Chapter 70 – Complicated feelings
Upstairs – Yichen & Mo Han
The private balcony lounge was quieter than the ballroom below, the noise of clinking glasses and laughter softened by heavy curtains. The air carried the faint sting of liquor and wood polish.
Zhen Yichen returned to his seat, his movements measured, his expression composed—or so he thought.
Mo Han leaned forward, elbow resting casually on the arm of his chair, glass of whiskey in hand. His eyes—sharp with mischief but softened by long familiarity—studied Yichen openly.
"You look pale," Mo Han said, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What happened? Don't tell me the restroom exhausted you."
Yichen set his untouched drink back on the table. "I'm fine."
"Fine," Mo Han repeated, as though testing the word. His smile deepened. "You vanish suddenly, return looking as though you've seen a ghost, and you expect me to believe you?"
Yichen's gaze flicked to him, calm but colder than necessary. "You've grown nosy."
Mo Han chuckled. "Or perhaps I've always been this way, and you've simply given me nothing to pry into. You know me, Yichen. I don't miss things. And right now, you're rattled."
Yichen said nothing. He reached for his glass again, fingers tightening around the stem, though he still didn't drink.
Mo Han tilted his head, eyes glinting. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you had just come face to face with a lover."
Yichen's grip stilled. His silence spoke louder than denial.
Mo Han's smile faltered—not out of judgment, but out of interest. "Ah," he said softly, leaning back. "So that's it."
"There is nothing," Yichen said, voice low, clipped.
Mo Han exhaled slowly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Nothing, yet you can't steady your hands. Nothing, yet your eyes haven't settled since you returned. If this is nothing, then I'd like to meet the man who could leave you this undone."
Yichen turned his gaze away, his jaw tight.
"Not even your grandfather," Mo Han continued lightly, "could break your composure so easily. He taught you well—how to be stone, how to be untouchable. But tonight?" He raised a brow. "You cracked."
The name of his grandfather landed like a weight Yichen didn't want to touch.
"I said I'm fine," he repeated, his tone final.
Mo Han studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Still the same Yichen. Always rejecting, always retreating into ice. But let me give you this—" his eyes sharpened, his voice lowered—"whoever it is, be careful. Because not even you can run forever from the fire you deny."
Yichen's lips pressed thin, but he said nothing more. His silence was both shield and surrender.
*****
The corridor was empty again, but the echo of what had just passed lingered like smoke after fire.
Andre stood still, his hands finally lowering from the wall, his breath evening out. On the surface, his face remained carved of stone. Inside, however, something writhed.
He had told himself the night would be dull from the beginning. These events always were—rooms filled with hollow laughter, polished lies, and shallow eyes. Even Mo Yue's commotion, the stares, the whispers, the spectacle—none of it mattered. All of it blurred into the same tedious noise.
But then he saw him.
Upstairs, in the balcony lounge, Yichen had sat in his dark suit, posture sharp as a blade. He wasn't watching the ball, nor the chaos his little brother stirred. His eyes had been elsewhere—downward, onto Andre.
The moment their gazes locked, Andre had known.
He had expected his hunger to fade since that night. That moment they had crossed lines, that night he thought would cage him for days. Yet time had dulled nothing. Seeing Yichen tonight—seeing him look, seeing him fluster—rekindled it all, sharper, deeper, unstoppable.
He had led Mo Yue to the corridor deliberately, knowing where it connected, knowing Yichen would have to pass. And Yichen had. Right into him.
It hadn't been enough. The restraint burned like acid in his chest.
Andre flexed his fingers, remembering the feel of almost touching, the tremor of nearly losing control.
What was this? Desire? Possession? Obsession?
He had thought perhaps it was fading, that it had been only hunger—an appetite that could starve itself with time. But no. Tonight proved otherwise. Seeing Yichen, standing close, hearing his breath hitch… it wasn't hunger that ruled him. It was something darker.
"I want him."
The thought came unbidden, unmerciful.
Not just his body, not just a night. All of him. His silence, his resistance, his denial. He wanted to break through the calm Yichen wore like armor and see what lived beneath.
But another thought crept in, poisonous and sharp.
"Or maybe I hate him."
Because who else could make him feel this unbalanced? Who else could stand so firmly against him,disrupting his life, invading his space, and now reject him, deny him? It wasn't normal. It couldn't be. He wants to make this man who always feels he got the upper hand, to pay.
He doesn't know why himself became like this. And he is confuse too. Or is it…
"Love?" Andre almost laughed aloud at the word, though no sound left his lips. No. That wasn't it. He didn't love Yichen. He couldn't.
What he felt was hunger sharpened by anger, need twisted with resentment.
Maybe it was both. Maybe it was neither.
He didn't know.
But he did know this: the moment he saw Yichen's pale face tonight, the moment he caught his flustered gaze and then his sudden retreat—he knew.
Zhen Yichen was his. Or should be his.
Whether he called it desire, hate, or something nameless—Andre had no intention of letting go. Not until he is fed up or no longer have this feeling. And he knows it will be long… long before his thoughts and desire for Yichen stops. Because…
But now, he needs to see his mom. He had gotten text from her to come over for like two days now. He need to go over.
The night had begun as boredom. Now, it was war.
And Andre never lost wars.