Han Shān stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse office, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the sky like it owed him money.

He didn’t know why he kept looking. He just knew that if he stared long enough, the knot in his chest loosened by half a degree.

"Papa, the stars are blinking at me again."

A small, sticky hand tugged his suit jacket. Han Shān looked down.

Zhen.

His youngest. Five years old, zero fear, one hundred percent chaos. She had chocolate smeared across one cheek and what looked suspiciously like Rui Xuě’s emergency bowtie clenched in her tiny fist like a war trophy. Her hair, snow-white like her brother’s, like his, was sticking up in every direction, as if she had been electrocuted by pure mischief.

"Zhen," he said, voice low and even, the same tone he used in boardrooms to make grown men sweat. "How many times have I told you not to raid your brother’s closet?"

"Zero times today!" She beamed, showing all her baby teeth. "So technically...new day, new rules!"

Behind her, Rui Xuě, nine years old, already wearing the weight of the world like a too-big coat, sighed the longest sigh a child had ever sighed. "She climbed the bookshelf again, Papa. I told her the bowtie wasn’t a cape."

Han Shān’s jaw tightened. Not in anger. In that familiar, bone-deep ache he refused to name. Their mother had died the night Zhen was born. A quiet complication no doctor could fix. One moment she was there, the next she wasn’t. And now it was just him. Stoic. Emotionally unavailable. CEO of a empire and single father to two small hurricanes who somehow still looked at him like he hung the very stars he couldn’t stop staring at.

He crouched, suit pants pulling tight, and gently pried the bowtie from Zhen’s fingers. "You are trouble, little star."

She giggled and launched herself at his neck. "Trouble is my middle name! Zhen Trouble Shān!"

Rui Xuě muttered, "It’s actually Zhen Mei Shān," but he was smiling. Barely. The boy smiled so rarely these days that Han Shān catalogued every one like a rare stock.

The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Shān, the merger team from Stellar Dynamics is in the east conference room. They’re... early."

Han Shān exhaled through his nose. The merger. The one that would double his company’s reach and force him into the same building as people who still whispered about the "ice king" behind his back. He stood, lifting Zhen effortlessly onto his hip. She immediately started playing with his tie like it was a swing.

"Rui Xuě, stay close. Zhen—"

"I’ll be good!" she chirped, then immediately tried to stuff the bowtie into her mouth.

He almost smiled.

~

The elevator ride down was silent except for Zhen’s humming (off-key) and the occasional squeak of her sneakers against his polished shoes. Rui Xuě stared at the mirrored wall like it held answers. Han Shān stared at the ceiling lights. Stars, he thought. Even indoors.

The east conference room doors slid open.

And the universe, apparently, had a sense of humor.

Because there she was.

Bai Yue.

She stood at the head of the long table in a simple cream blouse and pencil skirt, tablet in hand, hair twisted up in a way that made her neck look impossibly elegant. The same woman who had once worked three floors down in marketing. The same woman whose long-time crush, his cousin Chen Jue, had very publicly rejected her two weeks ago in the café downstairs.

Han Shān had been there that day. Not by choice. He’d walked in for a black coffee and found Chen Jue mid-apology: "I’m sorry, Bai Yue. I never liked you that way. I just... didn’t know how to say it." The kiss that never happened still hung in the air like smoke.

Bai Yue had smiled, and said, "It’s fine. Really." Then she had turned and walked straight into Han Shān’s chest on her way out.

He hadn’t forgotten the way she’d looked up at him then. Wide eyes. Flushed cheeks. A single whispered "Sorry" that somehow sounded like a question.

Now she was here. Leading the merger team.

Their eyes met.

For one second the entire room disappeared. Just her. Just the faint scent of vanilla that made his chest do a traitorous little flip. Uh? There was something about her he couldn’t place his finger on.....was it because of her similiarity to his late wife? Hmm, he would process that later.

Zhen chose that exact moment to squeal and launch herself out of his arms like a tiny missile.

"Wheeeeee!"

"Zhen—!"

Too late. The toddler ricocheted off the conference table, dodged three startled executives, and scurried straight under it like a sugar-high gremlin.

Rui Xuě groaned. "Papa, I’ll get her—"

But Bai Yue was already moving. She dropped to her knees, pencil skirt be damned, and crawled halfway under the table without hesitation.

"Hey there, little speed demon," she said softly. Her voice was warm. Nothing like the cold professionalism the rest of the room expected. "You must be Zhen. I’ve heard about you. Want to come out and help me pick the best sticker from my secret stash?"

A pause. Then a tiny voice from under the table: "Stickers?"

"Glow-in-the-dark ones. Shhh, don’t tell the grown-ups."

Zhen’s head popped out. She was grinning like she had just discovered fire. Bai Yue helped her the rest of the way, brushing chocolate from the toddler’s cheek with a thumb like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Han Shān’s heart flipped. What?

His eyes noticed it. The way she didn’t flinch when Zhen immediately started climbing her like a jungle gym. The way Rui Xuě, his quiet, guarded son, actually stepped closer instead of hiding behind his leg. The way Bai Yue looked up at him, still on her knees, and offered the smallest, softest smile.

"Mr. Shān," she said, voice steady even with a three-year-old trying to braid her hair. "I believe we have a merger to discuss. But first... I think your daughter just declared me her new favorite person."

Zhen nodded solemnly. "She has stickers. And she smells nice. Like cookies."

Rui Xuě tugged Han Shān’s sleeve. "Papa... she’s not scared of us."

Han Shān swallowed. His throat felt too tight. This was the woman...that his cousin had rejected?

He stepped forward, crouched, and gently pried Zhen off Bai Yue’s shoulder. The little girl pouted but allowed it, only because she immediately latched onto his tie again.

"Apologies," he said. His voice came out rougher than he intended. "Zhen has... boundary issues."

Bai Yue stood, smoothing her skirt, cheeks pink. "Kids are supposed to. It’s how they find out the world isn’t made of glass." She met his eyes again. "And Mr. Shān... about the café the other week. I’m sorry I ran into you."

"No apology necessary," he said quietly. "Chen Jue is an idiot."

Her eyes widened. A startled laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

"Shall we begin the merger, Miss Bai?"

Zhen cheered. Rui Xuě almost smiled.

And Bai Yue, still holding his daughter’s sticky hand, nodded.

"Of course."