《Starlight in the Cracks》

Chapter 9:

"You know," Alex suddenly spoke, "when I saw the glass door shaking earlier, my heart almost stopped."

Luna turned to look at his rain-soaked face: "Why did you come?"

"Because you're mine," Alex's voice was so soft it seemed afraid to disturb the storm. "I couldn't leave you here alone."

The rain grew heavier, water dripping from their hair into their collars, but it couldn't extinguish the warmth in their eyes. Luna looked into Alex's eyes and suddenly felt a long-lost warmth. This man, constantly torn between business and art, had shown a vulnerability and determination in this moment that made her realize their bond was deeper than she had imagined.

"We need to find a way out of here," Luna said softly, but her tone carried a hint of hesitation.

"No, I don't want to leave," Alex chuckled softly, "At least for this moment, we don't have to think about anything."

They smiled at each other, holding each other tightly in the storm. The rain blurred their vision, but it couldn't blur the warmth they felt for each other. At this moment, the arguments about art and business seemed unimportant, the cuts from the glass shards didn't matter, because they had finally found a clear sky amidst the storm.

Deep in the drawer of the chairman's office lay a sketch Luna had given him—gloves under the surgical light, the pencil marks blurred from repeated rubbing.

On a weekend night in 2021, the city's neon lights flickered outside the window. Alex stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his apartment, gazing at the brightly lit headquarters of his family's business in the distance. His father had called earlier, asking him to return home for an important business dinner over the weekend.

"Alex, you must come back," his father's voice was stern over the phone, "This is our family tradition. Every generation must inherit this responsibility."

Alex turned to look at Luna, who was organizing her painting supplies nearby. Hearing his words, she paused and asked softly, "What's wrong?"

"Dad wants me to go back and take over the company again," Alex said with a bitter smile, shaking his head.

Luna walked over and gently touched his shoulder, "You don't want to go back, do you?"

"It's not that I don't want to," Alex's voice was heavy, "I can't imagine being trapped in those numbers and reports like my father. My passion now is art, the gallery."

Luna looked up at him, "Yeah, you've been working at the gallery and painting for me for a year now. Time flies. You haven't practiced medicine in a while, right?

And this time, don't you think your father wants you to take over the company because he's afraid of losing something? Like his control over the family?"

Alex was silent for a moment, then said softly, "Maybe. But I can't become the person he wants me to be. I have to stick to my choices."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Luna sat alone in her studio. On the wall was her latest unfinished work, its lines twisted and full of tension.

Her phone buzzed—a notification from the gallery. With trembling hands, she opened the message: "After careful consideration, we believe your work does not currently align with our brand."

Luna's vision blurred. She put down her phone and stared at the painting on the canvas, feeling an indescribable sense of defeat welling up inside her.

A few nights later, Alex and Luna sat at a rooftop bar, the city lights blending with the stars in the distance. Luna picked up a glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp.

"I met a painter today," she said, "He said my work is too commercial."

Alex frowned, "What does that mean?"

"It means it's not sincere enough," Luna said softly, "My creations have always been trying to please others, not express my true self."

Alex reached out and held her hand, "You don't need to please anyone but yourself."

Luna looked up at his serious expression, feeling a surge of warmth in her heart. She knew that on her journey to pursue art, she wasn't alone.

The night his father had a stroke, Alex signed the agreement outside the ICU. The pen's scratch on the paper was like a scar cutting across the space between the scalpel and the company seal.

A week later, at the family business dinner, Alex unexpectedly announced his decision: "Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll take over the family business, but I want to combine it with my own career."

His father's expression stiffened, "What do you mean?"

"I want to invest some resources into contemporary art projects," Alex explained, "I believe this will not only continue our family tradition but also bring new vitality to the market."

His father was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly, "You always have your own ideas. We'll see."

Luna, sitting in the audience, smiled knowingly. She knew that no matter what the future held, Alex and she would find their own path with each other's support.

At the family dinner, a reporter suddenly asked, "I heard you were quite close to a certain actress in your youth?" Alex's champagne glass shook, and Luna keenly noticed the momentary stiffness in his smile.

Alex stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in the family business conference room, clutching his phone. On the screen was an unread message from the clinic—the patient was recovering well after surgery. Three days ago, his father had handed him the equity transfer agreement on his hospital bed: "You can do what you want, but you must take over the business." He had compromised.

On a quiet weekend evening, the gallery was empty except for Luna. She stood in the middle of the exhibition hall, gazing at the works hanging on the walls, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

While organizing the studio, Luna found a baseball cap from Alex's college days. Inside the brim, the letter "S" was faintly embroidered—the same initial as the actress's name. A dried mint leaf brushed against the back of her hand, and she was lost in memories. During one of their early dates, Alex had deliberately worn the cap backward to tease her: "This makes me look more like that... uh, street artist you painted?" She had laughed and adjusted the brim, her fingers brushing against his sweat-dampened temple: "You look like a CEO playing dress-up in a school uniform." He had suddenly grabbed her hand and pressed it against the "S": "This is my high school team logo. Now it stands for 'Secret'—all my secrets belong to you."