Fate’s Rival

The late evening sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink as Lian Mei entered the luxurious lounge. The event was a networking affair, hosted by one of Zhao Yan's family's subsidiaries, but she wasn't here to mingle. She had a mission: secure another meeting with the client before Zhao Yan decided to steamroll their collaborative pitch with his cold pragmatism.

Her sharp eyes scanned the room. Amidst the glittering chandeliers and murmurs of high society, Zhao Yan was impossible to miss. He stood near the grand piano, deep in conversation with an older man whose demeanor mirrored his own—stern, calculating, and composed.

**His father,** Lian Mei guessed.

She hesitated, suddenly unsure. The warmth and wit she'd prepared to use as armor against Zhao Yan's relentless confidence faltered as she observed the intensity in his expression. It wasn't the focused composure she'd seen in their meetings. This was something else entirely—strained, almost guarded.

For a moment, she considered walking away, but the next second, the older man's voice, clipped and sharp, carried across the room.

"You're getting distracted, Zhao Yan. You should be handling the acquisition, not wasting time on this partnership nonsense."

Her brow furrowed. Acquisition? Was Zhao Yan juggling more than just their project?

"I have it under control," Zhao Yan replied, his voice steady but edged with tension.

"Do you?" his father shot back. "The company can't afford mistakes, not now. You're being soft, and it's showing."

Lian Mei wasn't sure what shocked her more—the words or the flicker of emotion that crossed Zhao Yan's face. It was gone almost immediately, replaced by his usual impassive mask.

"I'll deliver," he said evenly.

His father's expression remained cold, but he nodded curtly before walking away, leaving Zhao Yan alone by the piano.

Lian Mei hesitated, caught between her instinct to confront him and the nagging curiosity at the back of her mind. **Soft?** That was the last word she'd use to describe him.

Before she could overthink it, her heels clicked against the polished floor, announcing her approach. Zhao Yan turned, his expression shifting effortlessly into one of polite indifference.

"Miss Lian," he greeted, his voice betraying none of the tension she'd just witnessed. "Here to critique my event now?"

She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. "I don't know. Do you consider this as unpractical as my ideas?"

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Not bad. I'd rate that comeback a six out of ten."

"Generous," she quipped, but her usual banter felt forced. His earlier conversation still lingered in her mind.

"What brings you here?" he asked, cutting through her thoughts.

"I wanted to discuss our next step for the project," she said, regaining her focus. "It's important we align before the next client meeting."

Zhao Yan raised an eyebrow. "Work. Of course."

"And what are you doing?" she countered, gesturing toward the empty glass in his hand. "Strategizing over champagne?"

His smirk deepened, but before he could respond, a commotion near the entrance drew their attention. A young boy, no more than seven or eight, was weaving through the crowd, clutching a toy plane. He bumped into a server, nearly toppling a tray of glasses, before Zhao Yan was at his side, steadying him.

"Careful," Zhao Yan said, his tone gentle but firm.

The boy looked up, wide-eyed, and Lian Mei noticed the resemblance immediately.

"Uncle Yan," the boy said, his voice small but full of relief.

Lian Mei blinked. **Uncle?**

"What are you doing here, Xiao Rui?" Zhao Yan asked, crouching to meet the boy's gaze.

"I was bored," the boy admitted. "Grandfather said I couldn't leave the house, but I wanted to see you."

Zhao Yan's features softened—a rare and startling sight.

"You should listen to Grandfather," Zhao Yan said, though his voice lacked any real reprimand. "Come on, I'll take you back."

The boy's face fell. "But I want to stay with you."

Zhao Yan hesitated, glancing toward the doorway where his father had disappeared. For the first time, Lian Mei saw something she hadn't expected: uncertainty.

"You can stay for a little while," he said finally. "But stay close to me, alright?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, clutching Zhao Yan's hand. Zhao Yan straightened, his composure returning as he turned to Lian Mei.

"Miss Lian, I trust you'll excuse me," he said, his tone professional again.

"Who's this?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Zhao Yan hesitated, his gaze flicking between her and the boy. "My nephew," he said simply.

Lian Mei crouched to the boy's level, offering him a kind smile. "Nice to meet you, Xiao Rui. I'm Lian Mei."

The boy studied her for a moment before smiling shyly. "You're pretty."

She laughed, glancing up at Zhao Yan. "At least someone in your family has good taste."

To her surprise, Zhao Yan didn't respond with his usual sarcasm. Instead, he seemed... preoccupied.

As the evening wore on, Lian Mei found herself watching Zhao Yan interact with his nephew. The man who had once seemed cold and calculating now looked entirely different. He was patient, attentive, even warm.

It didn't make sense. How could this be the same man who had so easily dismissed her ideas, who had clashed with her at every turn?

As she left the event later that night, a single thought lingered in her mind:

Maybe Zhao Yan wasn't as simple—or as ruthless—as she'd thought.