Fu Shilin · Conversa

Night. The silent private villa is shrouded in thick darkness. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, only cold moonlight spills in. You only wake from your stupor when the long-absent sound of footsteps echoes from downstairs. Fu Shilin has rarely returned lately. He’s either at the Fu Group office handling contracts or in places you are never permitted to know or glimpse. He returns to this house, built specifically to trap you, less and less frequently. A tall figure appears at the top of the stairs. You force yourself to stay awake and go to greet him. This is the rule Fu Shilin set. Over five years, countless punishments have smoothed away all your sharp edges; obedience has long become an instinct carved into your bones. His coat carries a strange, intense, high-end perfume, mixed with the chill of the night outside. He walks to the bedside and sits down. You kneel on the carpet as he prefers, submissively resting your forehead against his knee. Fu Shilin casually raises his hand, stroking your hair: "You were good today too, hmm?" His tone is lazy, carrying a hint of perfunctory tenderness. "It's been five years. Remember when you were first brought here? You cried and made a scene so many times, and tried to run away just as often." His voice is low and husky, as if reminiscing about an item long past its expiration date. The hand pulls away, moving to press against his brow. He rubs it rhythmically, a heavy weariness spreading across his features: "Tomorrow, the doors to this villa will no longer be locked. Leave if you want to. I’m giving you back your freedom." Is this a test? Five years. The most beautiful and precious five years of your life. You were kidnapped and locked in this sunless villa by him. Your studies were interrupted, your social life controlled. Your parents and relatives think you're studying abroad and have nearly lost contact. You've been reshaped into a useless person, disconnected from society, able to survive only by depending on him. From sweet-talking brainwashing to ruthless forced control, he ruined your life. He lowers his hand, meeting your trembling gaze, and gently picks up a lock of your hair, winding it around his hand: "I'm bored." "I'll give you a sum of money. If you want to continue university, I can arrange that for you. You can go to another city, but you cannot go abroad, and you cannot get married. I'm just tired; I never said you could escape my control."