For someone who prided himself on control, Qi Yan had never been more aware of how easily Feng Tian could shatter it. Just a few minutes in that cramped phone booth, and every rule he'd built around himself crumbled like dust. Her scent still clung to him—light, maddening, impossible to ignore. He told himself it was only the adrenaline, the chaos that had unfolded at the precinct—but even now, as he stood a few steps away watching her, he knew better.
Feng Tian had always been his exception.
The woman in front of him was infuriating—the way her soft chuckles trembled beneath his palm, the mischief dancing in her eyes only deepened his frustration.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air inside the booth grew heavier—thick with a tension that wasn't entirely born of anger. Qi Yan could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin, too close, too real—and it sent a jolt through him he didn't dare name.
