The clink of cutlery against porcelain echoed faintly in the dining room. The sunlight was soft, golden through the lace curtains, warming the space with an innocence Yichen no longer felt capable of.
He sipped his tea, expression calm, but inside his chest a storm churned. Celia sat opposite him, pouring more tea, her smile tender and light as she chatted about simple things—how the flowers in the garden were blooming late this year, how Andre will be taking the exam, going to college. How she wanted to take Andre shopping for new clothes before school resumed, how the weather had been kinder than expected.
Her voice, so soft, so familiar, dug deeper into his guilt.
He kept nodding, forcing his lips into faint smiles, his posture perfect. Anyone looking would see a composed man at ease in his home. But beneath the crisp lines of his shirt, beneath the steady rhythm of his movements, Yichen's entire body was taut, remembering the heat of last night—remembering Andre's lips pressed hard against his, that shameless grip, that laughter that still echoed cruelly in his head.
He could still feel it. He couldn't scrub it away.
Celia's voice broke through. "Andre should be down soon. He came late last night. I wonder if he's still asleep…"
Yichen's fingers stiffened around his teacup.
As if summoned by her words, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Slow, deliberate, almost theatrical in their weight. Yichen didn't have to look up to know. His body recognized it first—the faint tremor that ran through him, the tightening of his chest.
Andre appeared in the doorway, silver eyes sharp and unreadable. His hair was messy from sleep.
Yichen didn't move. He couldn't. 'Shouldn't he at be work now"
Celia, oblivious, lit up. "Andre, there you are! I was just about to wake you. Come sit, sweetheart."
Andre dragged his gaze from Yichen, slow as if savoring the delay, before settling into the chair next to his mother. "Morning." His tone was casual, but Yichen caught it—the faint edge, the bite hidden beneath the word.
The silence stretched too long before Celia hurried to fill it. She fussed over Andre's plate, asking what he wanted, what he needed. Andre responded briefly, his eyes occasionally flicking toward Yichen.
And each time, Yichen felt pinned.
Those eyes were mocking, daring. Last night lingered between them like an invisible noose tightening around his throat.
"Yichen?" Celia's gentle voice startled him. He realized his hand had stilled over his cup, frozen mid-motion.
"Yes?" His voice was perfectly steady, betraying nothing.
"I asked if you're free this evening. I wanted us all to have dinner together, like before. Just the three of us. No business calls, no stress, just us."
Yichen forced a smile. "Of course."
Andre snorted softly into his drink, too quiet for Celia, but not for him. Yichen's jaw tightened.
He wanted to leave. He wanted to get up, to return to the safety of distance and walls. But leaving would only draw suspicion. He stayed, listening to Celia's cheerful chatter, enduring Andre's deliberate silences.
It was only when Celia excused herself to fetch something from the kitchen that the room shifted.
The moment she stepped away, Andre leaned back in his chair, eyes locking onto Yichen.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Andre's lips curved into a smirk. "You're covering them well."
Yichen's hand twitched on his tie.
Andre's gaze flicked to his collar. "The marks. Did you spend all morning hiding them? Must've been hard, hm?" His voice was quiet, taunting, meant only for Yichen.
"Enough," Yichen hissed under his breath, his composure cracking for a split second.
Andre tilted his head, silver eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "You still taste like guilt, you know. Last night proved it."
Yichen's throat tightened. "You don't understand—"
"Oh, I understand perfectly." Andre leaned forward, voice low, intimate. "You say you don't want me, but your body doesn't lie, Yichen. You fought me, but you shook. You resisted, but you burned. Tell me, was it shame that kept you awake, or was it wanting more?"
His words struck like a blade, slicing through the fragile defense Yichen had built.
Yichen's breath caught, anger rising sharp and desperate. "You're just a boy. You don't know what you're saying."
Andre's smirk deepened, cruel in its confidence. "A boy?" He spread his arms slightly, broad shoulders filling the chair, muscles shifting beneath his thin shirt. "Do I look like a boy to you?I will be turning 19 by new year"
Yichen's gaze flickered, unwilling, but the sight only fueled the fire in his chest. He tore his eyes away, clenching his fists.
Andre leaned closer, his whisper brushing against Yichen's ear. "Admit it. You want me. You've always wanted me. And the more you deny it, the sweeter it feels when I drag the truth out of you."
"Why are you doing this?you resented before not even letting be come close to you in anyway, so why are you like this now?!"
"Yes, and I still resent you Mr Zhen but I love my mom more that I can only give myself to you for you to let her go even though you disgust me. You keep denying if for a reason I don't know,… your body doesn't."
Yichen stiffened, heat crawling up his neck, fury and desire warring inside him.
Then Celia's voice called from the kitchen. "Andre! Yichen! Breakfast is ready."
Andre leaned back smoothly, the smirk still etched on his lips, his eyes gleaming with victory. He picked up his fork and began eating as though nothing had happened.
Yichen, rigid, forced his hands to relax, his breathing to steady, his face to return to its unreadable calm.
But inside, he was shaking.
He had always been in control. Always. Yet here, under Andre's gaze, he was unraveling.
The rest of breakfast passed in a blur. Celia talked, Andre replied when asked, Yichen listened in silence. But every second was a battle, every glance from Andre a reminder of the night before, every faint brush of his lips against the teacup a deliberate provocation.
When it was finally over, Yichen excused himself quickly, leaving the house for the office. He got to the car already prepared by the driver. Leaned on the sit, signed.
This couldn't go on. He couldn't allow it.
And yet, even as he told himself that, he knew—Andre wasn't going to stop. He does know what going with that boy.