Chapter 62: You Want Him Again
The cold autumn air outside the mansion stung Yichen's face as he stepped out, but it was nothing compared to the storm swirling in his chest. He forced his breathing into a steady rhythm, each inhale sharp and shallow, each exhale carrying with it the residue of shame he couldn't quite shake.
The butler had bowed politely as he escorted him out earlier, as though nothing in the study had been out of the ordinary. But Yichen knew better. His grandfather's words still rang like a curse inside his skull:
"That boy… does his mother know you slept with her precious son?"
Yichen's steps faltered when the phrase repeated in his mind. His throat tightened, his hand curling slightly against his side as if his body itself wanted to crush the memory. His grandfather's voice was sharp, ridiculing, deliberate — not a guess, but a strike at truth.
Inside the black sedan waiting for him, Yichen sank into the driver sit having he came alone,
Yichen gripped the steering wheel of his car, but he didn't start the engine right away. He leaned his head against the leather cushion, and closed his eyes. The silence of the car did little to calm him.
His body betrayed him. That much was obvious. His lower half still ached faintly, a dull reminder of what had transpired that night. The soreness between his thighs carried a weight heavier than the bruises Andre left on his chest and collarbone. Every mark screamed possession. Every step he took reminded him that he had yielded — not as president of HYU, not as the cold strategist feared in the boardroom, but as a man stripped bare and undone.
He swallowed hard, pressing his knuckles against his lips. He shouldn't want it. He shouldn't crave the memory of Andre's hands pinning him down, the way his voice broke when pleasure overtook him, the way his body responded despite his mind's protests. And yet… even now, in the cold aftermath, a flash of heat stirred low in his stomach when he remembered Andre's hoarse whispers against his ear.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. He had only made a marriage deal with Celia as a mask, a shield to appease his grandfather and claim the company. It was never about love. It was never about intimacy. But Andre—Celia's son, his stepson in name, even though it wasn't real—had shattered every line Yichen thought immovable. Especially how guilty he felt for doing that with Celia son.
Now his grandfather knew. Or at least suspected. That was enough to ruin everything if it spread.
Keep it buried. Yichen pressed his palms over his eyes, breathing through the panic. No one can know. No one must know. Not Celia. Not the shareholders. No one.
But deep down, another voice whispered. A darker voice.
…You want him again.
Yichen's jaw tightened. His fingers dug into his knees, knuckles whitening. He hated the truth of it. Hated that Andre had left him trembling and unsatisfied at the same time. Hated that his body longed for what it should have rejected.
By the time he arrived back at his villa, his composure had stitched itself back together—threadbare, fragile, but intact enough to wear as armor. Still, once inside the silence of the villa, his steps slowed. He touched his throat, fingertips brushing over the faint bruises there, then pulled his collar higher. Even in solitude, he felt stripped bare.
He climbed the stairs, every muscle reminding him of the night, every ache tracing back to Andre. His lips pressed into a thin line. This was weakness. He couldn't afford weakness. Not when HYU's future rested on his decisions. Not when his grandfather was sharpening his claws for war. Not when the line between desire and destruction blurred so easily.
Yichen drew a long breath and shut himself in his study, vowing not to think of Andre again.
But the promise fractured before it even settled.
•••••
Meanwhile, across the city, Andre finally emerged from the dim silence of his room.
Ge Lin, lounging on the couch in a soft sweatshirt, jolted upright at the creak of Andre's door. His roommate had locked himself in since the previous night, giving off an aura that screamed untouchable. Even for someone as talkative as Ge Lin, that kind of atmosphere froze words in the throat.
Now, seeing Andre step out, tall and silver-eyed, his face unreadable, Ge Lin swallowed nervously.
"Uh… A-An de," he stammered, watching him walk toward the kitchen without so much as a glance. "Are you… okay?"
Andre paused, his hand resting on the fridge door, then slowly turned his head. His gaze was sharp, distant, the kind of look that could freeze water. "I'm fine."
Ge Lin forced a small smile, scratching the back of his neck. "I, uh, made food earlier. It's in the fridge. You can microwave it if you're hungry."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Andre gave a curt nod. "Thank you." His voice was calm but cool, lacking any warmth of genuine gratitude.
Ge Lin hesitated, shifting on his feet. "I was just about to head out… meeting friends. I'll be back late tonight. Don't wait up, okay?"
"Alright."
The indifference in Andre's tone made Ge Lin's chest tighten. This wasn't just coldness—it was distance, deliberate and impenetrable.
"Oh—tomorrow, remember we have that test in the morning."
Andre's eyes flicked toward him briefly, then back to the microwave as he set the dish inside. "I know."
The curt acknowledgment silenced Ge Lin. He nodded quickly, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.
As he slipped his sneakers on, he glanced back once more. Andre stood in the dim kitchen, arms folded as the microwave hummed, his figure shrouded in an aura that felt both lonely and dangerous.
Ge Lin's chest tightened. He didn't eat last night. He didn't sleep either. Whatever happened to him… it's eating him alive.
He shut the door behind him, biting his lip.
Andre, left alone, leaned against the counter, silver eyes half-lidded. His thoughts weren't on the food. They weren't on his classes or his roommate. They were only on Yichen—his body, his voice, the way he had broken under him.
The hunger gnawed deeper.