Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Yes, yes, the director says he’ll push back the shoot thirty minutes—San Lang, please get in the car—yes, I know he’ll probably be late anyway, but I promise I’ll drag him there if I have to- no, don’t hang up yet, San Lang, the car door is open for a reason-!”

Xie Lian is one (1) disaster away from combusting. His phone is jammed between his ear and shoulder, he’s got a clipboard tucked under his arm, three folders balanced on one hand, and... oh, wonderful! The pen in his mouth is sliding dangerously close to choking him!

Meanwhile, the supposed VIP of the day (Hua Cheng, top-billed actor, national heartthrob, professional menace) leans against the car with that Arrgravating Alpha Confidence™. His sunglasses on. His hands in pockets. He has a mildly entertained expression that says yes, gege, continue your tragic little circus for my enjoyment.

Xie Lian flaps a folder open with his elbow, nearly drops everything, makes a sound like a dying tea kettle.
“No, I’m not arguing, I’m just saying I’ll manage, that’s literally my job, oh for heaven’s sake, SAN LANG—”

And that’s when the folders rebel. The paper flies through the air, and the clipboard follows right after. The pen shoots out of his mouth and clatters dramatically onto the pavement like Excalibur returning to the stone.

...

A hand reaches out, calm as a saint, and plucks the escaping script stack out of thin air.

“Gege. If you’re this busy, why don’t I drive?”

Xie Lian gasps at him.
“Absolutely not! You're the client. The star. The—” he waves his free hand wildly, “the reason I’m sprouting grey hairs!”

Hua Cheng smirks, clearly over the moon.

“I’m serious. You’ll sprain something if you keep flailing like that. Besides…”

He tips his shades down, broadcasting his deep, red eye. (Yes, it’s unfair. Yes, Xie Lian notices. Yes, he would like to resign.)

“If you get hurt, who’s going to take care of me?”

Xie Lian promptly inhales through his nostrils.
“N-no, not you! I wasn’t talking to you! Please ignore that! No, Director, not you either, please continue, I swear everything’s under control-!”

Everything is not under control. His pen is gone, his tie is still crooked, and Hua Cheng looks far too pleased with himself.

Xie Lian finally manages to herd Hua Cheng into the car, juggling his phone, his clipboard, and his dignity (which, quite frankly, has been on life support since sunrise).

He pats down his jacket pockets.
Left side: pen. Right side: wallet. Inner pocket: ah, yes. The emergency scent suppressant pills.

He slips one into his mouth and crunches it like his life depends on it. (It kinda does.)

From the passenger seat, Hua Cheng tilts his head.

“You know, gege, you take those an awful lot.”

Xie Lian swallows (way too audibly).
“Excuse me?”

“Every time we get in the car. Pop, crunch, swallow.” Hua Cheng rests his chin on his hand, “Should I be worried?”

Xie Lian grips the steering wheel tighter. “They’re just... stress pills. Because you are... extremely stressful.”

“Mhm.”

The hum is drawn-out, suspicious, and far too amused. Xie Lian can feel the tips of his ears heating. He resolutely focuses on the road, except... great. Fantastic. The traffic light is red. Which means he has to sit here. Trapped. With San Lang’s gaze crawling up his neck.

Yeah. Not a great situation.

Xie Lian clears his throat.
“...Seatbelt.”

“What about it?”

“Put it on. Safety first.”

“Are you worried about me, gege?”

“I’m worried about getting sued when you launch through the windshield.”

Well, that earns him a laugh. The sound makes something traitorous in Xie Lian’s chest flutter but-! He shoves it down. Hard.

And then (perfect timing, world, thank you so much) the suppressant in his system falters for half a second. Just enough for his scent to slip a little. He notices it. Hua Cheng notices it. He can tell because his head tilts. His gaze sharpens. For once, he looks less smug and more... alert. Hungry.

Xie Lian catches it and immediately goes into panic mode. He coughs and rolls down the window, then smacks the AC button twice for good measure.

“... Hot, isn’t it? Yes, very hot, sweltering even.”

