Li Zeyan didn't speak a word as he entered the Moon Pavilion.
The guards bowed. The staff nodded. No one dared ask why he returned earlier than expected.
He walked past them like a storm cloaked in silence, straight into the master bathroom.
He turned on the tap, icy cold.
Rubbed his hands.
Then splashed his face.
Again. And again. And again.
He stared into the mirror.
And saw it: her mouth.
Still red in his mind. Still trembling under his.
Still there.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, water dripping down his chin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
> What the hell did you just do?
He could still feel her breath, panicked, warm, against his lips. The softness of her resistance. The confusion in her stare. The silence after.
It wasn't supposed to happen like that.
It wasn't supposed to happen at all.
He slammed the tap shut.
But his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
His reflection blinked back at him, cold, composed, unreadable. The mask he'd spent years perfecting. The face the world feared. The face he needed.
But something cracked.
Something small.
Something dangerous.
And it sounded like her voice.
Damn it.
He wasn't supposed to care.
Not about her.
Not about her swollen eyes.
Not about her call to her brother.
Not about how her shoulders curled inward when she cried quietly into a sandwich she didn't eat.
Not about the way she looked up at him that night, like he was something more than a monster.
He was not supposed to want to be more than that.
And yet… when she tried to walk away from him at the mall, when her fingers reached for the phone without even glancing at him.
Something snapped.
He didn't think. He never did when it came to her.
He just moved.
Dragged her into that corridor like she was his to command.
And kissed her like he had something to prove.
Not love.
Not even lust.
Power.
Panic.
Desperation.
The need to remind her. Remind himself.
That she belonged in his world. That she wasn't allowed to leave it. Not even emotionally.
> Husband and wife.
He spat the words earlier like a blade, but they weren't a lie.
Legally, yes. Emotionally?
He didn't even know anymore.
He didn't know what to call this thing between them, this unspoken pull that made him furious when she smiled at someone else, when she walked too far ahead, when she looked like she was finally finding her strength without him.
He hated it.
He hated her.
But only because she made him feel something again.
And now… now he hated himself more.
Zeyan picked up the towel and wiped his face again. Slowly this time.
The sting from her soft gasp when he kissed her replayed in his mind on loop.
He wanted to believe she was just shocked.
But deep down, he knew the truth.
She wasn't shocked.
She was wounded.
Because part of her, stupid, innocent, fragile, had started to trust him.
And he'd shattered that trust with a single act.
His hands dropped to the sink again, gripping it until his knuckles turned white.
The knock on the bathroom door came gently.
"President Li?" the butler. "Dinner is ready."
Zeyan didn't answer. Not at first.
Then—
> "Serve her. I'll eat later."
His voice came out steady. Smooth.
Like nothing inside him was breaking.
Because that was the only thing he knew how to do, pretend.
Pretend he didn't care.
Pretend she didn't look at him like he was both her prison and her protector.
Pretend that when she stared out that car window with her lips still swollen from his kiss, he didn't want to reach over and beg her to say anything.
But silence was easier.
Silence was safe.
And so, he stayed there in the mirror, watching the man who kissed his wife like she was a property…
And wondering why it suddenly felt like he'd just lost something he never truly had.