Chapter 51 – The Poison in His Veins
Andre walked out of the building, his steps steady but his chest hollow. This place—this mansion he had reluctantly grown used to—was supposed to be home. He had hated it at first, hated Yichen's presence in their lives, but in time he had accepted it because his mother lived here. Anywhere his mother was, was his home.
But now?
Now he knew it was nothing more than a gilded stage. Every memory, every sacrifice, every compromise he had made in the name of "family" was built on a lie. His mother, the woman he had trusted without question, had been acting all along. The marriage he respected and tolerated wasn't even real.
Andre's throat burned. Why does this hurt? He should have felt relieved, shouldn't he? Relieved that his mother wasn't truly tied to Yichen. Relieved that he wasn't betraying her every time his thoughts wandered into forbidden places—dark desires he had buried deep but never silenced.
If she wasn't truly married, then nothing was stopping him. He could think. He could want. He could crave. He could imagine his hands on Yichen without guilt.
But it still hurt.
Because she had lied to him.
He had been so young when Yichen entered their lives, too young to see the strings behind the curtain. He had endured it all for his mother's sake—endured Yichen taking her attention, endured the intrusion into their quiet lives, endured the way the man stood like a shadow always between them. He had told himself over and over that she must truly love Yichen if she was willing to leave her homeland to be with him.
He had even hated Yichen more fiercely after learning of his sexuality, convinced the man had married his mother only to save face, to play straight for the public while deceiving her heart. He had threatened Yichen once, demanded that he leave his mother alone, that he stop the charade before it broke her.
And all of that rage, all of that resentment, all of the sleepless nights were for what?
A lie.
His hands clenched at his sides as he walked through the city streets, neon lights glinting off his cold silver eyes.
It wasn't just the lie. It was what the lie had done to him. Because of that deceit, he had twisted into something he didn't recognize. He craved things he shouldn't. He had walked a path too dark to turn back from. He had done things that haunted him when the lights went out.
And at the root of it all was Yichen.
Yes. It's because of him.
Hadn't Yichen himself admitted it? He was the one who had asked Celia to hide the truth. He was the one who had planted the seed of deception. He had destroyed Andre's trust in his mother, carved a rift between them, and awakened desires Andre could neither suppress nor erase.
It was Yichen who had made him like this.
Andre's lips curved into a cold, humorless smile as he slipped into a bar and claimed a stool at the counter. The scent of liquor clung to the air. He ordered a drink, then another, and another. Alcohol had become his quiet escape—ever since three months ago, when Yichen had left on his endless business trip.
The glass glinted as he swirled the amber liquid, his reflection in the surface distorted, his silver eyes darker than usual, almost black. If I can't turn back, he thought, then the one who made me this way will have to pay. Isn't that right?
The thought was poisonous, and yet it settled sweetly in his chest.
...
His phone buzzed.
Messages from Ge Lin. Hello, An de. I texted you but you didn't reply. Where are you? It's late. Are you coming home tonight?
Andre ignored the questions. Instead, he dialed. When Ge Lin's sleepy voice answered, Andre's tone was cool, almost detached. "Ge Lin… about the stuff you mentioned last week. That night. Is it still available?"
There was a pause on the other end, heavy and suspicious. "…Yes. Why? Do you need it?"
"Yes." Andre raised the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, his voice calm and neutral. But if anyone had looked at his face just then, they would have seen the danger etched there—the silver eyes that gleamed with icy violence. "How can I get it?"
Ge Lin hesitated, baffled. "Andre… why do you want that? When I asked if we should try it, you refused. You said it wasn't your thing—that you don't swing that way. So why now?"
Andre's tone sliced coldly through the line. "It's none of your business. I asked how I can get it."
Silence. Then, a reluctant sigh. "…Okay. I'll send you a number. Call it, and you'll get it. Even tonight, if that's what you want."
Andre's lips barely twitched. "Thank you." The words were flat, empty of warmth. He was about to hang up when he added, "And I won't be home for a while." Then he ended the call without waiting for a reply.
...
Back at the small rented apartment, Ge Lin stared at his phone, frowning. Andre's message lingered on the screen, stark and strange.
He had been exhausted earlier, ready to collapse into bed after the emotional weight of the evening. He had texted Andre, hoping for a response, but received nothing. He had resigned himself to sleep—until the unexpected call came.
And the Andre he knew—cold, sharp, distant but predictable—was suddenly asking for the very thing he had once rejected. The very thing he had insisted wasn't for him.
Why does he want it now? Who is it for?
Ge Lin chewed on the thought, but quickly pushed it aside. Andre was not someone whose secrets he was allowed to pry into. Better not to question. Better not to know.
With that resigned thought, he sent the number, placed his phone on the nightstand, and sank back into bed.
...
Back at the bar, Andre downed another drink. His phone buzzed again, but this time with a name that sent a different kind of fire through his veins.
Yichen.
Seven missed calls lit up the screen.
Andre stared at the call log for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he pressed dial.
The line clicked almost immediately.
"Andre." Yichen's voice came smooth and calm, as though nothing had happened tonight, as though he hadn't been desperately trying to reach him. Always composed, always steady—this man never wavered. The only time his mask had cracked was that night.
"Where are you, Andre?" Yichen's voice came again, cool and even, as if asking about the weather.
Andre's lips curved into the faintest, mocking smile. He lifted his glass and answered in a tone just as calm. "I'm at XXX Hotel."
Then he hung up.
He leaned back in his chair, the ice clinking softly in his glass, silver eyes glinting under the low lights.
'Well', he thought darkly, 'tonight will be long'.