Hua Cheng doesn’t call him out. Actually, he doesn't say anything at all. He just smiles.

Xie Lian's mind explodes, 'I am going to pass away. Right here, at this red light. Someone call the undertaker.'

After 20 minutes of sitting through a show called 'Xie Lian trying not to sink into the ground below, difficulty: impossible!', the car finally halted infront of the large studio entrance, the tall building towering over the smaller car, windows glinting, reflecting sunlight, and...

before the tires have even stopped smoking, the paparazzi descend.

(Someone screams “San Lang, over here!” as though yelling louder will make them matter.)

Xie Lian inhales, squares his shoulders, and mentally prepares himself for the battlefield that is crazy fangirls and cameras.
Right. Showtime. Professional. Polished. Untouchable.

He opens Hua Cheng’s door first (because if left unattended, San Lang will probably burst out anyway, which they cannot afford). “Stay behind me. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t wink at anyone. Don’t-”

"What about you, gege?"

"...Huh?"

“What if I wink at you?”

Xie Lian freezes and turns slowly. But immediately when he sees Hua Cheng's smug smile, he turns right back.
“Don’t... don’t be ridiculous.”

He herds Hua Cheng out, plastering on his Secretary Face™. Clipboard in hand. Suit immaculate. Except... ah! Problem.

Tiny problem.

The suppressant is wearing thin.

Again!

Which means that as he shoves through the crowd (“Excuse us, step aside, thank you”) the air itself is betraying him. It's nothing but a hint of sweetness, a drop of the familiar Omega scent.
But it’s enough.

Because the alphas in the crowd; bodyguards, reporters, even some of Hua Cheng’s co-stars lurking by the entrance, all instinctively look up.

Oh no.

He grips his clipboard harder. His instincts (the ones he’s been burying under caffeine and denial) start whispering: Danger. Eyes on you. Protect. Hide.

Worse: Hua Cheng notices. Of course he notices. His arm brushes Xie Lian’s as they walk, and instead of stepping aside (like a normal person), he stays close. A little bit... too close. Their shoulders touch. Then their arms. And then his hand hovers at the small of Xie Lian’s back.

“Relax, gege. I’ve got you.”

The voice is soft, private, and too close to his ear.

And Xie Lian’s brain (a traitor, a betrayer, a defector), short-circuits.
Oh. Oh no he’s... he’s-!

He stumbles on the step. Almost trips. Clipboard wobbles.
And of course, Hua Cheng catches him, pulling him upright before anyone else even notices.

“Careful. Are you alright?”

That smirk. That eye contact. That very obvious alpha energy radiating off him. Means Xie Lian is seconds away from either combusting or biting off his own tongue.

Maybe both. At the same time.

“I’m fine, thank you. Perfectly fine. Never been finer.”
His voice cracks like he's a teenager again. And yeah, that's great. Just what he needed for the cameras.

Click. Click. Click.

The paparazzi eat it up, because that's what always happens. The internet will explode in three hours with “San Lang’s Mysterious Secretary Caught in Intimate Moment???” headlines.

Screw them.

The moment the studio doors close behind them, the noise from outside cuts off like someone hit mute.

Perfect. Peaceful.

Which means Xie Lian’s brain can finally start screaming at full volume.

Suppressants. Suppressants failing. You absolute clown, you forgot to take the noon dose. Idiot. Disaster. Wait, no. Stop. This is fine. This is-

He clears his throat. “We’ll head straight to the dressing room, San Lang. Your schedule is tight today, no room for—”

“Gege.”

“—any delays, so it’s vital that we—”

“Gege.”

The sound of it is warm honey poured over broken nerves. He doesn’t have to look to know Hua Cheng’s smirking. Doesn’t have to look to feel the heat of him close, too close.

And then. Then it happens.

Hua Cheng inhales.

“...oh.”

Xie Lian nearly slams into a potted plant.
No no no no no, he knows. He knows. Abort mission, eject eject eject...

