The question didn't leave the air.
It settled between us—heavy, suffocating.
"Are you ready to break too?"
My breath faltered.
"No," I said, but it came out too soft, too uncertain—like even I didn't believe it.
Cheng Mo tilted his head slightly, studying me, as if searching for cracks beneath my skin.
"You're lying."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
His hand, still braced against the wall beside my head, slowly shifted—fingers brushing against my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear with unsettling gentleness.
The contrast made my chest tighten.
"You always do this," he murmured. "Protect people who don't deserve it."
"They're not—"
His fingers suddenly curled around my wrist.
Not enough to hurt.
But enough to stop me.
"To you," he corrected softly, stepping even closer, until I could feel his breath against my skin. "Not to me."
My pulse stumbled.
There was something dangerous about him like this—quiet, controlled.
Worse than anger.
Because anger burns fast.
This… this consumed slowly.
"You're shaking," he said, almost thoughtfully.
I hadn't realized it until he tightened his grip slightly, his thumb brushing over the inside of my wrist—right where my pulse betrayed me.
Let go," I whispered.
But I didn't pull away.
Didn't try.
His gaze flickered to my lips for just a second—so quick I almost missed it.
Then back to my eyes.
No," he said simply.
His other hand lifted, hesitating for the briefest moment before cupping my cheek.
Warm. Steady. Possessive.
"You don't get to push me away when it becomes inconvenient," he added, voice low.
It wasn't her fault…"
The words felt weaker now. Fragile.
His thumb pressed lightly against my cheek, not rough—but firm enough to ground me.
"Then whose fault was it?"
Silence.
Again.
His expression shifted—something darker slipping through the cracks.
"You know," he whispered.
My throat tightened.
"I—"
He leaned closer.
Too close.
His forehead almost touched mine, his grip on my wrist loosening just enough to slide down, fingers intertwining with mine instead.
A dangerous softness.
You keep defending her," he said, voice barely a breath now. "But you won't even look at me when you say it."
And he was right.
I wasn't looking at him.
I couldn't.
Because if I did—
I might break first.
His fingers tightened around mine.
"Look at me."
A command.
I feel like I have got myself into something really dangerous this time,Where I have no exit.