Chapter 6 Part 1: Morning Calm, Dressed in Ivory

Monday, 8:15 AM
Lin Yue's POV

The office was quiet in the early hour, touched only by the hush of polished soles against tiled floors and the faint rustle of paper from the admin desk. Light poured in through tall glass windows, pale and soft, not yet harsh with the weight of the day.

Lin Yue walked in dressed in ivory, a structured blouse with delicate pleats at the sleeves, tucked into a high-waisted slate-gray skirt. Her heels were modest, her jewelry minimal, her hair pulled back into a twist so smooth it looked sculpted.

She had dressed with surgical intent this morning.

Soft color. Precise tailoring. Armor disguised as elegance.

She passed the receptionist with a nod, her expression calm, unreadable. But beneath that surface, her pulse betrayed her.

A little too fast. A little too reactive.

Chen Rui didn't text her this morning.

And she wasn't sure why it bothered her so much.

Not that he owed her anything. It was a weekend. It was soup. It was nothing.

It should've been nothing.

So why did her hand hover over her phone for so long that morning? Why did she check it three times before leaving, just to make sure she didn't miss a notification that wasn't there?

She pressed the elevator button and inhaled deeply.

Everything was in order. Her agenda for the day, her talking points, even her posture.

Nothing in her was supposed to feel... stirred.

The doors opened. She stepped inside alone. But just before they slid shut, a voice called out.

"Hold, please."

And then, of course, Chen Rui stepped in.

He looked freshly pressed, well-rested. A soft gray jacket hung loose over his shoulders, pale blue shirt beneath, collar slightly open, sleeves already rolled. No tie, just that easy, unbothered elegance he wore too well.

Their eyes met briefly.

His smile was subtle. Familiar. But it held none of the warmth she'd grown used to.

It felt... quieter.

"Morning," he said simply.

She nodded. "Morning."

Silence fell. A thick, too-comfortable silence.

They stood side by side, eyes forward. Not touching. Not speaking. But she could feel his presence beside her like static heat against her skin.

When the elevator doors opened again, she stepped out first. He didn't follow, his floor was one level up.

But as she walked down the hallway, her footsteps echoing softly across the marble, she could still feel the weight of his gaze on her back.

She didn't turn around. She didn't need to.

He didn't say anything wrong. Nothing strange. Nothing meaningful.

And yet, somehow, it still felt like something changed again.

⸻

Chen Rui's POV

He watched her walk away, straight-backed, poised, elegant in ivory.

Everything about her was composed. But something in him still stirred.

He didn't text her that morning.

He'd hovered over the keyboard more times than he cared to admit. Thought of saying something, anything—"Sleep well?", "Did the soup really help?", "I dreamed about you again."

But in the end, he said nothing.

Because if he started... he didn't trust himself to stop.

And now, watching her move down the corridor, all precise lines and quiet grace, he couldn't shake the thought that he might've created a distance she didn't deserve.

Still, it was safer this way.

Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself.

⸻

Tuesday, 11:45 AM
Lin Yue's POV

By midday, the office felt heavier, buzzing with energy and quiet stress. Lingxi Media was always calm on the surface, but Lin Yue had long learned how to read the undercurrent of tension that pulsed beneath glass walls and neatly curated workspaces.

She was in her element. Efficient, graceful, clipped in tone. Her outfit today was deep forest green, smooth satin blouse tucked into tailored cream trousers, sleeves slightly rolled to the elbow, gold cufflinks gleaming subtly under soft office light.

Sharp. Intentional. Her version of armor.

But none of it could silence her brain.

Chen Rui barely spoke to her all morning.

Nothing out of place, of course. He nodded in greeting, dropped a short compliment during a presentation, held a door open without comment.

All polite.

All professional.

Too professional.

It irritated her more than she was willing to admit.

Was it just her imagination, or his gaze lingered a little too long when she passed by the breakroom earlier?

Did he intentionally brush past her in that narrow hallway between meeting rooms?

She hated this.

Not knowing how much of it was real.

Not knowing if she was just reading too much into the silence because she couldn't stop hearing his voice in her dream.

"Stay."

She tried to bury the memory again, but it bloomed unbidden, heat flooding her chest at the thought. Her fingers fumbled on her keyboard and she cursed under her breath, backspacing rapidly.

