CHAPTER 57 – What Should Not Be Desired
The first blush of dawn slipped through the half-drawn curtains, spilling pale gold across the disordered hotel room. The sheets lay twisted, damp with sweat, clinging to skin and fabric alike. Andre sat at the edge of the bed, shirtless, shoulders taut, his gaze fixed on the man beside him.
Yichen slept with his back half-turned, dark hair falling across his face, lips parted faintly. His chest rose and fell with the heaviness of exhausted sleep, but even in slumber, there was tension — furrowed brows, the faintest trace of unease marring his usually composed features.
Andre's eyes roamed over him with a quiet, unreadable intensity. He had memorized every sound, every expression last night — the resistance, the broken surrender, the way Yichen's voice had cracked on his name. The marks on Yichen's neck and chest were proof of possession, stark against his pale skin.
For a moment, Andre's hand hovered in the air, aching to trace along his jawline, to keep him tethered even in sleep. But he stopped himself, pulling his hand back, the restraint burning worse than desire.
He inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled, as though letting go of something only he understood. Without a sound, Andre slid off the bed, retrieved his clothes from the floor, and dressed in silence. His eyes lingered one last time on Yichen's sleeping form before he turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Home***
The morning air was cooler, sharper, as Andre returned home. His steps were steady, almost too calm, his expression composed as though the night had never happened. But inside, his veins still hummed with restless fire.
Celia was already awake in the kitchen, hair tied loosely, an apron wrapped around her as she stirred something on the stove. When she heard the door, she looked up quickly, her face flickering with relief.
"Andre…" Her voice carried both worry and hesitation. "Where did you go last night? I—I was worried when you didn't come home."
Andre set his jacket down by the chair, his tone even, almost casual. "Just needed some air."
Celia's fingers fidgeted on the counter. She hesitated, then finally spoke, her voice trembling with something deeper than worry.
"Andre… I owe you an apology. For deceiving you… about my marriage to Yichen. I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid. Afraid of how you'd see me… afraid of how you'd see him. I didn't want to worry you about it."
Andre turned to face her. His eyes were calm, unreadable, but not cold. Slowly, he walk to the stairs and stood at the two step turn facing her. "Mom," he said quietly. "I understand. You don't have to apologize anymore."
Her eyes widened, glassy with sudden tears. "You… you forgive me?"
Andre nodded once. "Yes."
Celia let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her cheeks quickly as though embarrassed. Relief washed over her face, softening her expression. She reached forward, cupping his cheek with warm, trembling fingers. "Thank you, my son."
Then, her smile broke wider, lighter. "Stay for breakfast, please. Just once — let me spoil you this morning. Don't leave me worrying."
Andre hesitated only a moment before answering. "Alright. I'll stay." He didn't want to worry her.
Celia's joy was immediate. She turned back to the stove, her voice brighter now. "Good. You've lost weight, I can tell. Eat properly with me today."
Andre sat at the table, resting his chin on his hand as he watched her bustle about. The quiet clinking of dishes, the faint sizzling of eggs — it was almost painfully domestic, ordinary. A contrast so sharp it nearly cut.
As she set the plates down, Celia glanced at him, her tone almost casual but edged with worry. "By the way… did you meet Yichen last night?"
The question hung in the air like a knife.
Andre's hand stilled over his fork. For the briefest second, something flickered across his face — a shadow, a flash of heat, a memory so raw he could almost feel Yichen's voice in his ear again. But just as quickly, it was gone. His composure snapped back in place.
He looked at her with the same calm as before. "Eat, Mom. Before it gets cold."
Celia blinked, puzzled, but said nothing more.
Hotel Room**
The sun had climbed higher when Yichen finally stirred. The first thing he felt was the ache — his body heavy, his muscles sore, his throat dry. The sheets beneath him were cool now, tangled around his legs, sticky with the remnants of the night.
Slowly, his eyes opened. The ceiling swam into focus, the muted gold of morning filtering into the room. He turned his head instinctively, searching.
But the other side of the bed was empty.
The dent in the mattress was faint, already fading. The chair in the corner was vacant. His clothes were scattered across the floor where they had fallen, but there was no trace of him.
Andre was gone.
Yichen lay still for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The memories returned in fragments — Andre's voice, rough with command. The burn, the relentless rhythm, the unbearable pleasure tearing through resistance. His own voice breaking against his will, begging, groaning, surrendering.
His hands clenched in the sheets.
Shame crawled up his spine, searing hot. He should not have yielded. He should not have wanted. Every part of him screamed that it was wrong, unacceptable, a betrayal of himself. And yet—
The ghost of Andre's touch lingered. His body remembered too vividly — the way he had been stretched, filled, undone. Even now, his skin tingled as though Andre's hands were still on him. His chest tightened with something he could not name. Why is it like this? How did it turn to this?.
He shut his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. 'What the hell have I done…?'
But another voice whispered beneath the guilt, softer, crueler: What if you want it again?
Yichen's jaw tightened, his throat working as though to swallow the thought down, bury it deep where it could never be seen. But the craving pulsed there, undeniable, warring with the guilt that gnawed at him. 'No! He is just my peace. That should be it nothing more. I just need him to sleep. But…why did it turn to this?…What happened to Celia's little boy in pace of five months? Why has he become like this?'
He turned onto his side, staring at the empty space Andre had left behind.
For the first time in years, Zhen Yichen — the man who had always been in control, always untouchable — felt the dangerous edge of craving what he knew should never be desired.
And it terrified him.