Chapter 275: Foundations

*Runze’s POV*

The notification chime on my laptop breaks the quiet of my study early Friday morning.

I open the email from Director Luo. Attached is the formal letter of intent from the foundation board, confirming that my conceptual layout for the community gallery has been unanimously approved. The grant funds have been officially allocated, and the document outlines the project schedule, requesting a site walkthrough next Thursday for the official in-person contract signing.

I read the document through twice. Beneath the project title, my name and my studio’s registered title are listed as the lead architectural practice.

No corporate intermediaries or co-signers, it’s just my work.

I confirm my attendance for Thursday’s walkthrough, attach my preliminary construction timeline, and send the reply.

Then I open my calendar to block out the necessary dates for the gallery’s site inspections.

As I scroll toward the end of the month to mark the second phase of site measurements, my eyes catch a highlighted entry near the bottom of the grid.

*Bael’s Birthday.*

I stop scrolling.

It isn’t a date I ever risk forgetting, but seeing it marked against my new project schedule brings a sudden sense of reality with it.

This year isn’t just another routine birthday. Bael is turning thirty, and it is his first birthday since fulfilling the strict conditions in his late father’s will and becoming the undisputed owner of Wuchen Group.

The rest of the world is already treating the date like a major public event. Invitations have flooded the corporate office from business partners, high-society organizations, and media outlets eager to celebrate the "Wuchen Group’s True Owner."

To them, Bael turning thirty as the sole head of the company is a PR victory.

I glance at the small framed photograph resting near the edge of my desk. In it, Bael is sitting on the edge of the sofa in our living room, holding Siying against his chest shortly after we brought her home. His dark hair slightly untamed, and his usual cold, imposing public expression replaced by a look of profound, quiet gentleness as he watches our daughter sleep.

The public sees an unshakeable executive who effortlessly secured control of a multi-billion-dollar group. I know how many sleepless nights and legal battles it took to get here, and how hard he still works to keep our family’s life quiet and stable.

If the decision were left to the corporate PR department, Bael’s birthday would be spent standing in a crowded ballroom, exchanging rehearsed pleasantries with executives and drinking expensive champagne under press cameras until midnight.

I lean back in my chair, looking at the calendar entry in silence. He deserves better than a grand corporate spectacle. He deserves something genuine.

***

By nine in the evening, the house settles into its quiet nighttime rhythm. Siying is already fast asleep in the nursery after her evening feeding, and Mrs. Wen has retired to her quarters for the night.

I sit on the edge of the bed in our room, a tablet in my lap as I review the initial material samples for the gallery benches while waiting for Bael to get home. He texted me earlier from the office to let me know his late-afternoon board meeting was running overtime, so I had Mrs. Wen leave a warm tray set aside in the kitchen before she went to her quarters.

Down below, the quiet crunch of tires against the driveway gravel signals his arrival.

I set the tablet on the nightstand and stand up, walking over to wait near the bedroom door. Moments later, the door swings open and Bael steps inside, looking visibly drained from the long day, his suit jacket already held loosely over one arm.

The second he sees me standing there, the sharp, rigid line of his shoulders softens.

"You’re back," I say, smiling as I step right into his space.

I reach out and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into a warm, grounding hug. Bael lets out a low, heavy breath into the side of my neck, letting his forehead rest against my shoulder as his free arm comes around my waist, pulling me tightly against his chest.

"Sorry I was late," Bael murmurs, his voice raspy from a full day of non-stop meetings. "The meeting dragged on far longer than it should have."

"I know. You texted me, remember?" I smile gently against his cheek, pulling back just enough to look at him. "Come on, let me help you take this off."

I take his jacket and drape it over the valet stand near the door, then reach up to loosen his tie. Bael stands still, resting his hands lightly on my waist and watching me with quiet, weary affection as I slide the silk tie from beneath his collar.

I unbutton the buttons of his dress shirt one after the other and push the fabric back over his shoulders. Bael raises his arms slightly, letting me peel the shirt away and toss it over the chair.

"Hard day?" I ask softly, my fingers brushing over the warm skin of his collarbone.

"Tedious," Bael sighs, his hands sliding around to the small of my back, drawing me closer until there is no space left between us. "Half the board spent the afternoon trying to pitch extravagant venue proposals for the end of the month under the guise of ’corporate branding.’"

I smile faintly, running my thumb along the side of his jaw. "I take it you didn’t enjoy their ideas?"

"They want a three-day gala at our new central hotel," Bael says, a faint note of annoyance touching his voice before it fades into plain weariness. "They had a whole slideshow prepared. I told them to file the budget under standard promotional expenses and keep my name off the guest list."

He tilts his head down, resting his forehead against mine as his thumb lightly traces the side of my hip. "I don’t care about their galas, Runze. I just want to be home."

"Then you’re home," I say gently, leaning up to press a soft kiss against his cheek. "Go wash up. I’ll bring up your dinner now, it’s still warm in the warming tray."

"Did Siying fall asleep early?" he asks quietly, looking toward the hallway.

"An hour ago," I reply. "She had a busy afternoon."

"I see, I’m going to check on her real quick," Bael says softly, turning toward the door.

I follow him quietly down the dimly lit hallway, standing by the nursery doorway as he steps up to the crib. He leans over the railing, resting his hand gently against Siying’s chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest while she sleeps. A subtle, completely relaxed smile touches his lips in the dim nightlight.

While Bael finishes checking on our daughter and heads into the master bathroom to shower, I slip downstairs to the kitchen to fetch the warming tray Mrs. Wen set aside for him.

By the time I carry the tray back upstairs and set the dishes down at the table in our bedroom’s lounge area—a bowl of steaming broth, fresh greens, and sliced tender beef—the bathroom door opens. Bael emerges in a loose grey shirt and sweatpants, his hair damp and dark.

I stand up from the small sofa and take his hand, guiding him over to sit down at the lounge chair. Once he’s settled, I sit directly onto his lap, straddling his legs and resting against his chest.

Bael smiles up at me, his arms coming around my waist to hold me securely against him, his tired eyes filled with affectionate warmth. I pick up his chopsticks from the tray.

"Eat while it’s warm," I say gently, bringing a piece of tender beef to his lips.

Bael opens his mouth and takes the bite, his breathing slowly settling into a calmer rhythm. Between bites, he rests his cheek against my shoulder, occasionally pressing a quiet kiss against my neck.

"How was your day?" Bael asks softly, his voice much lighter now as we finish the bowl.

"Good," I smile, leaning in close. "The community gallery foundation sent over the formal letter of intent today. The committee has approved my layout. The walkthrough and official signing are set for next Thursday."

Bael sets his chopsticks down, his hands tightening around my waist as a genuine look of pride fills his eyes. "I knew they would. Your layout was clean and functional. They would have been fools to hire anyone else."

I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head at his fierce confidence. "Well, it’s the first real contract under my studio name," I say quietly, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction settle in my chest.

"It’s only the first of many," Bael whispers, leaning up to kiss the corner of my lips.

Still holding me in his lap, Bael puts one arm under my thighs and the other around my back, scooping me up as he stands. I naturally wrap my arms around his neck, letting out a soft laugh as he carries me across the bedroom to the mattress.

He lays us down into the center of the bed, wrapping his arms firmly around me and tucking my head beneath his chin as the soft warmth of the duvet settles over us.

I rest my hand flat against his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart.

The public world can have their corporate headlines, their grand galas, and their formal announcements. But when his thirtieth birthday comes, I am going to make sure he gets a place where he can simply exist, without the armor, without the titles, and without the rest of the world watching.