Chapter 14 Cohabitation (2) Not every sentence is worth me...

The sunlight blazed fiercely through the heavy blackout curtains, slicing a path of light through the dim bedroom.

Wen Chen sat up, the large silk robe draped over her body, its touch cool and delicate—it was Gu Moheng's size. Eight years had passed, and the boy who had once resembled her had transformed; his frame had become broader and stronger, bearing the marks of self-discipline and training.

He walked barefoot across the cool floor and toward the floor-to-ceiling window.

"Whoosh—"

The heavy blackout curtains were pulled back. The entire awakening city unfolded beneath our feet, the morning mist like a veil, lingering around the tops of the skyscrapers.

Wen Chen squinted, his eyes clear. The regretful, pained figure standing in the darkness, his shoulders taut, seen through the crack in the study door last night, was now vividly etched in his mind.

Gu Moheng, do you feel pain too?

Pity? It's no longer needed.

A warm, mellow aroma of food, mingled with the roasted scent of coffee beans, wafted gently from the open kitchen.

After washing up and changing into her own clothes, Wen Chen followed the fragrance.

The man who was always impeccably dressed in a suit and tie, even down to his cufflinks, was now wearing soft, smoky gray loungewear. Gu Moheng's tall figure appeared unexpectedly gentle in the morning light, all his aloofness and sharpness gone.

He stood with his back to Wen Chen, focused intently on frying eggs at the counter, his movements practiced and efficient. The frying pan emitted a pleasant sizzling sound.

Wen Chen leaned quietly against the wall, like a calm observer. He had fantasized countless nights before graduating from his senior year that he would probably live a simple life like this with Gu Moheng after graduation.

One cooks, the other waits.

As dawn breaks, the sounds of pots and pans clatter.

But now, this scene is nothing but an extreme irony.

"Awake?" Gu Moheng heard the movement behind him, turned off the stove, and turned around. His deep eyes always lost all their business acumen the moment they met Wen Chen's gaze, leaving only a cautious, searching look. Like a large dog tentatively extending its paw, yet afraid of being pushed away.

Wen Chen didn't move, her gaze calmly falling on the charcoal gray loungewear he was wearing. The fabric was very soft, accentuating his tall and straight figure and softening his angular features. Wen Chen remembered that he also had the same style, a matching couple's outfit that he had insisted on buying for Gu Moheng at the mall eight years ago.

Gu Moheng followed his gaze and looked down at his clothes. His Adam's apple bobbed almost imperceptibly. He spoke in a very soft tone, as if beckoning a sleepy and wary cat: "Come and have breakfast."

A beautifully presented breakfast is laid out on the table. A perfectly fried sunny-side-up egg, the white set but the yolk still irresistibly runny. Two slices of slightly charred toast, a small dish of sliced ​​avocado, and a cup of fragrant hot milk.

It's not coffee.

Gu Moheng never drinks milk; he finds it fishy.

These were all prepared for him.

Wen Chen sat down, her gaze shifting from the perfect sunny-side-up egg to Gu Moheng's face.

Gu Moheng met his gaze, a gentle smile curving his lips. "I'll make breakfast from now on," he said in a low voice. "Your stomach can't take any more stress."

Wen Chen watched him quietly, offering no comment. He picked up his knife and fork, gracefully cutting off a small piece of toast and putting it in his mouth. His taste buds perceived just the right amount of wheat flavor and slightly salty butter, but he couldn't taste anything in his heart.

"Thank you," he said softly, his politeness impeccable.

That "thank you" was like a layer of soft cotton, lightly blocking all of Gu Moheng's emotions, leaving no room for escape.

Gu Moheng's jawline tightened instantly, and the cautious light in his eyes vanished in an instant.

Wen Chen acted as if he hadn't seen it. He slowly wiped his mouth with a tissue. "Let's go," he said, standing up. "To the company. Things aren't over yet. Don't keep your executives waiting." He even took Gu Moheng's suit jacket, which was draped over the back of the chair, and handed it to him.

