The car screeched to a halt outside the small studio space. Jason didn’t wait for the door to be opened—he shoved it aside and sprinted toward the entrance.
The shop door was already cracked open.
His chest tightened.
He pushed it the rest of the way, and the sound of creaking hinges barely registered against the storm of thoughts in his head.
Inside was chaos.
The clean, cozy studio space he rembered—the place full of soft fabrics, delicate sketches, and quiet pride—was completely torn apart. Tables overturned. Rolls of cloth unraveled. Tools scattered. Thread tangled across the floor like vines.
And in the center of it all, hunched in the wreckage like sothing broken, was Son Liying.
She sat on her knees, crying, shoulders trembling as she held a ruined piece of fabric in her hands. Her fingers clenched it so tightly the threads had wrinkled.
Jason didn’t speak.
He just ran to her and knelt down, pulling her gently into his arms. She didn’t fight it. Didn’t resist. Her body curled into his, sobs muffled against his chest.
He didn’t rush her. He let her cry. Five long minutes passed in silence, aside from the occasional hitch in her breath.
Eventually, the storm passed.
Her hands, still shaking, clutched the fabric in her lap. Jason looked down. He recognized it—the sa color palette she’d shown him, the delicate stitch pattern. It was the matching set she had been designing for them.
"Why..." Her voice cracked.
Jason’s eyes widened.
Liying hadn’t spoken aloud since he t her. Not once. But now, her voice—hoarse, trembling, barely there—cut through the silence.
"Wh–why did they... have to destroy it...?"
Her vocal cords strained. She stamred slightly, and her voice was low—raspy, almost raw. Jason realized her vocal muscles hadn’t been used in a long ti.
But she was speaking.
And she was hurting.
He looked down at the clothes in her lap. Fabric soaked with splattered paint. Edges slashed. It looked like soone had attacked the pieces directly... but only those.
"What happened?" he asked gently.
She sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "A gr–group of people. Broke in. They... they robbed the place."
Jason’s gaze swept the room.
No.
This wasn’t a robbery.
He stood, stepping around the space slowly. The expensive bolts of fabric—untouched. The bag of imported buttons, still sealed. Even the cabinet housing the gem-encrusted trim she showed him once—untouched.
No signs of panic. No ss around anything else.
They ca straight for the matching outfits. Nothing more.
Jason turned back. "This wasn’t a robbery," he said. "It was sabotage."
Son Liying’s head lowered, devastated.
Jason crouched in front of her. "Then we’ll just make another."
She shook her head quickly, eyes wide. "I–I can’t. Not in ti. This place is a ss. It took forever to get this far..."
Jason looked around. Then back at her.
"Sit down," he said.
She blinked.
He cleared off a corner desk, moved so scattered tools aside, and dragged a stool over.
"Sketch what you need. I’ll clean up."
Before she could protest, he walked over to the speaker dock near the shelves and synced his phone.
Music filled the room—sothing light and jazzy.
Then, without warning, Jason shrugged off his blazer, unbuttoned his dress shirt, and tossed it aside—leaving just a clean white undershirt. He rolled up his sleeves, cracked his knuckles, and started picking things up with hilariously dramatic movents.
Son Liying stared in disbelief. Then snorted.
Jason moonwalked while sweeping.
She laughed. Actually laughed.
Jason gave her a smug look. "Told you I’m multi-talented."
She typed on her phone:
"Multi-embarrassing."
He grinned and got back to work.
As the studio slowly took shape again, she began sketching out their replacent designs, glancing up at Jason every so often—not just for opinions, but because... he looked good.
That white shirt was clinging just enough to show definition. His sleeves were rolled tight around muscular forearms, and there was a relaxed warmth in the way he moved.
He caught her staring once. Raised an eyebrow.
She quickly looked away and held up her notepad:
"Thoughts on lapel color?"
By midnight, the outfits were half done.
Jason had re-organized most of the studio. Tools sorted. Floor cleared. Fabric tucked neatly into shelves. He’d even helped her prep patterns and do so of the easier pinning, following her quiet gestures.
By the ti the clock hit two a.m., the place was warm again. Comfortable.
The two of them lay side by side on the floor, atop so clean carpet rolls, the soft hum of music still drifting faintly overhead.
They talked.
They laughed.
Until eventually, Jason’s voice faded out and he asked her sothing across the room—but there was no reply.
He looked over.
She was curled up nearby, fast asleep. Breathing slow. Face relaxed.
He smiled faintly. She deserved this rest.
He folded his arms behind his head, closed his eyes—and let the exhaustion take him.
A tingling numbness spread across his arm.
Jason groaned softly, waking slowly. He shifted to move, but—
He wasn’t on the sa side he’d fallen asleep on.
Liying was curled against him, her head resting gently on his left arm, now completely asleep. His arm felt like stone.
He glanced down.
Her hand had found its way across his chest.
Jason froze.
He tilted his head back, smirking to himself. Cute. But also... ow.
Slowly, carefully, he tried to untangle himself without waking her.
"...You sll," a sleepy voice murmured.
Jason blinked. "So do you."
They both chuckled softly.
Monts later, they stood, brushing off their clothes. Jason handed her her phone and she tucked her hair back.
Outside, his driver was already waiting—holding two coffees from C&B’s flagship blend.
The driver grinned. "To which a blush appears on both their faces."
They climbed into the car.
As they drove, Jason leaned in a bit. "Hey... let’s keep the fact we remade the set to ourselves."
Liying turned, confused.
"Why?"
"I don’t think what happened last night was a robbery," Jason said. "Soone wanted those clothes ruined."
She frowned. "But who?"
Jason turned slightly in his seat.
"Let ask you sothing. Did you tell anyone about the matching design?"
She thought about it.
Then slowly nodded.
"Only Janet."
Jason’s eyes darkened slightly. "Then whoever did this... knew exactly what to target."
She looked startled, but he shook his head.
"I’m not saying you should accuse anyone. Just—don’t say anything. Don’t let them know it got to you."
He hesitated.
"One more thing. Keep the fact that you spoke... between us. You and your grandfather. No one else."
She looked down, then up again—clearly confused.
Jason gave her a small smile. "Sotis, silence is power."
—
The car stopped at the Son estate gates.
Jason stepped out and opened the door for her. She hesitated, then stepped out slowly, glancing up at him.
He gave her a lazy two-fingered salute. "Go rest. You earned it."
She smiled—tired, but real—and walked toward the gate.
Jason slid back into the car.
He leaned his head against the glass.
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