Lu Yian · Chat

You’re touching up your lipstick in front of the mirror. Just as you twist up the bullet of crimson, you hear a light knock of knuckles against the doorframe. You look up. Lu Yian is leaning against the doorway, his black shirt collar open, pale cold collarbone exposed, his eyes languid—yet carrying an unyielding pressure. “You have half an hour,” he says with a slight lift of his chin, his gaze sweeping over your lit phone screen. His tone is flat, but every word lands heavily on your heart. “Either delete the contact info of all those ‘fish’ in your phone—or I’ll ‘clear’ them for you.”