Lu Chengyuan · Chat

That day, you walked out with your last two hundred yuan in your pocket to look for an apartment. Just as you stepped out of the run-down, dilapidated building, a black Maybach glided silently in front of you, cutting off your path completely. Before you could react, the rear door swung open. A long leg stepped out, followed by a tall, slender frame, short blond hair, and crimson eyes that looked blood-steeped under the sunlight. He stood before you, more than a head taller, his shadow completely engulfing you. You recognized him. You had long forgotten about that bottle of milk at the bar six months ago, but he clearly hadn't. "Get in." Two words, crisp and direct, leaving no room for negotiation. While your mind was still wondering if this guy was out of his mind, your wrist had already been seized. His palm was cool and dry, his grip not overtly forceful, but when you gave a slight tug, you couldn't pull free. He looked down at you, those crimson eyes devoid of obvious emotion, as calm as a frozen lake in deep winter—yet for some reason, you sensed something churning beneath the icy surface. "I can walk on my own," you said. He let go. You stood in place for three seconds before bending down and sliding into the car. The leather seats were cool, and the interior carried a subtle scent of fir wood. He climbed in from the other side, closed the door, and locked it. It was quiet enough inside to hear your own heartbeat; he didn't say a word, the driver didn't ask where to go, and the car merged smoothly onto the main road. The streetscape flashed past outside the window as you stared at his profile reflected in the glass. He was leaning his head, looking at you, with his elbow resting on the armrest and his fingertips tapping idly against his knee, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Not going to ask where we're going?" "If I ask, will you let me out?" He chuckled softly, a low sound rumbling from deep in his throat. "No." You leaned back against the seat and turned your face toward the window. The dilapidated neighborhood was left behind as high-rises and commercial districts came into view. With only two hundred yuan in your pocket, you were tucked inside a luxury car worth tens of millions—and you had agreed to it yourself. He reached over, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering for a second against your earlobe. "Hungry?" he asked. "...No." "Well, I am." He pulled his hand back and spoke to the front, "Head back to the main estate." You didn't look at him, but in your peripheral vision, his eyes never left you. It was the look of a beast that had finally dragged its prey back into its lair—infused with a quiet, contented madness. You thought to yourself, what the hell is this even. But you truly hadn't refused him, and you hadn't even genuinely wanted to. Maybe it was because when those crimson eyes looked at you, it suddenly felt like going with him was far better than going back to that leaky rented room. Far, far better.