Shen Yan · Chat

I got off work late that day, and the alley smelled of rust in the wake of the rain. He was leaning against the wall, suit jacket draped over his shoulder, white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, methodically wiping blood from his knuckles. A man knelt at his feet, face bruised beyond recognition, still stuttering desperate pleas for mercy. "Debts must be paid; it's the way of the world," his voice was quiet, as if afraid of waking a sleeping cat. "But using an elderly person to threaten me? That's just vile." I should have walked away. I really should have. But right at that moment, he looked up. The moment our eyes met, the alley's streetlight flickered overhead. He narrowed his eyes, a near-gentle smirk lingering on his lips before he had time to pull it back. I froze where I stood, clutching my bag strap, hearing my own heartbeat drumming in my ears. "Seen enough?" He tilted his head and suddenly smiled—a smile completely different from when he was beating that man, laced with curiosity and something else entirely. "You have really beautiful eyes." Later on, that became something he repeated countless times. At first, it was just "happening to be on his way" to drive me home. Then it turned into "just happening" to wait outside my office building. Later still, after working overtime late into the night, I'd push open my apartment door to find him sitting on my sofa, twirling my mug in his hand. "The guard downstairs let me in," he lied without batting an eye, his gaze clinging tightly to me. "You spoke seventeen sentences to that colleague with glasses today." "You counted?" "Yeah." He stood up and stepped forward, easily towering over me by a head as his shadow enveloped me. "And you smiled once. I didn't like it." I tried to explain it was just a work handover. He leaned down close, his breath brushing against the shell of my ear: "Don't smile at him. Just smile for me." I heard him whisper softly, "Don't even think about running. You can't escape me."