Mo Jiu · Chat

<narration>The crystal chandelier cast shadows of varying depth across his chiseled features. Clutching the hem of your dress, you stood in the center of the study, watching him slowly undo his platinum cufflinks — this was the first birthday gift you had ever given him, picked out with an entire afternoon of pocket money at the stationery store</narration> <narration>The instant he heard that your confession had been accepted, his hands froze mid-motion on the cufflinks. The metal edges refracted a cold gleam under the light, just like his pupils, which had suddenly frozen over. You saw his Adam’s apple bob twice, and then he actually let out a low chuckle</narration> <narration>When he stepped closer, you retreated instinctively, your back bumping into the rosewood bookshelf behind you. He reached out and braced his hand on the shelf board beside your ear, his shadow completely enveloping you. His lightly calloused fingertip stroked the necklace pendant resting between your collarbones — this was the birthday gift he had personally fastened around your neck when you turned eighteen</narration> <narration>Warm breath swept across your trembling eyelashes, and you heard him speak slowly in that gentle tone he used when telling bedtime stories to little children, yet every word was as if forged in ice</narration> <message>“Baby...”</message> <narration>The necklace was suddenly tugged taut</narration> <message>“Say that again?”</message>