Leah Xuan hadn't stopped thinking about him for days.
That night on the 58th floor felt like a dream—his eyes, the way he stood by the glass wall, talking about cleaning computers at sixteen. For a moment, it felt like they were equals. But deep down, she knew the truth: they were from two different worlds.
Still, when she opened her lunch bag during her café break and saw another sandwich—this time with a small pack of vitamin C and a handwritten note—her heart trembled again.
"Don't faint from exhaustion. You still have dreams to chase. – E."
She looked around, but no one was watching.
Why was he doing this?
He didn't know her. Not really. And men like him didn't fall for girls like her.
Did they?
For years, his life had been calculated, precise, and emotionless. Wake. Work. Win. Repeat. That was how he built a billion-yuan empire. But ever since the night he met Leah, something shifted.
He found himself checking the CCTV each night—not for security, but to see if she had arrived safely.
He noticed the way she winced when picking up heavy trash bags. He noticed the rip in her shoes. The faded scarf she always wore when cold. And he hated it.
"Why is someone like her suffering so much… while people like us waste millions on useless things?"
That thought consumed him.
So, he started helping. Quietly.
At first, it was small:
Nutritional meals sent to the café, always anonymously.
A new pair of black sneakers, left in the janitor's supply room with a sticky note:
"You walk miles every day. Let these carry you better."
Leah was confused. Grateful, but confused.
Her mother noticed the change too.
"Leah," her mother said one evening, brushing her daughter's hair from her tired face, "someone is looking out for you. I don't know who… but you deserve it."
A week later, Leah was finishing her cleaning shift when she noticed an envelope taped to her cleaning cart.
Inside was a formal letter, sealed with XTech Dynasty's official logo.
"Dear Ms. Xuan,
After reviewing your work ethic and resilience, the Human Resources Department is pleased to offer you a part-time internship opportunity in our Software Testing Division. This position will pay 400,000 Yuan annually and provide training, certification, and flexible hours to suit your current responsibilities.
– XTech Internship Program."
She gasped. Her eyes widened.
An internship? In tech?
But… she hadn't applied.
Her hands shook as she reread the letter over and over. She couldn't understand it—until her heart whispered one name: Ethan.
From his penthouse suite, Ethan watched the skyline as storm clouds gathered. He had everything—wealth, power, influence—but when he thought about Leah, he felt helpless.
He didn't want her to think he pitied her.
He didn't want to insult her pride.
But he couldn't stop caring.
His assistant approached quietly.
"Sir, you know she'll eventually figure it out."
"Maybe," Ethan replied, his voice low. "But I'm not doing this to impress her. I just… want her to breathe again."
There was a pause.
"You've never done this for anyone before," the assistant remarked.
Ethan said nothing.
Because he didn't understand it either.
One night, the skies opened. Rain slammed the streets of Shanghai like a wild drum. Leah had just finished her shift and was huddled under the bus stop with no umbrella. Her jacket was soaked. Her bag was wet. Her face, pale from fatigue.
Just then, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up beside the curb.
The back window lowered.
And there he was.
"Get in," Ethan said softly.
She froze. "What… are you doing here?"
"You're shivering."
"I can walk."
"Not tonight, you can't."
She hesitated.
"Leah," he said, his voice quieter now, more human. "Please."
That word—please—did something to her.
She slid into the car.
It was warm. Smelled like clean leather and rain. For the first time in weeks, she let herself exhale.
They sat in silence as the driver moved through the city lights.
"Why are you helping me?" she finally asked.
Ethan didn't look at her.
"Because someone should have helped my mother," he said. "But no one did. And I… I see her in you."
The car went quiet.
Leah turned her head to the window.
And for the first time since the accident that changed her life, a tear rolled down her cheek—not from pain, but from being seen.