"Look at me."
My breath trembled.
Slowly—too slowly—I lifted my gaze.
And the moment our eyes met—
Something snapped.
His grip tightened around my hand, pulling me forward just enough that our bodies brushed.
Too close.
Too dangerous.
"You still don't get it, do you?" Cheng Mo whispered.
Before I could respond—
His lips crashed against mine.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't hesitant.
It was anger.
Possession.
Something raw and unspoken tearing its way out.
My back hit the wall again, but this time—I felt it.
Every second of it.
His hand slid from mine to my waist, gripping tightly, pulling me flush against him as if distance itself was unacceptable.
I should've pushed him away.
I should've stopped this.
But I didn't.
My fingers clenched into his shirt instead.
And that was all it took.
The kiss deepened—messy, breathless, almost punishing.
Like he was trying to make me feel everything he couldn't say.
"You defend her…" he murmured against my lips, barely pulling back before crashing into me again.
"…but you stay with me."
His hand moved—slow, deliberate—tracing up my side, sending a sharp, involuntary shiver through me.
Why?"
I had no answer.
Or maybe I did—
I just didn't want to say it out loud.
Because it wasn't soft.
It wasn't pure.
It was this—
This chaos.
This pull I couldn't escape no matter how hard I tried.
"Say it," he demanded, his forehead pressing against mine, breath uneven.
His fingers tightened at my waist again, grounding, claiming.
"Tell me why you won't leave."
My heart pounded violently.
Because leaving meant peace.
And somehow—
I kept choosing him instead.
My lips parted, barely a whisper between us—
"I don't know."
Something dark flickered in his eyes.
Not relief.
Not happiness.
Something deeper.
More dangerous.
His hand slid up, gripping my jaw—not harsh, but firm enough to hold me in place.
"You don't want to." he said softly.
And kissed me again—
Slower this time.
But far more dangerous.