Against the Algorithm

Chapter 38: Meant for One

Sicheng didn't hit play.

The remote sat idle in his right hand, his thumb resting against the corner of the button, but he made no move to press it. His gaze was steady, not on the screen but on the woman curled beside him, her frame soft and quiet against the solid length of his side. He could feel the light brush of her braid where it touched his arm, could hear the faint rhythm of her breathing, even and calm but laced with that subtle edge of anticipation she never quite knew how to hide. Without a word, he set the remote aside and shifted just enough to reach into the blanket folds beside him. When his hand reemerged, it held a small box—velvet-lined, weighty not in size but in meaning. He didn't offer it with ceremony or flourish. Just turned toward her and held it out in the space between them, his fingers curled under its base.

Her eyes, already watching him with quiet curiosity, lowered to the box as her brows drew faintly together.

He said nothing.

Only waited.

Yao sat up slightly, her posture still relaxed but cautious, and took the box from his hand with both of hers. She didn't open it immediately. Her fingers were careful, precise, handling it like she already understood that whatever lay inside wasn't ordinary. And when she finally lifted the lid, the faintest hitch of breath caught in her throat.

She didn't speak.

Her fingers didn't reach inside.

They hovered just above the contents.

The necklace lay nestled against the dark lining, the chain delicate, almost weightless in appearance, a gleaming thread of white gold that shimmered faintly in the glow of the nearby lamp. But it was the medallion, smooth, round, crafted from the same white gold and rimmed with perfectly set rubies—that caught her gaze and held it. At the center, unmistakable in its carved precision, was the Lu family crest surrounded by small rubies. She stared at it, unmoving, her expression unreadable but her silence deepening. He knew she was reading it the way she read everything, by detail, by texture, by quiet deduction rather than reaction. Her thumb brushed against the medallion's face, not lifting it from the box, only touching the surface with the gentleness of someone learning the shape of something unfamiliar yet significant.

Then, his voice—low, quiet, and sure—cut through the silence.

"Turn it over."

Yao blinked, glancing up at him once, eyes wide, still unsure, then down again. Her hands moved carefully, reverently, her fingers slipping beneath the fine chain just enough to rotate the medallion within the box without removing it from its place. The motion was slow, measured, and as the back of the pendant came into view, her breath caught again.

Etched into the smooth white gold in ancient script, one reserved only for Lu family commissions, were the words:

What we claim. We protect.
What we protect. We never relinquish.

The decree sat heavy in the space between them.

She blinked, her throat working to swallow something down, and only then did she tilt her face toward him, her hazel-colored eyes wide, dark with confusion and something else—something unspoken but trembling just beneath the surface. "Cheng-ge..." Her voice was quiet, not hesitant, but laced with the gravity she always reserved for things that mattered. Her thumb brushed once more over the engraving before she looked at him fully, her question unvoiced but unmistakable in the weight behind her gaze.

Sicheng didn't speak at first. He waited, watched as her thumb brushed once more over the engraved words, slower this time, lingering not out of curiosity, but because her silence had shifted. Her posture hadn't changed, but something inside her had. He could feel it in the way she held the box, how she cradled it as if she already understood that accepting it meant stepping into something that could not be undone. Only then did he speak, voice low, even, but edged with the unmistakable weight of intent. "In the Lu family, this doesn't go around your neck unless it's meant for good." His eyes remained fixed on her, but softer now, as if watching her hold something far more fragile than gold. "It's not a proposal. It comes before that." He let the words hang for a moment, not because he doubted her understanding, but because he knew she deserved the space to feel their weight fully. "It means you are my Intended," he said quietly, without pressure but without hesitation. "Not casually. Not temporarily. Not in name only. It's a vow—one given without a ceremony. Worn before rings, before paperwork, before public declarations. Once this goes on... it doesn't come off."