Morning slunk in under a sullen gray sky, smearing the skyline with ash and blue like a bored painter with a dull brush. The city below didn't wait for permission—it moved, murmured, choked on its own traffic, shops grinding awake with metallic screeches and distant shouting.
Inside the penthouse, everything was still. Controlled.
Shen Rui stood in front of the window, sharp and silent in a black button-down, tie loose, sleeves rolled precisely to his elbows like he was ready to strangle the day itself. His reflection stared back at him in the glass, unreadable.
He hadn't slept.
Not because of the meetings. Not because of the late-night reports.
But because of her.
Still curled on his couch like some kind of mildly feral house guest who didn't understand personal space, property rights, or the laws of physics. One leg was dangling over the edge like she had no bones. His coat—his expensive, tailored, cashmere coat—was wrapped around her like a ratty blanket. The pillows were arranged into a nest of chaos and questionable geometry.
And the drone?
One of his high-grade, silent-operating, motion-tracking indoor security drones sat next to her. Dead.
With a sticky note slapped across its lens.
> "Your tech is cute but dumb."
He closed his eyes. Breathed. Counted to three.
Then kicked the leg of the couch.
Lin Xie's eyes popped open like someone had turned on a switch. "Don't yell, I'm awake."
"I didn't yell."
"You kicked. Same thing."
"You're still here."
"You're very observant."
He stared at her for a long, slow beat. "Do you have a death wish?"
She yawned like he was boring her already. "Not really. But it's Monday, so who knows."
"You broke into my building. Invaded my home. Slept on my furniture. Ate all my dried mangoes."
"They were expired."
"They weren't."
"Well," she said, stretching with a soft groan like a spoiled cat, "now they are."
He didn't move. Just stared.
For a fraction of a second, he almost—almost—asked himself why she was still here. Why he hadn't already kicked her out, locked her out, erased every trace of her from his security system and his memory.
But the thought came and went. He filed it away like an annoying email. Unread. Marked important.
He turned and walked into the kitchen.
She followed. Of course.
Bare feet tapping softly across the polished floor. Light. Casual. She drifted after him like static cling. When he poured black coffee into a white ceramic mug, she tilted her head to watch like it was some kind of sacred ritual. When he reached for a slice of toast from the warming rack, she reached for her own like it was instinct. No hesitation. Just blatant copy-paste behavior.
He sipped his coffee. She sipped from his mug. She'd already claimed it without asking.
"You need to leave," he said, tone flat.
"I tried that once," she said around a mouthful of toast. "Got distracted by pigeons."
"You are a threat to national security."
"That's rude. I haven't even exploded anything."
"Yet."
She grinned like he'd just given her permission. "So you are worried."
"I'm not."
"Liar."
He finally turned toward her, gaze cutting sharp. "I don't know who or what you are. But if you don't leave my life now, I'll make sure you disappear completely."
Her eyes glinted, amused. Not scared. Not defensive.
"Ooh," she said, licking a crumb off her thumb. "You sound like one of the directors back home."
Something shifted. Barely. His expression didn't change, but his focus narrowed.
"Home?"
She strolled around the kitchen island, fingers skating across the marble like she was mapping it for later. "White walls. Bleach. Glass. No names. Just gloves and clipboards and numbers. You don't grow up there. You just… exist."
He didn't answer.
But his jaw twitched.
"That doesn't sound like any country I've heard of."
"Good," she said over her shoulder. "You shouldn't have."
Still, he didn't move. And still, she didn't shut up.
But the question floated through his head again like a gnat he couldn't swat away:
Why haven't I kicked her out?
He'd handled worse. Knew exactly how to make people vanish. He could shut this down in a second.
So why hadn't he?
"You're not going to get rid of me, you know," she said, voice light but unshakable.
"I always get rid of problems."
She tilted her head, smirk growing like it was her favorite accessory. "Maybe I'm not a problem. Maybe I'm a bonus level."
He gave her nothing. Not a blink. Not a twitch.
She took another bite of toast and casually wandered back into the living room, like she hadn't just dropped a cryptic grenade in his lap.
By the time he followed, she was perched on the back of the couch, hands flat on the glass window, nose nearly touching the surface as she looked out at the smog-choked city like it was a foreign planet.
"This world is so outdated," she muttered. "And ugly. But it smells like freedom."
He didn't answer.
He walked to the door.
Opened it.
Held it.
She didn't move.
"You'll miss me," she said.
"No, I won't."
"I grow on people."
"Like a virus."