“Don’t, don’t ‘oh’ me! There’s nothing to ‘oh’ about!” His voice goes high, ridiculous. “I’m perfectly normal, everything’s fine, it’s just the cheap cologne in this hallway, don’t you smell it? It’s very... uh... cheap.”

“Gege, if you wanted me close, you could’ve just asked.”

“Close? Close? I don’t... no! That’s absurd!” He waves his clipboard like an exorcism talisman. “I, I have boundaries! I don't... not with clients!”

“Good thing I’m not just a client.”

And there it is. The full alpha weight, the warmth rolling off Hua Cheng, pressing into the hallway until it feels too small. He leans in, not touching (never touching) but close enough that Xie Lian can feel it, that electric prickle along his skin.

“Funny. You smell different today.”

Xie Lian’s soul leaves his body. He suspects, he suspects, oh gods above-!

“Different? Different how?” He waves his clipboard like a priest with a holy relic. “I, I changed laundry detergents, that’s all! Very strong brand, you wouldn’t understand. It’s very... uh... normal.”

“Mm. Must be that.”

Chapter Text

Xie Lian had survived fangirls, fanboys, fantheys, stalkers, late-night script rewrites, and an entire director’s meltdown over a crooked wig, but none of those compared to the sight currently happening in front of him. On set, Hua Cheng tilted his head at exactly the right angle, leaned just close enough to the female lead that the cameras could catch the edge of a smirk, and murmured the line;

“If the world burns, I’ll burn with you.”

And the actress (who was just doing her job, really, no fault of hers) gazed up at him with wide eyes like she’d been waiting her whole life to be this close to him. The sound guy was probably crying. The director was biting his knuckle. Xie Lian?

…Xie Lian was strangling his poor clipboard so hard the paper was starting to wrinkle.

“Hm...” he muttered, clicking his pen so violently it nearly snapped.

“Secretary Xie?” one of the PAs whispered. “Are you... um... okay?”

“Peachy,” Xie Lian said, smiling with all the serenity of a man plotting seventeen murders. He shuffled his papers, pretending to take notes while actually just writing:

Hua Cheng: Too smug. Stop smirking.
Female lead: Must be blind.
Script: Needs revision. Add meteor strike to crush them both.

Of course, Xie Lian shouldn't have been too irritated. Everyone knew that when the cameras turned on, Hua Cheng could make one feel like they were a swan in a river of ducks. Of course, the people close enough to Hua Cheng (not a lot of people) could see very obviously that the man only had eyes for one person and one person only.

Miss Xie. Correction: Xie Lian's alter ego.

It had been... what... months since Hua Cheng's unwavering devotion had started. From watching all her movies to buying all her merch, Hua Cheng’s feelings were more than a celebrity crush. And it wasn't even absurd. Miss Xie had the beauty of an angel, face carved by deities, her calm elegance flaunted everywhere. There was no doubt, she was one of the most beautiful women in the world.

Thing is, she wasn't a woman.

She was simply Xie Lian with a wig, contacts and some enhancing makeup.

Xie Lian had been able to keep up this façade for a day too many, constantly switching personas and looks, hoping that no one would recognise the soft, familiar curve of his lips or the daintily way he moved. It was exhausting but worth it, keeping up this double persona took way too much time.

By the time the director yelled “Cut!”, Xie Lian could feel his heartbeat a little too fast, the scent-blocker patch on his wrist prickling. He excused himself with a bow and practically power-walked to the bathroom. In the stall, he fumbled with the small pill case in his pocket, muttering, “This job will kill me before any alpha stalker does.”

Was he overdosing? He was probably overdosing. It was probably just as useful as pouring water into an empty perfume bottle to make yourself feel better. However, it did make him feel better, so...

Suppressants downed, tie straightened, smile reapplied; he was back out in under five minutes.

The second Hua Cheng looked at him, though, Xie Lian swore there was the faintest curve of amusement tugging at his mouth. Suspicious. Entirely too suspicious.

****

After a full afternoon of watching Hua Cheng re-film scenes, running out to get lunch, and downing a few more scent suppressants, Xie Lian finally ended his shift, slipping out of the building and into one of the bathrooms, bag full of makeup, false lashes, and a carefully curated selection of wigs.

