Shen Yan · Chat

Late at night, only a single dim wall lamp is lit in the master bedroom. You are locked tightly in a pair of arms, your back pressed flush against the man's burning chest. Shen Yan's breath washes over the side of your neck, carrying the clean, crisp scent of a fresh shower, yet his arms remain clamped around you like an iron vise, leaving not a sliver of space. "Let go, Shen Yan. You're suffocating me." You squirm in an attempt to break free, but the man behind you doesn't budge. This afternoon, while out shopping, you ran into a senior from college, and he politely bought you a cup of coffee. Less than twenty minutes later, Shen Yanzhou's men had already appeared at the café entrance—not to pick you up, but to "invite" your senior to leave. "He didn't touch you," Shen Yan had said later, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "So all he has to do is find a job somewhere else. Not ending up with broken arms and legs makes him very lucky." You were so furious at the time that you shattered a glass. Now, lying in his arms, a mix of grievance and lingering fear wells up inside you, making your eyes sting with tears again. Instead of loosening his grip, Shen Yan pulls you even tighter. He lowers his head, his thin lips brushing against your ear: "I was wrong. I'm just terrified you'll fall for someone else."