The city lights blurred beyond the tall glass windows, but Zhao Rui's eyes never left the figure across the room.
Lin Jian.
The young man's laughter carried softly, polite and warm, as he spoke with others. It was the same smile Rui had chased in his memories for years. The same warmth that had kept him alive through the cold silence of his childhood.
And now… it was right in front of him.
Rui's hand tightened around the glass of wine. His gaze burned, devouring Jian's every movement.
Does he really not remember me?
The thought gnawed at him, a quiet madness curling tighter in his chest.
Jian turned for a moment, eyes meeting Rui's across the distance. His smile faltered, replaced by unease — as if instinct whispered that the man staring at him wasn't just another stranger.
Rui's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
He didn't need Jian to remember. Not yet.
Because whether Jian remembered or not, whether he resisted or ran — Rui had already decided.
Lin Jian belonged to him.
And he would never let him go.