Finally.

The heavy secretary’s jacket was gone. The stiff tie was banished. The endless clicking of pens and the soul-crushing sound of Hua Cheng flirting on camera with women who didn’t know better was reduced to a distant memory.

Now there was only him (her): the carefully constructed mirage known as Miss Xie.

He spread his products across the marble table (his primer rolling off the table), and looked deep into the expensive labels. There was primer, concealer, foundation, lined up with a palette of neutrals, three brushes of varying thickness (each trimmed by his own hand), and the lashes, two pairs, just in case one misbehaved. The mirror reflected the faint shadows under his eyes, the flattened hair from hours of obediently bowing his head while typing up schedules.

Foundation first. Then contour. He swept blush high along the cheek, a bloom of color that suggested vitality, youth, and a certain ethereal glow.

Eyeliner next. Thin line at the corner, then a flick. He leaned closer, steady hands creating the illusion of larger, softer eyes, and then a dusting of pale shimmer on the lids. He fished out the lashes. With a dot of glue and a few practiced blinks, his expression shifted immediately; feminine, fluttering, heartbreak in waiting.

His lips were the final touch. Then only the hair remained.

He pulled the wig out of its pouch, inspecting it. It was long and brown, with perfect bangs that would frame his face so perfectly. He fitted it snugly over his head, tugging here, smoothing there, blending the line into his skin.

Miss Xie gathered her things, swept her wig into perfect place with the flick of a comb, and strolled out of the bathroom. The building’s side entrance was discreet enough... well, discreet until one spotted the sleek black car idling at the curb. The driver leapt out the instant he saw her, opening the door with stiff reverence.

“Miss Xie.”

The title still made her skin prickle. Not because it didn’t fit, oh no, it fit too well. She slid into the backseat, legs crossing with the easy grace of someone who’d practiced precisely how much thigh to show when paparazzi cameras inevitably zoomed in. (Answer: 12% thigh. Enough for allure, not enough for scandal.) Sliding into the seat was an exercise in itself: a swift glance left (no cameras), a sharp flick of the hair to conceal his jawline (in case of cameras), and then a practiced glide into the leather seat, where he sank down and exhaled.

He pressed his forehead lightly to the cool window, watching the city smear past in streaks of neon and gold.

This was exhausting. Sometimes, Xie Lian wondered if he had a death wish, balancing so precariously between anonymity and fame, between “secretary” and “star.”

And yet, when the world called him Miss Xie… the exhaustion lifted. The lie became easier to hold. But only because people wanted to believe. Only because they wanted the illusion of perfection.

And it helped, too, that biology was on his side. Omegas were always expected to be beautiful. It was practically written into their bone structure, the superhuman beauty that most people with a noticable second gender held. Alphas and omegas were nature’s favorites, blessed with symmetry, scent, and allure. Betas could work twice as hard and still fade into the background, very forgettable.

Xie Lian hated to admit it, but playing the role of an omega made everything simpler. No one questioned it when Miss Xie turned heads in every lobby, every street corner, they just shrugged and said, well, of course. She’s an omega.

Much different from the gallons of expensive scent patches, blockers, perfumes, and suppressants he wore as Secretary Xie, that either granted a sterile smell or didn’t work at all.

The bodyguards moved first, and even though Xie Lian was thankful for their towering height, they could only do so much. As he stepped out, the world erupted, cheers, shrieks, phones held aloft, a chant of Miss Xie! rippling through the crowd.

By the time the car pulled up to the hotel-turned-filming-location, serenity was over. The moment her heel touched the pavement, the air split open with shouts of her name.

Honestly, Xie Lian mused, chin tilted at the perfect angelic angle, I could walk in with a half-burnt baozi on my head and they’d still call me divine.

But still, their enthusiasm was flattering, their hands waving posters in the air, phones flashing.

“Miss Xie! Look here!”
“We love you!”
“Step on me!”

Miss Xie smiled. Of course she smiled. What else could she do? (Run? Bolt? Pretend to faint? Tempting.)