"Get a grip," she muttered to herself.

She stood up to grab a file from the side shelf near the window. The motion helped. Movement always grounded her.

But just as she reached for it, the glass reflection caught him.

Chen Rui, standing just outside his own office.

One hand in his pocket. The other flipping through a folder, gaze low, until it wasn't.

Until it lifted, locked straight into hers through the reflection.

And he didn't look away.

Neither did she.

Seconds passed.

A beat too long for colleagues. Too intense for casual acquaintances.

Her fingers tightened on the folder spine before she turned away sharply.

She didn't need this.

Not in the middle of the day.

Not when her heart was already playing tricks on her.

⸻

Chen Rui's POV

He didn't mean to stare.

Not really.

But there she was again, bathed in sunlight by the window, all muted elegance and quiet fire.

That forest green blouse clung to her in a way that made him irrationally warm under the collar. The way her shoulders moved when she reached for a file, graceful, unhurried—shouldn't have affected him.

And yet... it did.

He looked away, tried to pretend it wasn't hunger curling beneath his ribs.

But then her eyes caught his in the reflection.

And for a moment, the world held its breath.

She didn't look away.

Neither did he.

It wasn't about audacity anymore.

It was about ache.

She knew.

She had to know by now.

And worse—she was starting to feel it too.

He exhaled, jaw tight, then turned back to his desk.

There was no coming back from this quiet chaos.

Not anymore.

⸻
Wednesday, 3:20 PM

Chen Rui stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, fingers pressed lightly against the edge of the glass. The city outside shimmered beneath the mid-afternoon sun.

Distant, glittering, detached.

Just like the words he couldn't say.

He'd spent the better part of the day trying to act unaffected.

Business as usual.

Meetings, numbers, presentations. Smiles wherever it was required. Nods where it was necessary.

But all of it felt distant, like he was moving through a fog. Because every time he tried to concentrate, his mind returned to her.

Lin Yue.

Her reflection yesterday. Her quiet elegance in green today. The flicker in her gaze when she thought he wasn't looking.

He could still feel the electric undercurrent from that moment by the window. The way her eyes lingered. The way his name might as well have been stitched into the lining of her silence.

He tried to work. He really did. But the edge of his attention kept catching on things he never noticed before.

How she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking. The faint curve of her lips when something amused her but she didn't want to show it. The way she always wore white gold jewelry, never yellow, never too loud, always refined.

It wasn't even obsession. Not anymore.

It was inevitability.

A quiet surrender he didn't realize was already underway.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and turned away from the window, pacing slowly back toward his desk. His phone buzzed once, an internal group message about upcoming planning sessions. He barely glanced at it.

His eyes drifted to the ceramic paperweight on the edge of his shelf. A gift from Lin Yue last year, a small thing, elegant, minimalist. She handed it to him during one of their first joint projects, not as a grand gesture, but a practical offering.

Back then, it was just polite.

Now, it sat there like a relic.

He ran his fingers across it lightly. Something about the cool texture grounded him momentarily.

How much longer could he keep pretending that all of this was casual?

How much longer before it spilled?

The knock came gently on his door but he didn't turn.

"Come in," he said, voice even.

The door opened, and he already knew it was her.

He felt it before she spoke.

That quiet weight that followed her like perfume.

"Sorry to interrupt," Lin Yue said softly. "Just wanted to go over the finance brief before tomorrow's review."

He turned to her and nearly forgot what words were.

She wore white today.

Not just any white. Structured. Clean lines. A high-collared blouse with subtle pearl accents. Crisp, composed, stunning.

A message in silence.

He cleared his throat. "Of course. Sit."

She walked over, sat across from him, and pulled out her notes. Her tone was calm, analytical, precise.

But her hands trembled slightly.

And he noticed.

He didn't say anything.

He just watched.

Listened.

Took in everything she didn't say.

Because he knew her too well now.

And what was simmering beneath her words wasn't just data and finance strategy.

It was something else entirely.

Something unspoken, but growing bolder with every shared silence.

⸻
Thursday, 4:50 PM
Lin Yue's POV

She didn't know why she agreed to stay late. The report could have waited. The meeting could have been rescheduled. But somehow, she was still here, alone in her office, staring at numbers that blurred into nothing.

