Syra buried her face in his chest, breathing him in—sandalwood, salt, and something indefinably Lou. He kissed her hair, the gesture so tender it made her throat tighten. When she raised her eyes to meet his, she found only calm—that unshakable stillness that had drawn her to him from the beginning.
Does anything ever shake this man?
As if hearing her thoughts, Lou spoke, his voice steady. "I need to go out for a moment. I'll be back by six." His thumb brushed her lower lip. "I'm taking you to dinner."
Syra blinked. Dinner? Now? With the world crumbling around them? But the certainty in his gaze left no room for argument.
"Okay," she said, forcing a smile onto her face.
Lou kissed her forehead, then left.
---
Ming and the driver were already waiting when Lou stepped outside. The moment the car door closed, Ming launched into a hushed briefing, his usual composure frayed at the edges.
"Legal froze all subsidiary accounts. The board is demanding an emergency vote. Your uncle—"
"I know," Lou cut in, staring out the window as Shanghai blurred past.
They worked through the backlog in silence—Lou's mind partitioning neatly between damage control and the memory of his grandmother's face when he'd walked away. By 5 PM, the most critical fires were contained.
Alone in his office, Lou finally let himself unravel.
His reflection stared back from the glass walls—a man caught between devotion and duty.
His grandmother's hands, steady as they taught him to hold a calligraphy brush when he was five.
Her voice, firm but never unkind, when he'd struggled with meditation as a boy.
The way she'd stood between him and his mother's grief after his father's death, becoming both shield and sanctuary. Lou's hands trembled. His breath came uneven.
How do I fix this, Buddha?
---
He returned at 6:02 PM. Syra was waiting by the window, wearing a simple black dress he'd never seen before. Her hair was down, curls spilling over her shoulders like ink.
Lou crossed the room in gentle as it drawn by a magnet and pulled her to him, burying his face in her neck.
Syra stilled. "Lou?"
He didn't answer. Just held her tighter.
She felt it then—the faintest tremor in his arms. The way his breath hitched against her skin.
Syra cupped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Talk to me."
Lou exhaled. "I hurt her."
Syra's thumb brushed his cheekbone. "You chose me."
"And I'd choose you again," he said hoarsely. "But that doesn't make the cost any easier."
Syra kissed him—soft, slow, an anchor in the storm. When she pulled back, she took his hand.
"Then let's go to dinner," she said. "And tomorrow, we'll face the rest."
---
The restaurant was a sanctuary of hushed elegance—bamboo screens casting delicate shadows, the scent of sandalwood and steamed lotus root perfuming the air. Syra's fingers hovered over the lacquered menu, her eyes widening slightly at the intricate dishes listed.
Lou watched her from across the table, the candlelight softening the sharp angles of his face. Without a word, he reached over and took the menu, ordering in fluid Mandarin that made the waiter bow slightly before retreating.
The dishes arrived like works of art—mushroom dumplings translucent as stained glass, tofu carved into chrysanthemum blossoms, bowls of broth shimmering with golden oil. Lou filled her plate before she could protest, stacking it with every protein-rich morsel he could find.
"Eat," he commanded, watching her like a hawk.
Syra took a bite of braised gluten puff—and immediately closed her eyes as the flavors exploded on her tongue. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her throat.
Lou's chopsticks froze mid-air.
When she opened her eyes, his expression was dangerously neutral, but his knuckles had gone white around his utensils.
"You're losing weight," he said abruptly, piling more food onto her plate.
Syra scoffed. "I am not—"
The memory struck her like lightning: four nights ago, Lou had her pressed against the drafting table, her back arching as his mouth traced the sensitive curve of her neck. Paintbrushes rattled in their jars with each movement, the scent of turpentine and sweat thick in the air.
"Lou—" Syra's fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in short gasps. The world had narrowed to the heat of his hands spanning her waist, the delicious friction of their bodies moving together.
Then, without warning, the room tilted.
A strange buzzing filled her ears. The vibrant ochre of the sunset through the windows bleached to gray at the edges of her vision.
Oh.
Her knees buckled.
Lou caught her before she hit the floor—one arm banding across her back, the other cradling her head. She felt the panicked hammer of his heart against her cheek as he lowered them both to the ground.
"Syra?" His voice was rough, stripped of its usual control.
She tried to answer, but her tongue felt too heavy. The last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her was Lou's face—his eyes wide with fear, his lips forming her name like a prayer. Since then he didn't touch her or try to do the "deed."
---
PRESENT - THE RESTAURANT
The memory sent a fresh wave of heat up Syra's neck. Across the table, Lou's gaze darkened as if he could read her thoughts.
"Eat," he repeated, voice low. The command carried the weight of that night—the way his hands had trembled as he pressed a cold cloth to her forehead, the hours he'd spent researching nutritional deficiencies afterward.
Syra obediently took another bite, the rich flavors grounding her. Lou's watchful eyes never left her face, tracking every movement with the intensity of a man who'd learned how fragile she could be.
Her cheeks burned but she refused to be outdone. "Well you're twice my size!" she blurted. "Who asked you to be so huge, hmmph?"
The words hung in the air, ridiculous and childish.
Lou set down his chopsticks with deliberate calm. "I was holding back."
Syra choked.
Water splashed as Lou vaulted over the table, one hand gently but firmly thumping her back while the other pressed a glass to her lips. Between coughs, her mind reeled:
Holding back?
That was HOLDING BACK?
When she could breathe again, Lou was kneeling beside her chair, his thumb wiping a tear from her cheek. The candlelight caught the gold in his eyes—and something darker, hotter, that made her stomach flip.
"Finish your food," he murmured, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "We'll discuss... portion sizes... later."
---