Chapter Four

Qin He’s penthouse remained untouched by noise, but not untouched by pressure.

In the days since the mysterious gallery visitor was last seen, the silence had grown heavier. Lin Rui noticed it first not in what Qin said, but in the things he didn’t.

Meetings that once lasted an hour ended in ten minutes. Briefings were waved off. Reports reviewed and dismissed without comment. Qin was focused obsessively so on the movement of one man who hadn't even left a name.

And now, someone else was watching too.

From a dark car parked across the street from Qin Media’s headquarters, a man in a charcoal coat sat quietly, phone screen dimmed, watching.

He knew the time. He’d seen the pattern. The man slipping in late, slipping out earlier.

And he recognized him.

“You haven’t changed,” he murmured to himself, eyes fixed on the building. “Still walking like you own the air you breathe.”

His phone buzzed, a message:

*“Do you have the proof?”*

He typed back:

*“I have something better. I have motive.”*

Back inside Qin Media, Lin Rui stood outside his boss’s office, fingers hesitating at the door panel. He’d served Qin He loyally for four years, managed crises, hushed scandals, forged allies. But never had he seen his boss like this.

Lost in thought.

Or worse...haunted.

He stepped in.

“Sir,” he said carefully, “you have a press appearance scheduled tomorrow. Your absence is already being speculated on.”

Qin He didn’t answer immediately. He was standing by the tall glass wall again, eyes not on the city, but on something far beyond it.

“Have the cameras been upgraded in the gallery hallway?” he asked suddenly.

Lin blinked. “Yes, two days ago. But we haven’t caught him on any of the new angles. He’s... careful.”

“He knows where they are,” Qin murmured, voice quiet, more to himself than to Lin. “Of course he does.”

That was all he said before turning back to his desk, dismissing the topic with a wave.

But Lin didn’t leave.

He took a breath. “Qin, may I speak freely?”

A pause.

Qin nodded once.

“This man,” Lin began, choosing every word like glass, “he’s more than just a secret, isn’t he? You’ve known him. Before all of this.”

The look Qin gave him wasn’t anger, it was something far more disarming: tiredness.

“I knew him,” he admitted quietly. “Before I became someone he couldn’t afford to love.”

Lin swallowed. That was more than Qin had ever admitted to anyone.

“Then why let him near again?”

A silence. Then, softly:

“Because he’s already inside.”

At midnight, the stranger returned.

Gallery 9’s doors were locked, but not to him. He moved through them like a ghost, unseen by cameras, untouched by alarms.

He stood before a single painting. Midnight blue. A streak of crimson, like a crack through a heart.

He stared at it the way someone stares at a memory.

And then..footsteps.

Qin He stepped from the shadows.

“I knew you’d come back,” he said, voice unreadable.

The man didn’t flinch. He turned slowly, face now visible in the dim light, a sharp jaw, deep-set eyes, a familiar silence in his posture.

“I wasn’t here for the painting,” he said.

“I know.”

They stood in silence.

So many years. So many unspoken things between them.

And outside, in the cold, the man in the charcoal coat watched again, but this time, he wasn’t alone.

Two others joined him. Each holding a camera. Each ready to tear the veil off Qin He’s world.

Because secrets don’t stay secrets forever.

And someone was ready to make Qin He pay for hiding his.

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