Gu Moheng took the coat, his fingertips inadvertently brushing against Wen Chen's slightly cool fingers.

Wen Chen quickly withdrew her hand. That subtle resistance was the only real crack beneath this facade of warmth.

The black sedan drove towards the city center again. The deathly silence inside the car was gone, unlike the previous times.

Wen Chen took out his tablet from his briefcase and opened a document.

“Regarding the ‘Homecoming’ project,” he turned to look at Gu Moheng, who was focused on driving, “now that the storm has passed, I’ve had the team make some minor adjustments to the structural plan, and I’d like to hear Mr. Gu’s opinion.”

His tone remained businesslike and devoid of any personal emotion.

Gu Moheng's heart sank. The sea there was the Arctic Ocean, frozen all year round. He would rather Wen Chen mock him than be completely isolated from the world like this, treated as an ordinary client.

As the light turned red, he took the tablet and his gaze fell on the complex structural diagrams.

“This cantilever structure,” he tapped the screen with his fingertip, “has a striking design, but the construction cost is two percent higher than the original plan, and the maintenance costs are also higher. From a business return perspective, it’s not worthwhile.”

He pointed out the most pointed questions in the most professional tone, but in his heart he was waiting for Wen Chen's rebuttal, waiting for him to argue for the design concept, even if it was with anger.

Wen Chen didn't immediately refute. He slowly raised his eyes, his gaze passing over the cold electronic screen and landing on Gu Moheng's profile as he focused on driving.

That face had sharp lines, and its jawline was taut like a bow ready to be drawn.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved Wen Chen's lips. That smile didn't reach his eyes; only an icy expanse remained.

He pondered for a moment, then said, “President Gu’s perspective makes sense.” His voice was calm, like a lake with a thin layer of ice, devoid of any ripples.

Gu Moheng's breath hitched. It wasn't until the car behind him honked that he snapped out of his daze and stepped on the gas, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

That's not what he wants.

No, not that damned, distant and polite "Mr. Gu's perspective makes sense!"

Wen Chen, however, seemed not to notice his instantly stiffened profile and continued in that businesslike, emotionless tone, "But, President Gu."

"Architecture is not a cold numbers game. It carries people's emotions and the memories of the city."

His slender index finger lightly tapped the artistically designed cantilevered structure on the tablet.

“I call this structure ‘Guardian’. When the owner finishes a tiring day at work and drives home, they can see this structure, which extends from the main building like an outstretched arm, from a great distance.”

"It's a silent welcome, a confirmation of belonging. The emotional value it brings far exceeds the two percent construction cost."

Wen Chen spoke slowly, each word clear and firm, carrying the confidence and pride of a top designer.

This is the real him.

This is the same Wen Chen who would argue with him until their faces turned red in the middle of the night over the curvature of a line.

Gu Moheng's heart felt as if it were being gripped tightly by an invisible hand, a sharp contraction coming from it, a mixture of ecstasy and excruciating pain.

He greedily savored the sight of Wen Chen at that moment. Watching him discuss design, a spark finally ignited in those once-cold eyes. It was a fiery, vibrant flame of Wen Chen's soul, uniquely his own.

-

The atmosphere in the top-floor conference room of Mosheng Capital was as cold as ice.

A dozen or so senior executives of the group sat around the long table, all sitting upright and silent as if trembling with fear.

Gu Moheng sat in the main seat, his expression cold and stern, radiating a low pressure that kept strangers at bay.

Wen Chen sat beside him, looking down as she flipped through the documents in her hands, seemingly indifferent to everything around her.

"...This concludes the recap report of this public relations crisis."

The public relations director finished his report with trepidation, his forehead already covered in a layer of cold sweat.

Gu Moheng didn't speak, his knuckles tapping lightly on the table, the sound not loud but like drumbeats striking everyone's heart.

Finally, an untimely voice broke the silence.

"President Gu acted swiftly and decisively, resolving the crisis overnight. He is truly admirable." The speaker was Manager Xiang, who was in charge of investments. He was nearly fifty years old and, relying on his status as a company veteran, spoke with a certain self-assurance.

