Chapter 5: The Cracks in the Wall
1081 Words
The closed blinds between their offices remained shut for two days. A silent, potent rebuke. Su Wan worked in self-imposed silence, meticulously cataloging the most mundane items she could find—financial reports from a decade ago, old shareholder meeting agendas. She avoided the personal boxes, especially the one with the red stripe. The air was thick with unspoken tension.
He communicated only through terse emails.
"The 2012 Q3 reports. Digitize them by noon."
"The archives from the legal department have arrived. Begin with the 2015 merger."
His voice, once a constant presence through the glass or intercom, was gone. The silence was more punishing than any anger. She had seen a c***k in his armor, and his response was to build a higher, thicker wall.
On the evening of the third day, a storm rolled in. Most of the staff had left, seeking shelter from the worsening weather. Su Wan remained, partly to catch up on the work she’d been too anxious to focus on, and partly because her small apartment felt emptier than the cavernous, silent office.
A flash of lightning illuminated her annex, followed by a low growl of thunder. It was then she heard it—a muffled, crashing sound from his office. Not the sound of something falling. The sound of something being thrown.
Her breath hitched. She sat frozen, listening. Silence returned, deeper and more profound than before. Then, another sound. A low, guttural, utterly broken sound that was swallowed by the next rumble of thunder.
It was the sound of a man in agony.
Every instinct told her to stay put, to respect his boundaries, to obey his command to leave some doors unopened. But the memory of the pain in his eyes when he saw those letters flashed in her mind. That sound—it wasn't one of anger. It was one of despair.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she was on her feet. She didn't knock. She simply pushed the door open.
The office was in disarray. A crystal tumbler lay shattered against the far wall, amber liquid seeping into the expensive rug. A chair was knocked on its side. And in the center of it all, standing by the window as the storm raged outside, was Xi Chengyuan.
His back was to her, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. His usually immaculate posture was gone, replaced by a devastating weariness. In his hand, he clutched the small, faded photograph of Lena.
He didn't turn. He didn't need to. He knew it was her. The energy in the room shifted, the anger replaced by a heavy, shared vulnerability.
"Get out." The command was hoarse, stripped of all its power, a ragged whisper.
She didn't move. "You're hurt." Her eyes were on his left hand, where a shard of glass had nicked his knuckles, a thin line of blood welling up.
He finally turned. His eyes were red-rimmed, not from tears, but from a fierce, internal battle against them. The mask was not just cracked; it was gone. The man before her was raw, exposed, and utterly lost.
"I said, get out," he repeated, but the words lacked force. He was a king whose crown had slipped, revealing the wounded man beneath.
Ignoring him, Su Wan walked to the small wet bar in the corner. She found a clean linen napkin and ran it under cold water. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, but her hands were steady. She approached him slowly, as one would a wounded animal.
He watched her, his dark eyes wide with a mixture of shock and defiance. He flinched when she reached for his hand, but he didn't pull away.
"It's just a small cut," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the rain. Gently, she took his hand in hers. His skin was warm, his fingers trembling slightly. She pressed the damp cloth to the cut, dabbing away the blood.
The touch was electric. For a moment, neither of them moved. He stared down at her, at her bowed head, her focused expression as she tended to his insignificant wound. The simple, human act of kindness seemed to disarm him completely. The last of his defensive rage evaporated, leaving behind a void of exhaustion.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice a hollow echo of its usual self.
"Because you're bleeding," she answered simply, stating the obvious fact, ignoring the deeper meaning of his question.
She finished cleaning the cut and looked up. Their eyes met. The space between them crackled with a new, dangerous intimacy. He was no longer her untouchable boss; he was a man, standing too close, sharing a breath in the storm-lit darkness.
His free hand came up, hesitantly, and for a heart-stopping second, she thought he might touch her face. Instead, his fingers hovered near a strand of her hair that had come loose, then dropped back to his side as if burned.
The moment broke.
He took a step back, reclaiming his space, his composure slowly rebuilding itself brick by brick. But the foundation had shifted.
"Thank you," he said, the words formal, awkward. He cleared his throat. "You should go home. The storm is bad."
Su Wan nodded, her own breath unsteady. She placed the napkin on the bar. "The cut is clean. You should... try to rest."
She turned to leave, her legs feeling weak.
"Su Wan."
She stopped at the door, her hand on the frame.
He wasn't looking at her. He was staring out at the storm again, but his posture was straighter. The vulnerability was being locked away, but not before he issued a new command, one that held a different weight than any before it.
"Tomorrow," he said, his voice regaining a measure of its steel. "We begin again. No more sealed boxes. You will help me find the answers."
She understood. Her transgression was forgiven. Her kindness had been accepted. And in return, she had been granted access. Not just to the archives, but to the mystery.
And to him.
"Okay," she whispered.
As she walked out into the rain-lashed night, the cold air did little to cool the heat in her cheeks. She had gone in fearing his anger. She had come out with his trust.
And she knew, with a terrifying certainty, that the door she had opened tonight could never be closed again. She was no longer just an archivist.
She was a participant.
- Writer
