The air in the Lin Group's lobby was pressurized and cold, exactly as Su Qing remembered. But this time, she wasn't wearing a fraying stage dress or a look of desperate hunger. She wore a simple, sharp white blouse and a black skirt—the uniform of an applicant for the Junior Executive Assistant position.
In her first life, she had waited for the variety show to be discovered. In this life, she would not wait for fate to find her. She would hunt it down.
"Su Qing?" a receptionist called out, looking bored. "President Lin will see you now. Floor 88. Don't speak unless spoken to."
As the elevator ascended, Su Qing's heart performed a jagged dance against her ribs. Floor 88. The place where the "Canary Contract" had been signed. The place where she had once sold her soul.
The doors slid open. The hallway smelled of sandalwood and rain—a scent that had haunted Su Qing's dreams for a decade. She walked toward the heavy obsidian doors, her palms sweating.
She pushed them open.
There she was.
Lin Yan sat behind the desk, ten years younger, her skin radiant and her eyes untainted by the shadows of a hollow marriage. She was reviewing a file, the sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows catching the gold of her watch. She looked like a goddess carved from dawn.
Su Qing's breath hitched. A sob threatened to break through her throat, but she bit her tongue until she tasted copper. Control yourself. You are a stranger to her.
"You're late by thirty seconds," Lin Yan said without looking up. Her voice was the same—silk over glass, a melody that made Su Qing want to fall to her knees.
"I apologize, President Lin," Su Qing whispered. "The world looks different from this height. I got lost in the view."
Lin Yan paused. She slowly lifted her gaze. For a moment, the air in the room seemed to vanish. Yan's brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing her perfect features. She looked at Su Qing not as an applicant, but as if she were trying to remember a song she had heard in a dream.
"Have we met?" Yan asked. The question was soft, breaking her own rule of professional distance.
"In another life, perhaps," Su Qing replied, her voice trembling with a hidden, agonizing romanticism. "But in this one, I am just someone who wants to make sure you never have to carry your burdens alone."
Yan leaned back, her eyes narrowing. "A bold statement for an assistant. Most people want this job for the salary or the prestige. What do you want, Su Qing?"
Su Qing stepped closer, the distance between them closing until she could see the flecks of amber in Yan's eyes. The slow burn of ten years of longing ignited in her chest.
"I want to be your shadow," Su Qing said, her gaze steady. "I want to be the person who holds the umbrella before the rain starts. I want to be the one who knows how you take your coffee before you have to ask. I want to protect the Lin Group... and I want to protect you."
Lin Yan felt a strange, electric shiver crawl up her spine. This girl looked twenty, but her eyes held the weight of a thousand years. There was a devotion in her gaze that felt almost... spiritual. It was a pressure that made Yan's heart beat a rhythm she didn't recognize.
"You're overqualified for an assistant role," Yan said, her voice dropping an octave. She reached out, her fingers hovering near Su Qing's wrist to check the pulse she could see thrumming there. "Your resume says you're a singer. Why give up the stage for a desk?"
Su Qing didn't flinch. She let Yan's fingers brush her skin—the first contact in ten years. It felt like a Brand.
"The stage is for people who want to be seen," Su Qing whispered, leaning in just an inch, her voice thick with a love that Yan couldn't yet understand. "I only care about the person who is watching. If you are in the audience, President Lin, I will sing. But if you are in this office, I will stay here."
Lin Yan pulled her hand back as if burned. Her face remained a mask of stone, but a faint, rosy hue touched the tips of her ears.
"Fine," Yan said, turning back to her papers to hide the sudden heat in her cheeks. "You start now. My coffee is cold. Fix it."
Su Qing smiled—a small, secretive smile. "Yes, President Lin. Black, two sugars, and a drop of cream. Just the way you like it."
Yan froze. She hadn't told anyone her coffee preference yet. She watched Su Qing walk toward the kitchenette with a grace that didn't belong to a common girl.
"Who are you?" Yan thought, her heart racing. "And why does it feel like my soul recognizes your footsteps?"