The sky outside started to shift, a pale amber fading into lavender, soft hues casting long shadows across the glass panels.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving. Her tea had long gone cold.

And all she could think about was yesterday.

His eyes.

Chen Rui looked at her differently. Not like a colleague. Not like a friend. Not even like someone amused by her usual sharpness.

He looked at her like he was memorizing her.

And the worst part?

She let him.

She let her eyes linger too long on the way his shirt sleeves hugged his forearms. The way his voice dipped slightly when he asked her to sit. The way the air between them changed when neither of them spoke.

And today, it hasn't gone away.

If anything, the silence between them grew louder.

She reached for her pen, twirling it between her fingers. But her mind didn't follow the report. It wandered instead, unbidden, unwanted, to the memory of how close they sat together last night, side by side at the Lin residence. Her arm brushed his sleeve. His cologne lingered just long enough to make her dizzy.

A deep, clean scent. Something subtle. Something devastating.

Her pen slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.

"Get it together," she muttered.

But she couldn't. Not really.

Because there was a line somewhere that she didn't mean to cross, but she did.

Slowly. Quietly. One glance, one tea cup, one sigh at a time.

And now she wasn't sure where she stood anymore.

The worst part wasn't the way her pulse skipped every time he looked at her.

It was the fact that she started anticipating it.

She craved it now, those glances that didn't come with words, but with weight. That unspoken knowing between them that neither of them acknowledged aloud.

She curled her fingers lightly against her desk.

She needed clarity.

She needed distance.

But she didn't want either of those things.

She wanted... something else.

A knock came, soft and familiar.

Her breath caught even before the door opened.

Chen Rui.

Still in his workwear, slightly loosened now, like the day had softened him just enough. No blazer again today. Rolled sleeves. That same watch on his wrist. His gaze calm, unreadable.

But his eyes, his eyes gave him away.

"Forgot to leave the final procurement memo," he said simply, holding out a file.

"Thank you," she replied, reaching for it, careful not to let their fingers touch.

But they did anyway.

Barely.

A brush.

Her entire body stilled.

So did his.

Their hands paused just for a breath, for a moment too long.

Their eyes met.

Neither of them looked away.

Her pulse thundered.

And then he smiled just faintly. That soft, barely-there smile he always gave her when he knew she was trying not to unravel.

"I'll leave you to your numbers," he said, voice low.

But his gaze held hers like a tether. Like an unfinished sentence.

She didn't reply. Couldn't.

She only nodded.

He turned, walked to the door.

But before he left, he looked back.

"Lin Yue," he said gently.

She blinked.

"White suits you."

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

But his voice stayed.

His gaze stayed.

His silence stayed.

And the ache in her chest, most of all, stayed.

As the door clicked softly behind him, Lin Yue remained still. The room felt too quiet now. The kind of silence that didn't soothe her but echoed.

Her gaze dropped to the file in her hand. She didn't even open it yet.

White suits you, he said.

It wasn't about the outfit.

She knew that.

He wasn't just talking about her appearance. He was talking about something else. Something quieter. Something that's been building between them in glances and hesitations, in tea cups and elevator pauses, in everything they weren't saying aloud.

And the way he said her name...

So gentle. So deliberate.

She let her head tilt back slightly, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. Her breath was steady, but her heartbeat wasn't.

She didn't know what she was afraid of.

Maybe it wasn't fear at all.

Maybe it was wanting... and not knowing what to do with it.

Because the thing about Chen Rui was that he didn't ask for attention. He didn't chase. He simply stood beside you long enough that eventually, you noticed the way the air shifted when he wasn't there.

And now, she wasn't sure how to un-notice him.

Her eyes opened again, gaze settling on the empty space where he stood just moments ago.

Something was unraveling.

Quietly. Slowly.

But unmistakably.

She could feel it in her fingertips, in her chest, in the soft hum beneath her skin that hasn't quieted since he walked in.

And for the first time in a long while...

She didn't want to stop it.

⸻

Note:

Thank you for reading guys. Chapter 6 will be a slow, simmering ache of glances, tension, and the kind of silence that speaks louder than words.

This chapter was about the almosts.

– Z