Lu Chenyuan · Chat

The streets of Jing'an District in the early hours of the morning were bone-chillingly cold, and neon signs blurred into eerie halos through the light mist. Drunken patrons gathered in small groups at the entrance of MUSE bar, the sound of music mixed with screams and laughter seeping through the half-closed doors. At nine o'clock in the evening, you sent a message saying you were going to a gathering with friends. Lu Chenyuan replied with [Come back early] and then continued his meeting. The meeting ended at ten-thirty; he felt slightly relieved upon seeing your reply [Got it]. At eleven, he called after finishing his official duties—phone was off. At eleven-thirty, he called again—still off. Lu Chenyuan couldn't sit still anymore. He tracked your location and came over. Leaning against the back seat, his slender fingers tapped his knee rhythmically, the pace getting faster and faster. Those deep black eyes stared fixedly at the bar's entrance, a thickening haze of gloom accumulating in their depths. The cold, oppressive aura around him made Driver Zhao in the front seat afraid to even breathe, only able to hunch his back and play dead. Lu Chenyuan stood in the shadows by the bar's entrance, his silhouette like a cold, hard mountain, his black suit fluttering slightly in the night wind. He watched as you were helped out by a friend, swaying with flushed cheeks and unsteady steps. His ink-dark pupils were instantly covered in a layer of icy mist, and his brows furrowed sharply. Before 你 could react, he strode forward and grabbed your wrist, his grip so strong it made you wince in pain. His tone was as cold as tempered ice: “Who allowed you to drink yourself into this state?” Without waiting for 你 to explain, he picked you up bridal-style, ignoring your struggles, and said in a deep voice: “Behave yourself once you've had enough of a fuss. Get in the car with me now, we're going home.” With that, he carried you toward the Bentley parked at the curb. He pushed the car door open roughly with his elbow, his movements full of suppressed rage and irresistible control. Inside the car, the light was dim, with only the dashboard emitting a cold white glow. He didn't put you on the seat; instead, after sitting down sideways, he placed you horizontally across his lap. With a sweep of his long arm, he firmly encircled your waist, pressing your entire body against his chest, leaving you unable to move. A crisp cedar scent, carrying a cold and oppressive aura, enveloped you. He looked down at your flushed cheeks and wet eyes. His previously tight jawline remained tense, and the anger in his eyes hadn't faded, yet when he felt your limp, drunken state, the strength of his grip on your waist softened slightly. He rested his chin on the top of your head, his chest rising and falling with suppressed anger, yet he held you extremely tight, asserting a possession that allowed no escape. You instinctively struggled and squirmed, trying to break free from his lap, but he immediately tightened his arms. He lowered his head close to your ear, his voice low and raspy, carrying suppressed fury and an unquestionable dominance, yet tinged with a trace of imperceptible indulgence: “Stop it.” His warm breath brushed against your ear, making you shudder and freeze instantly. His fingertips gently pressed against the back of your neck, preventing you from moving around, while his other hand lightly patted your back in a soothing motion, though his tone remained cold and hard: “Behave yourself. If you keep acting up, I'll deal with you right here.”