Chapter 11
1217words
I was losing my mind.
Completely losing it.
Over the next few days, Luke and I continued our strange dance—distant yet intimate, formal yet familiar.
He never asked about my work, yet somehow always seemed to know when I'd had a breakthrough or a setback.
One evening, after a brutal confrontation with a senior director left me too upset to eat, I came home to find him wordlessly preparing a bowl of noodles topped with a perfect soft-boiled egg.
The sight of steam rising from that simple bowl nearly brought me to tears.
I found myself brewing tea when I noticed him reading, or leaving hot milk outside his door when his light was still on late at night.
Our cold contract was warming into something else entirely.
The day the preliminary audit report arrived, everything changed.
The evidence was damning—millions siphoned through shell companies owned by Melissa's relatives. I shook with rage as I read.
They'd left a paper trail a mile wide!
I called an emergency board meeting and slammed the report on the table.
This time, my father and Melissa had nowhere to hide.
With Director Zhang's backing, the board voted to remove Melissa as CFO immediately and refer the matter to the authorities.
My father was forced to take a “leave of absence” pending investigation of his supervisory failures.
After years of powerlessness, I had finally reclaimed what was rightfully mine and my mother's!
After everyone left, I stood alone in the boardroom, staring out at the city lights, emotions surging through me.
My first thought was to tell Luke.
I grabbed my phone and dialed his number without hesitation.
“Yes?”
“Luke! I did it!” I could barely contain my excitement. “Melissa's being arrested! My father's suspended! I've taken back the company!”
Silence for a beat.
Then I heard something I'd never heard before—a soft laugh filled with genuine warmth.
“Well done,” he said simply, his voice warm. “I knew you would.”
Those few words meant more than a thousand congratulations from anyone else.
“Where are you?” I blurted out. “I want to see you.”
I regretted the words instantly.
They sounded too needy, too intimate.
Just as I was scrambling for a way to take them back, he answered:
“Downstairs.”
“What?” I couldn't have heard correctly.
“I'm downstairs,” he repeated. “I thought you might want to celebrate.”
He was here. At my company.
Those simple words sent ripples through my chest.
I thought he never left the apartment.
“How did you—”
“Come down,” he interrupted. “I'll wait by the ginkgo tree at the entrance.”
He hung up before I could respond.
I moved to the window, peering down at the street below.
Sullivan Tower stood in the heart of downtown, surrounded by traffic and neon. The ancient ginkgo tree at the entrance was easy to spot, its golden leaves catching the city lights.
And there he was, standing beneath it.
He'd traded his casual home attire for a simple white shirt and black pants. Even in such basic clothing, he stood apart from the rushing crowds, as if existing in his own separate reality.
He stood motionless, like a painting come to life—still yet powerful.
My eyes burned unexpectedly.
In this moment of triumph—the most significant of my life—the first person I wanted to share it with was him. And somehow, he'd known.
I grabbed my purse and ran for the elevator.
When I reached the tree, breathless and flushed, he was examining a window display nearby. He turned at the sound of my approach.
“Why the rush?” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek with casual intimacy. “I'm not going anywhere.”
His cool fingers against my heated skin sent a shiver down my spine.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, the question that had been burning in my mind.
“I thought you might need me,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Those simple words affected me more than any flowery declaration could have.
“Where are we going?” I asked, falling into step beside him.
“This way.”
He didn't take my hand, just walked slightly ahead, maintaining a careful distance between us.
Following his tall figure through the evening crowds, I felt my frantic excitement gradually settling into something deeper, more grounded.
He didn't lead me to some upscale restaurant or trendy bar.
Instead, we turned down a quiet side street, away from the glitz of downtown.
At the end of the alley stood a tiny Japanese restaurant with wooden sliding doors and a paper lantern reading “Midnight Diner” casting a warm glow.
“Here?” I asked, surprised.
“Here.” He slid the door open.
Wind chimes tinkled softly.
The interior was tiny—just a counter and a few tables. Warm yellow light illuminated walls covered with handwritten menus and customer notes.
A middle-aged Japanese man worked behind the counter. He looked up as we entered, his weathered face breaking into a genuine smile.
“Mr. Shaw! Long time no see. Is this your girlfriend?” he asked in accented but clear English.
Luke glanced at me but neither confirmed nor denied. “Two tonkotsu ramen and a bottle of sake, please.”
“Coming right up!”
We settled at a small table by the window.
I studied Luke's face, questions multiplying in my mind.
How did he know this place? The owner clearly knew him well.
Wasn't he just a waiter at Cloud Peak Pavilion?
He caught my questioning look. “Used to deliver for them sometimes. Side job.”
Once again, he explained away his contradictions with the simplest possible answer.
Soon two steaming bowls of ramen arrived, along with a ceramic flask of warm sake.
The rich, milky broth, springy noodles, perfectly soft-boiled eggs, and tender pork looked absolutely mouthwatering.
“Try it,” he said.
I lifted some noodles to my mouth, blowing gently before taking a bite.
The flavor exploded across my tongue—rich, complex, deeply satisfying. The warmth spread through my chest as I swallowed.
In that moment, all the stress and exhaustion of the past weeks seemed to melt away.
“This is incredible,” I said honestly.
He watched me eat, something soft appearing in his eyes.
He poured sake into my small porcelain cup.
“To your victory,” he said, raising his cup.
I raised mine to meet his.
Clink.
The delicate sound rang clearly in the quiet restaurant.
I sipped the sake, feeling its warmth spread through me.
“Luke,” I said, the sake giving me courage, “why did you help me that night?”
It was the first time I'd directly asked the question that had haunted me since that night.
He set down his cup and met my gaze, his eyes reflecting the warm light.
“Because,” he said after a long pause, “you reminded me of someone.”
“Someone?” My heart clenched unexpectedly.
“Yes.” His eyes filled with emotions I'd never seen before—nostalgia, sadness, tenderness. “She was like you—seemingly fragile but fighting the world single-handedly. Stubborn as hell, never backing down even when the odds were impossible.”
Whoever this person was, she clearly meant the world to him.
An unexpected jealousy twisted in my chest.
I was jealous of this unknown woman who could bring such emotion to his eyes.
