My fingers pressed against his chest.
"Cheng Mo… stop."
But there was no strength in it.
No real push.
And he noticed.
Of course he did.
A slow, knowing smile touched his lips—dangerously calm.
"You always say that," he murmured.
His hand closed around my wrist again, firmer this time, pulling it away from his chest like it meant nothing.
But you never mean it."
"I do—"
"Then leave."
The words hit harder than anything else.
His grip loosened.
Not completely.Just enough.
A challenge.
My breath caught.
Because I could.
I could step back.
I could walk away.
But I didn't move.
Didn't even try.
His eyes darkened—something obsessive flickering beneath the surface, something that had been waiting for this exact moment.
That's what I thought."
Before I could react—
His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me in.
The kiss was immediate.
Deep.Demanding.
Like he wasn't asking anymore.
Like he already knew the answer.
I tried to turn my face away—just slightly—
But his grip tightened, holding me there.
"Don't," he breathed against my lips.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Worse.
Certain.
My resistance faltered.
Cracked.
And he felt it.
His hand at my waist pulled me closer, firm and unyielding, like he was done pretending there was any distance between us.
"You keep fighting," he murmured, lips brushing mine again, slower now… deliberate.
"But you stay right here."
My heart pounded painfully.
Because I hated how true that was.
I pushed at him again—weak, half-hearted.
Let me go…"
But even I could hear it.
The lie.
The way my fingers curled into his shirt instead of pushing him away.
His breath brushed my skin as he let out a quiet, almost amused exhale.
"No."
The word was soft.
Final.
His forehead rested against mine, his grip tightening just slightly—grounding, claiming.
"You don't get to run from me," he whispered.