Does it feel like revenge?"
His voice lingered—quiet, inescapable.
I stared at him, my chest rising too fast.
Something was wrong.
Something I had buried—deep, untouched—
was clawing its way back up.
"You…" My throat tightened. "You planned this."
He didn't deny it.
Didn't even try.
And that was enough.
A cold realization settled in.
"You hate me."
The words felt empty the moment they left my lips.
Because the way he looked at me—
it wasn't just hate.
It was worse.
"Your mother killed her."
My world stopped.
"My sister," he added, his voice quieter now.
Not softer.
Heavier.
The air left my lungs.
No.
No—
My head shook before I could stop it.
"I…"
But the memory came anyway.
Uninvited.
Unforgiving.
Blood.
Her body on the floor.
Her hand reaching—
reaching for help.
And me—
standing there.
Frozen.
Unable to move.
Unable to breathe.
Unable to save her.
I didn't…" My voice broke.
I couldn't finish it.
Because there was nothing to say.
No excuse.
No justification.
Just truth.
"I know," Cheng Mo said.
I flinched.
Because there was no anger in it.
No accusation.
And somehow—that made it worse.
"You didn't try," he continued.
Each word slow.
Precise.
Like he'd replayed that moment a thousand times.
My knees felt weak.
"I was scared…"
The confession came out shattered.
Ugly.
Real.
His eyes didn't soften.
Didn't change.
"You watched her die."
Silence.
The kind that suffocates.
Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't look away.
I couldn't.
Because he deserved to see it.
All of it.
The guilt.
The regret.
The truth.
"I…" My lips trembled. "I couldn't move…"
A pause.
Then—
"Exactly."
The word cut deeper than anything else.
Not loud.
Not cruel.
My chest collapsed under it.
Because he was right.
There was no defense.
No way to undo it.
"And you still stayed," he said quietly.
My breath hitched.
"What?"
His gaze darkened, something obsessive surfacing again beneath the calm.
You stayed in my life," he continued.
"Walked beside me. Looked at me like nothing happened."
A step closer.
"And you expect me not to take something back?"
My heart pounded painfully.
Because this—
this I understood.
This I deserved.
His hand lifted again, gripping my jaw—not harsh, but firm enough to hold me still.
"Tell me, Shu Lin," he murmured.
"Was it fear back then…"
His thumb pressed slightly, forcing me to meet his gaze completely.
"…or is it still fear now?"
I didn't answer.
Couldn't.
Because the truth was—
It had never left me.
His eyes searched mine for a long moment.
Then—slowly—
his grip loosened.
But he didn't step back.
Didn't leave.
That was the worst part.
"I should hate you," he said quietly.
"But I don't."
My breath stopped.
Because that didn't sound like mercy.
It sounded like something far more dangerous.
His hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck again—familiar now, claiming.
"And that,"
he whispered, pulling me just slightly closer,
"…is why you're in trouble."