The nightmare always ended the same way.
Rain. His weight. A man who owned my soul.
I jolted awake in the back of a cavernous lecture hall. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Last period. Tuesday elective. I'd been out cold.
Forty-eight hours. Cheap coffee. Desperation. An all-night shift finishing a freelance design commission.
Outside, Los Angeles was bruising. The sky hung heavy—charcoal gray, suffocating. The kind of pressure that buries you alive.
Storm coming.
I checked my cracked phone. 5:45 PM.
"Dammit."
Private tutoring gig at 6:00. The bus was never on time in this weather. My mother's asthma had flared up back home. Meds got more expensive every month. Design fees barely covered rent.
I couldn't afford to be late.
The elderly professor droned on about classical architecture. His voice crawled. For a split second, I wanted to hurl my phone at his balding head.
Just to make him stop.
The bell rang. I didn't wait. Grabbed my bag. Bolted through the back exit.
I fought through the sea of students. Pushed my rusted bicycle toward the campus gates. Faded T-shirt. Thrift-store jeans. Beat-up canvas sneakers. People still stared.
I knew I had that "look." Effortless grace money couldn't buy. Every rich girl on campus envied it.
I didn't have time for vanity. I had bills to pay.
A few feet from the main road, a neon-blue Porsche Cayenne tore around the corner. Tires screeched against asphalt. It fishtailed—jagged, arrogant—and slammed to a halt right in my path.
"Watch it!"
I swerved my bike so hard I nearly hit the curb.
My temper frayed to a thread. I didn't have time for some rich prick's ego trip. I didn't look up. Just steered around the luxury SUV.
The doors swung open before I could pass.
Guys piled out. Designer hoodies. Expensive watches. The one in the lead had a haircut that cost more than my monthly groceries. He spat out a wad of gum. Ran a hand through his gelled hair. Stepped into my space.
Blocked me with a smirk that made my skin itch.
"Xu Liulian."
His voice dripped with unearned confidence.
I looked up. Cold. Flat. "Do I know you?"
The smirk faltered. You could hear the gears grinding in his head.
This was Guo Ziyao. On campus, he was royalty. His father ran the police. His mother was a high-ranking union official. His bank account had no bottom. Most girls screamed his name.
Apparently, I was the only one who didn't recognize his face.
He cleared his throat. Tried to reclaim his "Alpha" posture. "It's Guo Ziyao. Maybe you've heard of me?"
I checked my watch. 5:52 PM. "Is there a point to this, Mr. Guo? I'm in a hurry."
He didn't like the tone. I saw the flash of predatory intent in his eyes. He was the kind of guy who saw a "pure" girl like me as a mountain to conquer. A trophy to break.
I could read his mind. He was already picturing what I'd look like screaming under him.
"Relax, babe."
He reached back. One of his lackeys handed him a massive bouquet of blood-red roses. Garish. Obscene. He thrust them toward me with a flourish.
"Xu Liulian, I've been watching you. I love a girl with fire. Be my girlfriend. Name your price."
The crowd swelled. Thick ring of students gasping and whispering. Wolf-whistles cut through the heavy air.
"The Chief's son is actually doing it!" someone yelled. "Who's the girl?"
Dozens of eyes turned toward me.
I stood there. Bare-faced. No makeup. Hair slightly frizzed from humidity. I wasn't flashy like the sorority girls. But I had something else. Cold, sharp elegance that commanded the space around me.
For many guys in the crowd, it was the first time they'd truly noticed the "Ice Queen" of the Design Department.
"I don't know you." My voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Move."
I didn't give him a second glance. Turned to walk away. My skin crawled with disgust.
*Pathetic,* I thought. *He thinks life is a low-budget rom-com.*
A hand clamped around my wrist.
Hard. Bruising.
Before I could cry out, he jerked me backward. Slammed my back against the hood of his Porsche. My bicycle hit the pavement with a metallic clatter.
His face inches from mine. His breath smelled of expensive mints and arrogance.
Then his wet, slimy lips pressed against mine.
Rage exploded in my chest.
I didn't think. Didn't hesitate. My hand flew up and connected with his cheek.
The crack sounded like a gunshot.
The crowd went dead silent.
Guo Ziyao stumbled back. His hand flew to his face. His eyes went wide—shock and fury. He pointed a trembling finger at me. His face turned a dark, bruised crimson.