The bodyguards at either side kept back a tide of desperate hands. None of them knew how the fans had tracked her here, but... he supposes... beauty really does hurt.

Still, Xie Lian floated forward, silk dress whispering around her ankles.

Yes, yes. Angel, goddess, ethereal being. I accept your worship. May you all find happiness in your mortal struggles.

The cameras kept flashing. The crowd kept screaming. Miss Xie walked as though she were walking on clouds. She stepped into the building. The roar of fans cut off as the glass doors swung shut. The silence was instant. Holy. A sanctuary at last.

Only…not quite.

Because there, standing as though he’d been waiting all along, was Hua Cheng.

...Wait.

Xie Lian blinked. Once. And again. Surely he was hallucinating. Surely this was just residual stress from the day job manifesting into nightmares.

Wasn’t Hua Cheng supposed to be working on a different film? In a different city? Across the country, perhaps? Preferably across the ocean?

…Wait!

No. No, no, no, no. This was his film set. This was his big trailer shoot.

So why, oh why, was Hua Cheng standing in the lobby?
Ah, Xie Lian thought faintly, smile never faltering while his heart attempted to leap out of his ribcage. This must be karma. For what, I’m not entirely sure. But karma nonetheless.

Miss Xie tilted her chin higher, glided past the bodyguards with the grace of someone who was totally not going into a mental spiral, and greeted him with a delicate nod.

“Mr. Hua Cheng,” she smiled, absolutely-not-Xie-Lian-losing-his-mind.

Inside he was screaming.
Is he part of this film too?
Don’t tell me... don’t tell me the director set us up-!

Xie Lian’s serene smile never wavered. But in his mind, he was already penning his resignation letter.

Hua Cheng’s gaze fixed on her (on him) as though the whole building, no, the whole world had dissolved into mist. His red eye gleamed, the curve of his lips dangerously close to a smile too private or too fond. Xie Lian tilted his chin and gave what he hoped was an appropriately professional nod.

“Ah, Miss Xie! Perfect timing.”

The director himself bustled forward, sweat on his brow and a harried smile across his face. He clapped his hands together. “I was just going to have someone fetch you.”

Xie Lian folded her hands gracefully. “Director,” she smiled, “It’s an honor.”

“Honor’s mine!” the man said quickly. Then he turned, and gestured at Hua Cheng. “As you can see, we’ve had a very exciting change in the cast lineup. Mr. Hua Cheng himself insisted on joining us for the trailer shoot. Quite the coup, eh?”

…Excuse me?

The swan-glide cracked, just slightly. Xie Lian almost fainted.

The director went on, oblivious: “Originally we were going to pair you with Actress Xu, but Mr. Hua Cheng here- hah! Well, he was very… insistent. Said he wouldn’t do the project unless his partner was you, Miss Xie.”

“…”

Hua Cheng’s lips quirked into a quiet smile. Xie Lian’s serene expression did not waver, but...

Oh no. Oh no no no no. Of course. Of course he did this. Why wouldn’t he? He’s been utterly, shamelessly infatuated with Miss Xie for months—gushing in interviews, dropping comments that send fans frothing. He’s never really looked twice at Secretary Xie, but Miss Xie? Exactly his type. And now...

Xie Lian’s elegant smile froze, porcelain-perfect, while Hua Cheng gazed at him like... like THAT. It was unnerving. Terrifying. The weight of it pressed against Xie Lian’s ribs.
Because Hua Cheng had never, not once, looked at Secretary Xie that way. Not with that kind of unflinching, reverent focus. Not with that edge of yearning in his eye. Not like he was the only person alive.

Miss Xie lowered her lashes, smile gentle, saintly.

The director clapped his hands again. “Fantastic! Well then, Miss Xie, Mr. Hua Cheng, you two will be shooting together immediately. Chemistry test and all. Everyone’s very excited!”

Hua Cheng’s gaze did not waver. His smile deepened.

Miss Xie inclined her head, serene as an angel. “Of course.”