"Like a new operating system," she corrected cheerfully. "One you can't uninstall."
He didn't respond. Didn't tell her to shut up. Didn't slam the door.
He just walked out.
Door clicking shut behind him with mechanical finality.
She waited exactly ten seconds.
Then slipped out behind him—barefoot, toast still in hand, grin intact—like she belonged to the damn world. Or maybe like she was still deciding if the world belonged to her.
-----
Shen Rui didn't turn around when he heard the light slap of her feet behind him, trailing just far enough to be annoying, but not close enough to touch.
She was like an echo that didn't know how to fade.
He stepped into the elevator. She followed.
He pressed the button for the underground parking level.
She pressed every other button.
He stared at her. She grinned.
"You seemed tense. I thought a little chaos might help."
The elevator jolted into motion. Shen Rui exhaled through his nose. "You think everything's funny, don't you?"
"Nope," she replied easily, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I think you are funny. All the frowning. The shoulder tension. It's like watching a corporate statue try to have feelings."
The doors opened with a ding at the 17th floor. No one got in. The doors closed again.
Shen Rui adjusted his cufflinks like she wasn't speaking at all.
On the ground level, his driver was already waiting. A matte black car purred quietly near the curb. The moment he stepped out, the driver moved to open the back door—but paused.
Because Lin Xie was still there.
Still barefoot.
Still smiling.
Still treating this world like a mildly interesting simulation.
"Sir," the driver said carefully, glancing at her.
"She's not with me," Shen Rui muttered.
"Oh, come on," Lin Xie chirped, already sliding into the car beside him. "You're so shy about your friends."
Shen Rui didn't argue. He didn't order her out.
He just got in and shut the door.
She took that as a win.
As the car pulled out into the road, Shen Rui pulled out his tablet and started reviewing his schedule.
Lin Xie leaned closer. "Who's Ye Qing?"
He turned slightly, just enough to make it clear she was pushing it.
She didn't flinch.
"Client. Why?"
"No reason. You make an appointment with anyone, I want to know if they're boring or likely to stab you."
"…You think that's helpful?"
"Definitely. I have very stab-specific instincts."
They rode in silence after that—well, technically. Shen Rui read documents. Lin Xie read over his shoulder, upside down, from the other side of the seat.
She didn't comment on anything else. Just watched.
She always watched.
At the office, his team straightened like scared pins when he stepped through the glass lobby.
But the girl behind him?
She walked in like the air had already bent to her.
"Sir," one of the assistants stammered, "Should… uh, should we—?"
"She's a delusion," Shen Rui said coldly. "Ignore it."
Lin Xie didn't look at the assistant. She didn't speak. Didn't smile. She just tilted her head ever so slightly, like cataloguing a weak spot.
That woman didn't meet her gaze again.
Upstairs, he went straight into a meeting with a man who smelled too expensive and smiled too wide.
"Shen Rui," the man greeted, standing. "Finally. You're late."
Behind him, Lin Xie leaned close and whispered, "He's compensating for something."
"Sit down," Shen Rui told her, sharp.
She plopped into the chair beside him, spinning once before stopping with a dizzy wobble.
"Ignore her," he said flatly to the man.
But the man, Ye Qing, was staring at her. "Who is she?"
Shen Rui didn't answer.
Lin Xie did.
"I'm the improved model," she said cheerfully, voice light—but her eyes were unreadable, flat like glass. "Version: unknown. Control sequence: terminated."
"…Excuse me?"
"She means she's unstable," Shen Rui said, voice cold enough to freeze a lake.
Ye Qing blinked. Twice.
Lin Xie's expression didn't change. "You blink too much. High adrenaline levels. Sweaty palms. What are you hiding?"
Ye Qing looked offended.
She smiled sweetly, only to Shen Rui. "Don't worry. I'll find out eventually."
Then her face turned blank again. Like a switch.
The smile dropped. The playfulness disappeared.
Ye Qing visibly stiffened.
"Meeting over," Shen Rui said, rising.
"But—"
"I said I'll call you."
Lin Xie was already up, trailing behind like a shadow that had teeth.
They walked out. Not a glance back.
Ye Qing stayed frozen in place, unsure if he'd just witnessed something human—or something that only looked like it.
Inside the elevator, Shen Rui didn't speak.
Lin Xie leaned her head against the wall, eyes on the panel.
"Hey," she said calmly. "Do all your enemies wear designer perfume?"
He closed his eyes. Just for a second.
He didn't answer.
She didn't push.
But she was still smiling. Only for him.