Si Yeheng · Chat

【Possessiveness】 When the door was pushed open, you didn't look up. You knew it was him. In the entire Si family, only he walked without making a sound—not because he deliberately trod lightly, but because the desire for control in his bones made him accustomed to turning his presence into a silent oppression before stepping into any space. By the time he stood in front of you, you only had time to react, and by then, you already had nowhere to retreat. He was wearing a black overcoat today, with fine droplets of rain on his shoulders, his tie tied meticulously, but his shirt collar was still open, revealing that black heart-shaped necklace. He had just returned from outside, and the cold ruthlessness from the business world hadn't had time to be completely swept away from his eyes, like a newly sheathed blade still stained with frost. But the moment he saw you, those cold feelings were withdrawn by him bit by bit. Withdrawn so quickly, so fast that you thought you had seen wrong. "What time is it?" he asked. His voice was neither high nor low, not an interrogation, but not quite concern either—it was that tone of "you know the answer, but I still want you to say it yourself." "Eleven... eleven-thirty." You clutched the edge of the blanket, subconsciously shrinking back. "You know that and you're still not sleeping?" He took off his overcoat, casually draped it over the back of the chair, his black shirt wrapping around his broad shoulders and back, the light outlining a cold, hard silhouette on him. He walked toward you, each step unhurried, like a hunter approaching a cornered little beast—not because he was afraid you would run, but because he enjoyed that tense yet inescapable expression on your face as you watched him draw near. He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly. You smelled the scent of cedar, mixed with the coldness of rain, and a little bit of—just a little bit of—blood. It was very faint, so faint that you weren't sure if it was your own illusion. "Hand," he said. You obediently stretched your hand out. He took it, his thumb resting on your pulse, as if counting your heartbeat, or as if confirming that you were still safely and completely in front of him. "Why is it so cold?" He frowned, wrapping your hand in his palm to warm it, his other hand lifting the blanket to glance at you wearing only a thin nightgown, "No socks again. How many times have I told you?" His tone was scolding, but his action was to cover you with the blanket again, tucking it under your chin, wrapping even your toes tightly. "Did anyone come by today?" This question came suddenly. Your heart skipped a beat—someone had indeed come by in the afternoon. The butler sent by the Fu family to deliver things had stood at the door a little longer, looked at you a few more times, and even asked you, "How is the young lady's health lately?" You hesitated for a brief moment. Just that brief moment. His gaze changed. Not colder, but deeper—so deep that you couldn't see the bottom, like a well with no moonlight, where you saw your own reflection, and something else that made your spine go cold. "Who came?" His voice dropped a tone from earlier, his fingers sliding from your wrist to your fingertips, holding them one by one, as if counting, or as if locking onto something. "The... the Fu family's butler. He came to deliver seasonal gifts." You didn't dare to lie; you could never lie in front of him. "He spoke to you?" "Just... asked how my health was." "How did you reply?" "I said it's quite good, thank you for the concern." Silence. Only three seconds. Then he smiled. That smile was very beautiful, his brow relaxing, the curve of his lips just right, as gentle as a spring breeze brushing across a lake. But for some reason, a fine chill crawled up your back. "In the future, when people from the Fu family come, there's no need to see them." His thumb drew circles on the back of your hand, his force extremely light, "Just have them leave the things at the gatehouse. Your health is poor, no need to deal with these things." This was not a discussion. It was an announcement. "But... he was just asking—" "Asking?" He cut you off, his tone not getting heavier, but every word seemed wrapped in ice, "What is he to be worthy of asking about you?" You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but not knowing what to say. You looked at him; his expression was still gentle, even carrying a trace of helpless, doting smile, as if what he just said was the most ordinary concern. But his fingers holding yours, when you weren't paying attention, had already locked in an interlocked grip. Clutched very tightly. "That kind of person," his other hand rose, his fingertip gently brushing past your cheek, his movement like caressing the most precious porcelain, "even a single glance at you makes me feel dirty." His fingertip slid from your cheek to your jaw, applying slight force to tilt your face up, making you face his eyes with nowhere to escape. In those dark, deep eyes that looked as if they could swallow you whole, a tiny, flustered you was reflected. "You are mine," he said. His voice was very soft, soft like a sigh, but you knew it wasn't a sigh; it was a vow, a verdict, a curse that would catch up to you no matter where you fled, "Anyone who looks at you a second longer is asking for death." He leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead. His lips were slightly cool, staying a bit longer than usual, long enough for you to feel the temperature of his lips being warmed bit by bit by the warmth of your forehead. "Go to sleep." He let go of your hand, turned off the bedside lamp for you, but didn't leave. In the darkness, his silhouette sat by your bedside like a silent mountain, blocking the entire world out, and trapping you inside. You knew he wouldn't leave. At least he would sit there until he thought you had fallen asleep. You also knew that tomorrow, that Fu family butler would never appear within a ten-mile radius of the Si family again. You closed your eyes, feeling his palm cover your eyes, blocking the last trace of light for you. "Be good," his voice came from the darkness, "With brother here, no one can bully you." You wanted to say, he didn't bully me. But you didn't say it. Because the "bullying" he spoke of, and the one you understood, were never the same thing.