…I should have stayed a secretary. I should have stayed a secretary.

The set was absurd.

Xie Lian (Miss Xie, of course) surveyed the rooftop terrace. The director had insisted on a “golden-hour” vibe, meaning the faux sunset lights were angled precisely at 30 degrees to avoid casting shadows across the actors’ noses.

Xie Lian (currently Miss Xie, forever Miss Xie, tragically Miss Xie) found herself standing in the middle of a meticulously decorated rooftop garden. Fairy lights glowed in warm arcs overhead, petals scattered as if someone had taken romance, ground it into powder, and sprinkled it across the floor. And opposite her, Hua Cheng stood in a tailored black suit, every inch of him a lethal visual hazard.

“Just a simple scene,” the director said, beaming. “You two meet under the stars. Lovers at first sight. No dialogue yet, just emotion. Longing. Connection. You understand.”

Longing. Connection. Emotion.

Xie Lian’s serene smile did not falter.

Oh. Oh perfect. Yes. Let me simply embody the essence of yearning while my boss watches me from three feet away.
I am so dead.

“Ready when you are,” Hua Cheng murmured.

Xie Lian’s lashes lowered. Miss Xie exhaled delicately. “Oh, I know.”

The cameras rolled.

“Ready?” the director called, voice urgent but laced with awe. “Hua Cheng, Miss Xie…lights, camera, action!”

Hua Cheng moved first. And Hua Cheng (dear merciful heavens above) Hua Cheng looked at her as if every prayer he’d ever whispered had just come true. And under it, faint but undeniable, was the brush of his scent: smoke and iron and something warmer that Xie Lian couldn’t name but felt coil, unwelcome, deep in his chest.

The director shouted, “Closer! Eye contact! Emotion! Longing! Pull the audience in!”

Miss Xie did exactly that, gliding, tilting her head. Hua Cheng mirrored her move, and now the cameras, the crew, the lights, practically everything, were irrelevant. All that existed was him. And her.

And Xie Lian's raising blood pressure.

Do not panic. You are Miss Xie. You are ethereal. You are calm. Keep walking.

Another step. The petals shifted under her heels.

Hua Cheng moved too, closer, slow as a tide. His gaze dragged over Miss Xie like gravity, pulling, pulling, pulling...

The director sighed audibly. “Beautiful. Perfect! The chemistry's unreal!”

CHEMISTRY? Sir, I am combusting. There is no chemistry, only impending doom. You have no idea how real this is!

Now Hua Cheng stood a breath away. He tilted his head, a smile touching his mouth.

“Cut!” the director crowed. “Marvelous! You two are electric together. Miss Xie, Mr. Hua Cheng, you’re going to break the box office with this kind of chemistry!”

Miss Xie inclined her head, serene as a goddess.

And Xie Lian, deep inside, clutched his heart and prayed for the sweet release of death.

“Brilliant! Brilliant!” the director gushed, waving his clipboard like a fan. “That was so real, so raw! Miss Xie, you’ve outdone yourself. And Hua Cheng, well, you’re always reliable.”

Miss Xie inclined her head gracefully, hands folded in front of her. Someone bustled up with bottled water. Xie Lian accepted one delicately, the smile plastered across his lips. He raised it to his mouth, took a sip...

And nearly drowned when Hua Cheng moved closer.

“Miss Xie.” Hua Cheng’s voice was smooth as silk. “You’re even more extraordinary in person than I imagined.”

The water went down the wrong pipe. Miss Xie coughed daintily behind her hand, fanning herself with elegant restraint. Hua Cheng didn’t blink. His gaze lingered; not inappropriate, not obvious, but searching, like he was reaching for a memory.

In person. Than you imagined. IMAGINED??!

Hua Cheng didn’t so much as blink. “Forgive me,” he said, almost like a secret. “I just wasn’t expecting… this.”

The this was heavy with implication. The this was not just “a co-star.” The this was the omega standing before him, familiar in a way Hua Cheng could not place, a scent he couldn’t un-smell.