His gaze flickered almost imperceptibly towards Wen Chen, "However, this incident has indeed had a significant negative impact on the 'Return to Home' project. For a project that had such a poor start, they mobilized so many of the group's resources, even at the cost of offending Apocalypse Capital..."

He paused, then smiled knowingly, "I hope Designer Wen's studio can be more meticulous in the future, so that we at Mosheng won't have to live in fear anymore."

These words were subtly barbed. They both questioned Gu Moheng's decision and shifted all the blame onto Wen Chen.

In the conference room, everyone's eyes were fixed on Wen Chen.

Wen Chen slowly raised his eyes, his gaze behind his glasses calm and unwavering. He was about to speak.

"Manager Xiang." Gu Moheng's voice suddenly rang out, devoid of any discernible emotion.

Those three simple words instantly turned Manager Xiang's face pale. Gu Moheng had never spoken like this in a public meeting before, even when he openly or subtly mocked his subordinates. He felt a sudden surge of panic.

Gu Moheng slowly raised his eyes, giving Manager Xiang a cold glance. "Do you have any objections to how I handled this matter and the outcome?"

The temperature in the entire conference room seemed to drop to freezing point instantly.

The color drained from the manager's face: "No... I wouldn't dare... Mr. Gu, that's not what I meant..."

Gu Moheng's gaze slowly swept over the entire room. All the executives who met his eyes subconsciously avoided his gaze.

“‘Returning Home’ is a project that I, Gu Moheng, personally approved.”

“Anyone who has any further objections,” he paused, his voice as cold as ice, “can go to the personnel department and submit their resignation right now.”

Domineering, autocratic, and leaving no room for compromise. This is the true nature of the ruthless "Midas touch" of Wall Street.

In the deathly silence, Wen Chen slowly lowered his eyes. He picked up the coffee beside him and took a small sip. The warm liquid slid down his throat, suppressing the surging chill in his heart.

He pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze behind the lenses calm and serene.

He disliked owing favors, especially favors from Gu Moheng.

This favor is too heavy and too hot; it will burn the old scars that he has finally managed to heal.

The meeting has ended.

The elevator descended smoothly, the red numbers silently ticking like a countdown heartbeat.

“Don’t take what Manager Xiang said to heart,” Gu Moheng’s voice suddenly broke the suffocating silence, deep and hoarse.

Wen Chen's gaze fell on her blurry reflection in the elevator door, without turning around.

He suddenly chuckled very softly. The smile was faint, like the first snow about to melt under the winter sun, carrying a hint of cool warmth. "Mr. Gu, you're overthinking it."

“In these eight years,” he began slowly, his voice clear and steady, “I’ve heard far worse things than this.”

Gu Moheng frowned upon hearing this, his gaze fixed on Wen Chen's face.

Wen Chen turned her head, and behind her gold-rimmed glasses, her eyes reflected Gu Moheng's face, which instantly froze.

"Not every single word deserves my attention."

"bite--"

The elevator arrived at the underground parking garage, and the door slid open.

Wen Chen stepped out first, his leather shoes making a crisp sound on the smooth epoxy flooring, echoing in the empty garage with a lonely, lingering echo.

Gu Moheng followed behind him, looking at the slender yet upright figure. He felt that the boy who used to frown at a single comment from someone else had long been abandoned by him in the storm eight years ago. He watched silently for a few seconds, then quickened his pace to walk beside him. "I'll take you back to your studio."

Wen Chen stopped in his tracks. He turned his head and glanced in a certain direction.

"No need." He looked away, his tone indifferent. "Xiao Li has already brought the car over."

Gu Moheng followed his gaze. Next to his black Maybach, a white Bentley Bentayga was parked quietly. A brand new 25-year-old model, its smooth yet powerful body lines were understated yet couldn't hide its value, perfectly matching Wen Chen's current style.

Wen Chen took out his car key and pressed it. The headlights of the white SUV flashed in response, and an unlocking sound was heard.

"See you later, Mr. Gu."

A note from the author:

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