The hum of fluorescent lights filled the air on the 13th floor of Shen Cosmetics. Within a sleek, modern office lined with glass walls, Zhou Yang stood before a desk. His tailored suit fit perfectly, his posture upright, but his eyes seemed distant. Across from him, Shen Jia, the second daughter of the Shen family, sat with a dissatisfied expression. Her beauty was the kind that turned heads—a delicate face framed by silky black hair and sharp, intelligent eyes—but right now, those eyes bore into Zhou Yang with a mix of concern and mild frustration.

"Mr. Yang, this report..." she began, holding up the neatly bound document. Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried authority. "It's incomplete. Several key details are missing. This isn't like you."

Zhou Yang blinked, pulling his mind from a fog. "I... I’m sorry, Miss Shen," he said, bowing slightly. "I finished it in a hurry. It won’t happen again." His voice was steady, but his words felt hollow as if spoken by someone far away.

Shen Jia frowned slightly, her irritation giving way to worry. She tapped her manicured fingers on the desk. "I understand that you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. Everyone in the company admires how you’ve managed to stay focused despite... everything." Her voice softened. "But this report is important. It covers the details of our agreement with the Wang family. Any mistake could jeopardize months of work."

Zhou Yang nodded mechanically. "I understand. I’ll be more careful next time."

Something about his tone unsettled Shen Jia. She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "Mr. Yang... Did something happen?"

For a moment, Zhou Yang froze. His lips parted as if to speak, but he hesitated. Finally, he offered a strained smile and shook his head. "Nothing. Really, it’s nothing. I just—"

"Don’t dodge the question." Her voice gained an edge, not angry but firm. "If something’s wrong, tell me. You’ve never made a mistake like this before, even with everything you’ve been dealing with."

His smile faltered. For a moment, he stood there silently, his hands clenched at his sides. Then, he exhaled and looked away, his voice barely above a whisper. "The hospital called this morning... My wife... Ying..." His lips trembled into a small, foolish smile. "Her condition’s critical."

Shen Jia’s breath hitched, and her eyes widened. "Critical?" She leaned forward, her tone urgent. "Then why are you still here? Why didn’t you go to the hospital immediately?"

"I wanted to finish the report first," Zhou Yang said, almost as if scolding himself. "It was my responsibility. I thought... I thought if I finished quickly, I could still make it in time."

Realization dawned on her face. Shen Jia’s expression softened, her earlier dissatisfaction replaced by guilt. "I see... You rushed this so you could leave earlier."

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He nodded faintly, not meeting her gaze.

Shen Jia stood abruptly, shaking her head. "I shouldn’t have kept you here. I’m so sorry, Mr. Yang. You should go. Right now."

"It’s not your fault, Miss Shen," Zhou Yang said, offering a weak smile. "You were just doing your job. And you were right to point out my mistake."

"That doesn’t matter right now," she said firmly. "Wait here. I’ll call my driver to take you to the hospital. I don’t trust you to drive in this state."

"There’s no need for that—"

"There is," Shen Jia interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. She picked up her phone and dialed. "Mr. Yang is coming down. Take him to the hospital where his wife is admitted."

After a curt acknowledgment from the other end, she hung up and turned back to Zhou Yang. "Go. Now. And don’t worry about anything else. Just be with her."

Zhou Yang hesitated, but her insistence left no room for refusal. He bowed slightly. "Thank you, Miss Shen."

As he left, Shen Jia walked to the window, staring out at the bustling city below. She whispered, "I hope she’s safe."

Zhou Yang exited the building, where a sleek black car waited by the curb. The driver, a young man in a crisp uniform, opened the door and greeted him politely.

"Mr. Yang, please get in."

Zhou Yang muttered a quiet thanks and slid into the back seat. As the car pulled away, his mind drifted to the call from the hospital that morning.

"Mr. Zhou," the doctor’s voice had said, heavy with regret, "Your wife’s condition has deteriorated. She’s critical. I’m sorry, but... please come quickly."

He clenched his fists at the memory. He should have gone immediately. Yet here he was, on his way only now, burdened by the bitter taste of regret.

Outside the window, the city bustled with life, indifferent to his pain. People walked, laughed, and lived their lives, blissfully unaware of the turmoil in his heart. He smiled faintly, his thoughts turning to Ying.

When the car reached the hospital, Zhou Yang stepped out without waiting for the driver and rushed inside. Nurses greeted him as he passed, but he didn’t stop. He knew where to go.

Room 504.

He opened the door and stepped inside.

There she was, the most beautiful woman he had ever known. Ying lay on the bed, her pale face illuminated by the faint light from the window. Her eyes opened at the sound, and she smiled—a soft, radiant smile.

"Dear," she said, her voice weak but filled with warmth. "You’re here."

Zhou Yang moved to her side, kneeling by the bed. He grasped her hand gently, as if afraid she might break. "I’m sorry,"he whispered, his voice trembling. "I should’ve come sooner."

"It’s okay," Ying replied, her voice soothing. "You’re here now. That’s what matters."

Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at her. She smiled again, gesturing for him to listen closely.

"Eat properly when I’m gone," she said softly. "Don’t become clumsy without me. And most importantly, live happily. Promise me, Zhou Yang."

Her voice grew fainter with each word, and finally, her eyes closed, her lips still curled in a gentle smile.

"Ying?" Zhou Yang’s voice cracked. He shook her hand gently. "Ying... Ying, wake up."

Her stillness was an answer he refused to accept.

"YING!" he screamed, his voice echoing in the quiet room. Again and again, he called her name, tears streaming down his face.

The doctor stepped inside silently, his expression somber. "Mr. Zhou... We did everything we could."

Zhou Yang barely heard him. He sat there for what felt like an eternity before finally rising and leaving the room.

On the hospital terrace, Zhou Yang stood alone, gazing out over the city. His heart felt hollow, his mind adrift. He looked up at the sky and smiled faintly.

"Ying, I’m coming to you."

With that, he stepped forward, letting gravity take him.