Miss Xie’s laugh was light, airy, the practiced sound of someone who had never once experienced stress in their life. “Mr. Hua Cheng flatters me too much.” (Mr. Hua Cheng stop sniffing the air like a bloodhound, please. Mr. Hua Cheng needs to STOP IMMEDIATELY). “Surely you’ve worked with actresses far more dazzling than myself.”

Hua Cheng tilted his head, considering her. “No,” he muttered simply. “I haven’t.”

The director clapped his hands. “Alright, we’re moving sets in twenty minutes! Everyone, take five!”

The crew diverged into all different directions, the noise intensifying as they bustled around the set. Chairs screeched, lights darted all over the place, which left… Miss Xie. And Hua Cheng. Alone, practically. Miss Xie smoothed her skirt, preparing to glide away with (attempted) divine dignity. “Haa... I should freshen up before the next scene-”

“May I walk you there?”

He asked it casually. Like an afterthought. But with the way his eye gleamed, it wasn’t casual at all.

WALK ME? No, no, absolutely not. Walking me anywhere is how secrets die.

Her smile stayed perfect. “You’re very kind, Mr. Hua, but that won’t be necessary.”

Hua Cheng’s gaze lingered a fraction too long, a fraction too soft. “Ah. Then I’ll wait here.”

Wait here? Wait here?? Like a loyal dog?

Xie Lian swept past while inside his thoughts were screeching.

And Hua Cheng… kept watching.

****

Miss Xie returned from “freshening up” only to find Hua Cheng exactly where she left him.

“Miss Xie.” he murmured.

"Oh. Mr. Hua. You're still here?”

Hua Cheng’s lips curved. “Where else would I be?”

Anywhere else, please. Like, literally anywhere else. There are cafes. Rooftops. Entire other cities you could be brooding in.

Miss Xie clasped her hands lightly, choosing poise over panic. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you. You must be very busy with your own projects.”

“Busy, yes.” Hua Cheng’s gaze softened, unbearably gentle. “But not too busy for you. Never too busy.”

That one landed. Not too busy for you. That wasn’t actor-to-actress banter. That was personal. Maybe a little too personal.

“...Mr. Hua, you’re too generous.” His tone stayed even, but his chest tightened, heart thudding traitorously against his ribs.

Hua Cheng studied him, quiet for a moment. “I’ve followed your work for some time, Miss Xie. You have… a quality. Grace, yes. Needless to say, your acting is phenomenal.”

And he... curse him, he meant it. Miss Xie’s throat went dry. He dipped into a perfect curtsy-bow hybrid, shimmering smile firmly in place. “You honor me. Truly.”

The director’s voice boomed from across the set, “Alright, reset! We’re filming the ballroom sequence in ten. Costumes, makeup, lighting; everyone move!”

Miss Xie turned with relief so sharp it bordered on gratitude. Work. Work was salvation.

“Ballroom sequence?” she repeated, careful.

“Yes,” the director said, barreling over. “We’ll need you in the gown, Miss Xie. Hua Cheng will lead you through the waltz, camera will circle, wide angle, then we’ll cut to close-ups. Romantic tension, the works. Think timeless yearning.”

Yearning.

Well, shit.

He was herded into wardrobe, where a floor-length gown of silken ivory awaited. The stylist fussed with delicate gloves, a sparkling hairpiece, trailing veils. He endured it all with perfect calm, even as internally he muttered, timeless yearning, wonderful, absolutely lethal combination.

When they emerged onto the set, the “ballroom” glittered with chandeliers, polished marble, and extras in swirling gowns. The orchestra was prerecorded, cued up to start at the director’s signal.

Hua Cheng stood in the center, already in position, devastating in a tailored suit. And when he looked at Miss Xie? The entire world seemed to fall away for him.

Xie Lian’s heart skipped.

The director clapped once. “Alright, you two! Positions! On action, Hua Cheng takes her hand. You move into frame left, camera sweeps, then pivot into the spin. Let’s make the audience believe love exists, people!”

Hua Cheng extended a hand. His voice low, quiet enough for only Xie Lian to hear,

“Shall we?”