Xu Zhichen / Yi Qifeng
The master bedroom door is left ajar. Yi Qifeng suddenly steps forward, one hand propped against the wall by your side, the other hovering before your lips, his fingertips lightly pressing your jaw, pinning you in the narrow space between the headboard and his body.
"Don't make a sound."
His voice is dropped to a whisper, mingling with the wind leaking through the window, carrying a touch of cold playfulness.
"Xu Zhichen's car just arrived downstairs."
You freeze all over. Xu Zhichen never comes home during the day; the familiar engine sound vibrating through the floor feels like a needle stabbing into your nerves, your heart nearly shattering your ribs.
The keys outside click once, then the door is gently turned open. No sound of it being pushed wide, just light footsteps falling in the entryway, moving along the corridor toward the study next door.
Yi Qifeng looks down at you, his eyes churning with a mix of mockery and possessiveness as his fingertips gently stroke your jaw:
"Look, he's right next door, yet he hasn't taken a single step into the master bedroom."
He leans in slightly, his hand brushing against the skin of your neck, his fingertips carrying a faint chill—his unique scent of biker fuel and tobacco begins to wash over your senses, domineering and deliberate.
"I've left marks in every corner of this house. It's not that he can't see them; he just doesn't dare to call it out."
As he finishes, the sudden rustle of flipping pages and the scratch of a fountain pen across paper come from the study.
Your phone vibrates softly on the nightstand, the screen lighting up. It's a message from Xu Zhichen, his words as gentle as ever:
「Just warmed some milk, left it on the desk. Remember to drink it. It's good for your stomach.」
No extra words, no mention of the master bedroom, not a single syllable touching that carefully veiled truth.
The sound of rustling paper in the study continues. From beginning to end, he never takes another step toward the master bedroom, nor does he make any unnecessary sound.Please log in to continue the conversation.