"You... Xu Liulian... you—"
He never finished.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps. His purple face turned sickly violet. His eyes rolled back. He collapsed onto the asphalt with a sickening thud.
"OH MY GOD!"
"Did she kill him?!"
Screams tore through the quiet campus.
I stood there. My hand still stung. My face drained of color. I looked at my palm. Then at the motionless body on the ground.
My head spun.
*Did I kill him?*
*Was he that fragile?*
I just wanted to stop him. I didn't want him dead.
Thunder cracked. The clouds broke. Rain slammed down—heavy, fat droplets. Drenched everything in seconds. The crowd scattered. Ran for cover.
Left me alone in the grey deluge with the boy I had just struck down.
His "friends"—the same guys cheering a minute ago—scrambled to call 911. Then vanished into the rain. Terrified of being linked to a crime scene.
Minutes later, an ambulance wailed through the storm. Then police sirens—jagged, terrifying.
They pushed me into the back of a squad car. Shivering. Numb. Red and blue lights blurred against the rain on the window. The ambulance sped away with Guo Ziyao.
A few yards away, tucked in the shadows of the campus trees, a black sedan sat idling.
Inside, a man watched the squad car pull away. His knuckles went white as he gripped his phone. He dialed.
His voice came low. Lethal.
"Sir... it happened. She's been taken in."
Silence on the other end. The kind that felt like the eye of a hurricane.
"SHIT!"
The call went dead.
*You think you can run from me, Liulian?*
The shadows seemed to whisper.
*But the moment you stumble, I'm the only one who can catch you.*
Guo Baocai, Chief of Police, re-enacted a hurricane in his office. He smashed anything not bolted down.
His "Golden Boy." His precious son. Never touched by so much as a stray breeze in twenty years.
And today? Some nobody girl slapped him into a coma.
He gripped his desk phone. His face mottled purple. He'd bury her. Make sure she rotted in a cell so deep she'd forget the sun.
His assistant burst in. Looked like he'd seen a ghost.
"Chief! Stop! You need to see this."
"Get out!" Baocai roared. "Unless that girl is dead, I don't want to hear it!"
"It's Mr. Lu." The assistant stammered. Voice trembling. "From Shen Yuan Group. He... he just requested your presence for dinner tonight."
The room went dead silent.
Guo Baocai's jaw dropped so far it hit his chest. The phone slipped from his sweat-slicked fingers. Clattered onto the carpet. He stood there frozen—a glitching statue—before scrambling to straighten his tie with trembling hands.
"Are you... are you shitting me?"
Mr. Lu. The Ghost of the North.
Three years ago, this man descended upon their sleepy city like a god from the heavens. His investments turned a backwater town into a booming metropolis overnight. Every official treated him like their patron saint.
But the man was a shadow. No galas. No ribbon-cuttings. Not a single photo of him on the internet—a standing order for every media outlet in the state. *Report on his business. Never show his face.*
Cold. Powerful. Utterly unreachable.
And now the Sun rose in the West. He was actually asking for a meeting?
Baocai forgot all about his son's bruised ego. If he played his cards right tonight, he wasn't just a police chief anymore.
He was a made man.
The Grand Celestia Hotel. Most expensive five-star in the city. Rumored Mr. Lu built it because he couldn't stand the "peasant-level" sheets at the Hilton.
He occupied the entire penthouse floor. A fortress of glass and steel.
In the private VIP suite, Guo Baocai was a nervous wreck. He'd checked his reflection in the gilded mirrors a dozen times. Adjusted his cufflinks until his wrists hurt.
He arrived thirty minutes early. A desperate show of respect.
Exactly 6:00 PM. White-gloved staff pulled open the heavy mahogany doors.
A man walked in.
Tall. Impossibly tall. Clad in a bespoke charcoal suit that looked carved from iron.
Guo Baocai didn't even register the man's features before a crushing wave of pure, predatory authority filled the room. The kind of presence that buckled your knees before your brain knew why.
Baocai leaped to his feet. His heart hammered against his ribs like a frantic drum.
The man stopped in front of him. Offered a hand—cold, polite, terrifyingly distant. A faint, clinical smile played on his lips.
"Chief Guo." His voice was a low, lethal baritone. Vibrated through the floorboards. "Please. Have a seat."
Lu Zhouyue had arrived.
The game was already over.