CHAPTER 53: A wine with intentions.
The room was silent, thick with the faint scent of aged wine and the tension that neither of them knew how to name. Yichen sat there, caught in the heavy quiet, unable to string together words. Across from him, Andre remained, still holding out the glass of wine, his expression unreadable.
There was no malice in his face, no smile either—only calm indifference. Yichen hesitated, but eventually, under the weight of that steady gaze, he reached out and took the glass from the young man's hand.
Andre withdrew without a word, settling into his chair again with deliberate ease. He lifted his own glass and sipped slowly, his eyes fixed on Yichen.
"Mr. Chen," he began, his voice smooth and steady, as if he had rehearsed the words, "I heard what you said to me. I suppose… I'm just sad that I was kept in the dark about something I grew to supporting." His gaze didn't waver; his tone was calm, almost too calm.
He took another sip, then continued, "I never meant to trouble my mother. And… Mr. Zhen, I owe you an apology. For how I acted toward you over the years. For my misunderstandings. For how I behaved that night…" Andre paused, his words faltering slightly for the first time, his eyes lowering just briefly. "I've always wanted to apologize before you traveled, but I never had the courage."
Yichen was stunned by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. He had expected hostility, distance, maybe even anger after the revelation earlier that evening. Not this.
Quickly, almost too quickly, he interrupted, "No. It's fine. There's no need to apologize for that night. It's all in the past. What matters is that you know it was wrong. That's enough. Just… talk to your mother. That's all I ask of you." His voice softened at the end, though his hand tightened slightly around the stem of the wine glass.
Andre's gaze lifted again, steady as before. "Even if you say otherwise, I still want to apologize. The wine is my way of showing courtesy. Please… accept it."
There was sincerity in his voice that Yichen couldn't ignore. He blinked, momentarily at a loss. This was not the boy he thought he knew. Not the fiery, impulsive youth who lashed out and blamed him at every turn. Instead, Andre's calmness was disarming, his tone devoid of the usual bite. It was strange, almost unsettling.
Yichen's chest tightened as he studied the young man's expressionless face. The lack of emotion should have made him doubt, but instead, it calmed him. Those unreadable eyes, the stillness in his features—something about it quieted the restless storm inside him. His heart, which had been heavy all evening, loosened, replaced by something warm and dangerously sweet.
Andre simply sat there, waiting. His wine glass rested against his lips, his gaze unwavering.
After several seconds of silence, Yichen exhaled slowly. Without thinking, he raised his own glass and brought it to his mouth. He tipped it back, drinking all of the crimson liquid in one go. He didn't savor the flavor; he swallowed it quickly, as if the act itself was the answer.
Andre's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but his heart thundered violently in his chest. He felt hot all over, as though his blood was rushing to his ears. His plan—his dangerous, desperate plan—had succeeded.
Yichen lowered the glass and looked at him with a faintly softened gaze, one that seemed to say, See? I've accepted your apology.
"Thank you," Andre whispered, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the corner of his lips curved into a faint smile.
The sight startled Yichen. His breath caught, his chest tightening in a way he didn't understand. He's beautiful when he smiles. The thought slipped unbidden into his mind, and before he could push it away, he found himself staring as if entranced.
Andre noticed the way he was being watched and immediately withdrew the smile, his lips flattening into neutrality again. Yet his ears burned red, betraying his composure. He felt the heat spreading across his chest, growing unbearable with the weight of what was about to unfold.
Silence pressed down on them again, thicker this time. The air in the room grew heavy, as though something unsaid lingered just between them.
After several long minutes, Yichen finally cleared his throat. "We should return home. Your mother will be waiting. There's no need to stay here at the hotel tonight." He placed the glass down and rose to his feet.
But the moment he stood, a sudden wave of dizziness crashed over him. The room spun violently, and he staggered backward, collapsing back into the chair.
His vision blurred, shapes smearing together until Andre's figure across the table looked distant, almost unreal. He clenched his jaw, trying to regain control. His head felt unbearably heavy, his throat parched, his body unbearably hot.
"What—" he tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick, his voice hoarse. He tried again to stand, to compose himself, but his legs refused to obey.
Heat coiled in his chest, spreading downward, burning in his veins until it reached lower, throbbing painfully. His breath quickened, shallow and harsh. His body was betraying him.
This isn't just fatigue. This isn't stress.
Horror flickered through his mind as he realized the truth. His body felt too hot, too restless. His skin burned, his heart pounded, his pulse roared in his ears.
He wasn't exhausted. He wasn't sick.
The wine. It is strong.
The realization hit like a stone. He sat frozen, trembling under the sudden clarity. His mind clouded by haze, and through it all, one thought cut through—
Andre.
Slowly, Yichen turned his head, his blurred gaze landing on the young man still seated calmly across from him.
Andre hadn't moved. He hadn't spoken. He simply sat there, drinking his wine as if not affecting with how strong the wine is, watching. Not surprised, not alarmed—expectant. No has drank his into half.
And in that silence, Yichen understood.
He Doesn't drink. Yichen had a low tolerance for alcohol. That why he hardly drink even at event.
It was him. It had to be him. The wine, the apology, the calm words—it was all part of something else. Something deliberate. And knew he had low tolerance for alcohol
He planned this.
Shock rippled through Yichen, followed by disbelief. But why? Why me? What could he possibly gain from doing this? And how strong was this wine exactly? How could Andre drink it and remain unaffected?. His heart pounded violently, his body trembling between resistance and surrender.
The more he struggled, the more his body betrayed him, burning hotter. His throat ached with dryness, his lips parted in broken gasps.
He wanted to deny it, to push away the thoughts, but the way Andre sat there—silent, patient, almost tender in his stillness—told him everything.
The boy had expected this.
Expected him to fall.
T.N: The plan Andre has for Yichen is going to be so bad and hot…Stay tuned Guys. Our boy is finally making a move but the way isn't a good way I must say.