On the way back from the convenience store to the villa, Sang Lu faintly sensed that Feng Yan was acting strangely, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly was off.
She stole glances at him discreetly.
His face remained as cold and indifferent as usual—no different from any other day.
Sang Lu had a commendable trait: if something didn’t make sense to her, she wouldn’t dwell on it.
No unnecessary overthinking.
By the time she returned to the villa, took a shower, and stepped out feeling refreshed, she had already pushed her earlier confusion to the back of her mind.
Feng Yan walked past her with an unreadable expression.
He entered the bathroom.
Turned on the shower, letting the water cascade over his face.
Perhaps because she had just used it, the bathroom was still thick with steam.
It felt stifling.
Something in Feng Yan’s chest felt just as compressed.
The humid air made it hard to breathe, stirring an inexplicable irritation.
Water trailed down his well-defined abs and the lines of his torso.
He pushed his damp hair back, revealing a sharp, cold profile.
His gaze was unfocused, staring blankly into the air for a long moment.
Then, abruptly, he let out a short, humorless laugh.
A laugh at his own expense.
Why did any of this matter?
A perfectly ordinary photo had thrown him off balance.
Was he just idle?
Or were the demands of the company not enough to keep him occupied?
He reached out and shut off the shower.
Shaking his head irritably, he grabbed a towel and roughly dried his hair.
As if angry with himself.
By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, the figure on the bed was already asleep.
The room was silent.
Only the small nightlight by the foot of the bed cast a faint glow.
His senses sharpened in the quiet, attuned to the steady rhythm of Sang Lu’s breathing.
Her phone was still clutched in her hand, its screen dimming just as Feng Yan emerged from the bathroom.
He walked silently to her side of the bed.
With slender fingers, he carefully pried the phone from her grip and placed it on the nightstand.
His movements were practiced.
Clearly not the first time he’d done this.
He often stayed up later than her and had noticed her habit of reading novels before bed—only to fall asleep with her phone still in hand, only to grumble later when she rolled over onto it in the middle of the night.
The mattress dipped slightly as Feng Yan lay down.
The moment he settled, he realized this bed was much smaller than the one at home.
With his long limbs, even the slightest shift risked brushing against her.
He was still figuring out how to lie down without disturbing her when—
Sang Lu stirred.
The faint rustle of fabric against sheets magnified in the darkness, invading his awareness.
She turned over in her sleep.
Her arm draped naturally across his chest.
The warmth of her skin seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Feng Yan froze.
His breath hitched.
Sang Lu was slender, her arm hardly heavy.
Yet Feng Yan felt as though an invisible weight pressed against his ribs, making it hard to breathe.
Her face was close, the delicate curve of her nose almost touching his shoulder.
Her exhales were soft, rhythmic.
The faint, sweet scent of her skin filled his senses.
His fingers curled tightly, knuckles whitening.
Every muscle in his body tensed like a drawn bowstring.
In the dark, his brows furrowed in quiet frustration.
The Qilan Resort Hotel was nestled in the mountains on the outskirts of the city, where the night was darker than in the urban sprawl.
His eyes, too, were darker than usual—deeper, more unreadable.
He stared at the ceiling.
But all he saw was an indistinct void.
It took a long time before his breathing finally steadied, and he closed his eyes.
Morning.
Birds fluttered past the windowsill, their wings brushing against the eaves.
Sang Lu blinked awake, her mind slowly clearing.
Then, as if realizing something, she looked down—and stiffened.
How had she ended up in this position?
Feng Yan’s arm was tucked beneath her neck, his hand curled around her shoulder, pulling her firmly against him.
A strand of her hair was caught loosely between his fingers.
His other arm was slung over her waist.
Both arms locked her in place with an unyielding grip.
She was trapped.
Unable to move.
Their height difference meant his knee rested against the back of her calf.
Their sleepwear was tangled, crumpled from the night.
Sang Lu: "…"
She lay there, dazed, for three full minutes.
This wasn’t sustainable.
She tried to… wriggle free.
Moving carefully to avoid waking him, she attempted to pry his arm loose.
But the moment her fingertips grazed his forearm, his hold tightened reflexively.
Sang Lu went limp. "…Just end me."
If she didn’t know Feng Yan was asleep, she might’ve suspected he was trying to strangle her in her sleep.
She made a mental note to remind him the next time she saw him punching the sandbag in the gym: "You can stop training. You’re strong enough."
After a moment, she tried again, lips pressed together in determination.
It took considerable effort, but she finally managed to slip free.
She retreated to the bathroom.
Gulping in a deep breath as if she’d just escaped mortal peril.
Staring at her reflection, confusion clouded her eyes.
What was going on?
Feng Yan often pinned her with his arms at home, but why was it worse here?
Did he not sleep well in unfamiliar places?
Frowning, she splashed water on her face.
Changed into fresh clothes.
Then tiptoed out of the room.
The door clicked softly behind her.
In the bed, Feng Yan stirred awake.
His eyes opened slowly.
When he pushed aside the blanket and sat up, his brows knitted together.
He glanced down at his wrinkled shirt.
A flicker of doubt crossed his face.
He distinctly remembered lying perfectly still last night, letting her arm rest on his chest without moving.
So why was his shirt so crumpled?
Had she, like last time, wrapped her arms around him in her sleep?
Before he could dwell on it, his phone buzzed.
At the same time, Sang Lu’s phone rang in the living room.
Separated by a wall, both of them reached for their devices.
Sang Lu answered the call, and her mother’s voice burst through the speaker—excited and proud.
"Lu Lu, you did amazing! Mom’s so proud of you!"
"About time someone put those rotten relatives in their place. Your dad’s too soft-hearted to say anything harsh, but this is perfect."
"This morning, they started calling nonstop, demanding we mediate. Mediate what? My daughter comes first."
Sang Lu grinned.
Basking in the praise.
Just then.
The bedroom door opened.
Feng Yan stepped out.
His dark hair was slightly tousled, his sharp eyes still hazy with sleep.
Their gazes met in the quiet morning air.
A beat of tension.
Then both looked away.
For some reason, neither of them could quite meet the other’s eyes.
