
Under the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp, his breath mingled with hers, warm and heady.
The woman beneath him moaned softly, her body arching upward in response to his touch.
His lips moved over hers with urgency, drinking in every whimper and gasp like wine. She trembled slightly as his lips captured hers. Her breath hitched as he kissed her deeply, slowly, as if memorizing the shape of her mouth.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer as her back arched to meet him.
Her skin, smooth as silk, shone with a light sheen of sweat as he trailed kisses along her collarbone, his voice husky against her ear. He whispered her name, or at least he thought he did—but he never heard her say his.
Her voice came out in soft moans and whispered sighs, like music floating on a summer breeze.
The heat between their bodies grew, and as he moved within her, their hearts beat in an unspoken rhythm.
And then—
Liang Yexuan jolted awake, his chest rising and falling as he gasped for breath.
His heart pounded like a drum in his ribcage, the phantom feeling of warm skin and whispered moans still clinging to his senses.
For a few seconds, he lay there, dazed, staring at the ceiling.
Sweat clung to his temples, and the sheets twisted around his body
"Again..." he murmured, running a hand through his messy hair. "This is the second time."
He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 3:30 AM. Again.
His fingers clutched the sheets as he sat up.
"This is insane," he muttered to himself.
He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. The dream had felt too vivid, too real. Yet again, he hadn't seen the woman's face.
But the sensations—her soft skin, her floral scent, the way her body responded to his—were etched into his mind with disturbing clarity.
"Am I going mad?" he muttered, pushing the covers aside and stepping onto the cold floor.
Unable to go back to sleep, he made his way to the study.
The room was silent and dim, moonlight filtering through the curtains. He turned on the desk lamp, its warm glow spilling over the aged paper and elegant brush set laid out neatly.
He stood before the calligraphy table, straight-backed and focused, the long sleeves of his robe pushed up to his elbows.
Dipping the brush in ink, he began to write, each stroke deliberate, powerful, and full of pent-up emotion. His movements were fluid, graceful, almost meditative. The brush glided over the rice paper with precision, forming elegant, sweeping characters.
His posture straightened, eyes focused. His long fingers moved with elegance, muscles in his forearm subtly flexing as he moved the brush.
The strokes were bold, powerful, yet filled with something he couldn't explain.
"谁是她 (Who's She?)"
"你在哪里 (Where Are You?)"
The script was beautiful, an aching question penned with such depth that even the paper seemed to grieve.
He didn't notice the sky shifting from night to morning until a soft knock came at the door.
"Young Master," Jin Shu's voice called out.
Liang Yexuan turned toward the window, startled. The sun was rising, painting the sky in hues of lavender and peach.
He looked down at the characters he'd written, heart heavy.
With a sigh, he put the brush down and walked over to the door, opening it slowly.
Jin Shu greeted him with a bow. "Good morning, sir."
He nodded silently and turned back to his room to prepare for the day.
...
Lin Yue was seated comfortably in the small garden behind the house, surrounded by blooming jasmine and the faint scent of hibiscus.
She wore a loose linen dress, a soft beautiful apron wrapped around her waist, her hair tied into a loose bun.
She hummed along to soft music playing from her phone, her voice light and sweet.
She dabbed gentle strokes of blue onto the sky in her painting, adding softness to the golden hues of dawn.
The warmth of the sun soaked into her skin, and the soft rustle of leaves felt like a lullaby.
Just then, her phone rang. She wiped her hand on a cloth and reached for it, smiling when she saw the caller ID.
"Yuwei," she answered brightly.
"Yueyue! I have news," Mo Yuwei said excitedly. "Big news. I found out the details of that competition between the major companies. Turns out it's between Liang Conglomerate, Tang Group, and Xu Group. It's a design project on cultural architecture—traditional meets modern aesthetics."
Lin Yue's eyes lit up. "A cultural architecture project?"
"Exactly," Yuwei said. "Liang Conglomerate needs someone who understands both traditional artistry and modern presentation. Your painting style is perfect. You could work alongside their interior and architecture team and even contribute visual themes to the design proposal."
"You really pulled this off for me," Lin Yue said, moved. "Thank you so much."
"You start next week," Yuwei said cheerfully. "I've already handled your entry. All you need to do is report to their art and design department. You have four days to get ready."
After more cheerful chatting, they hung up. Lin Yue looked down at her belly.
"You'll get to see daddy soon," she murmured. "And maybe find out why he never came back after regaining his memory."
Before she could get lost in thought, her phone rang again.
She glanced at the screen and answered.
"Hello, Uncle Song?"
"Xiao Yue, there's a woman here who says she's your sister. She refuses to leave unless she sees you."
Her brows furrowed. "What's her name?"
"Lin Xingyan," he replied.
Lin Yue's expression darkened for a brief moment. "I'll be there shortly."
She cleaned her hands, untied her apron, and tidied her appearance before heading out.
...
When she arrived at the gallery, she spotted Lin Xingyan sitting on a bench just outside, wearing sunglasses and a shawl to conceal her face.
Lin Yue approached, expression unreadable. "What do you want?"
To her surprise, Lin Xingyan stood and didn't look smug or arrogant—just tired.
"I... Can we talk?" she asked quietly.
Lin Yue hesitated, then nodded.
They walked to a small café beside the gallery and sat outside under an umbrella.
Lin Yue ordered a warm milk for herself. Lin Xingyan declined anything.
There was a long silence before Lin Xingyan finally exhaled and asked, "Where did you get the videos and photos?"
Lin Yue lifted her cup to her lips. "You don't need to know."
Lin Xingyan looked desperate now. "Please... don't release them. I'll do anything. Just... don't ruin me."
Lin Yue set her cup down and leaned forward, voice soft but sharp. "Then stay away from me. Tell your family to forget I exist. That's the only way I'll keep quiet."
Lin Xingyan looked stunned for a moment, then nodded fervently. "Okay... okay, I promise. I won't come near you again. I'll make sure they don't either."
Her voice cracked as she said it, and Lin Yue saw something flicker in her eyes—was it guilt?
Or simply fear?
Lin Yue stood. "Good. You should go before anyone recognizes you. After all, you're a celebrity."
Without another word, she walked away, not looking back.
And behind her, Lin Xingyan sat alone, trembling in silence as tears slid beneath her sunglasses, staining the shawl.
...