I am yours, always have been

The people outside didn’t notice, their conversation continuing.

The person in front of the mirror didn’t know what to do. Her mask, previously hiding her face, was off, her hair disheveled under the baseball cap, half-covering her brows and eyes, leaving only her tightly pressed lips and sharp jawline visible.

After much thought, her final decision was to stay put, hiding inside, not wanting Liu Tingsong to spot her.

She didn’t understand what they were saying—she didn’t speak French.

Her familiarity with the musical’s lines came from repeated viewings, adding every song to her favorites, looping them endlessly, so she knew what each character would say as soon as they opened their mouths.

But even without understanding, she could hear the intimacy in their tones. Even Liu Tingsong, usually refined and aloof, let out a soft laugh, mixed with a few vaguely familiar words.

*Darling…*

Xu Fengluan raised her eyes, meeting her reflection’s gaze. A complex emotion flickered in her jade-green eyes, tinged with gloom.

She understood the French tendency for exaggerated affection, tossing around terms like “darling,” but she also knew Liu Tingsong’s reserved nature. She rarely got close to others, let alone allowed such terms.

So who was this person?

A friend from abroad?

An actor in this musical?

Or…

Her thoughts churned, questions piling up, coalescing into a suffocating irritation.

But what did it matter to her?

They’d long ceased to have any connection. Since Liu Tingsong left the country, whatever she did was irrelevant. Xu Fengluan had resolved to draw a clear line, treating her like a stranger, hadn’t she?

She lowered her gaze, brushing the sink’s sensor.

A white stream of water gushed out. She cupped her hands, splashing it onto her face.

Whether intentional or not, she did it with force, water splashing loudly, her calloused hands scrubbing hard.

The people outside seemed to sense something, their voices pausing for a moment.

Xu Fengluan released her hands, grabbing a rough paper towel to wipe carelessly.

In the mirror, her fair skin made every mark glaring. Her cheeks and nose were red, and whether water got in her eyes or not, her eye rims flushed pink. Wet hair dripped, a drop falling from her eye corner, tracing her cheek.

She looked inexplicably pitiful.

Like a stray wolf abandoned on the street.

Xu Fengluan stared, then pulled her cap lower.

Checking the time, the show was about to resume.

She was fed up with waiting.

Just a stranger—why should she be trapped here?

She turned to leave, her steps swift, kicking up a breeze with each stride.

Nearing the door, her cap brim obscured her view, showing only the lower half of the scene: high heels touching the tips of Daphne flats, an intimate distance. Her gaze caught the bouquet in their arms.

Instinct outpaced reflex, alarms blaring in her mind. Her half-stepped leg retracted, and she ducked behind the corner wall.

A sudden guilt for intruding on their moment.

Her back pressed against the cold tiles, her protruding spine aching from the pressure, worsening her already foul mood.

Leave or keep hiding?

Seeing her phone light up, showing over a minute had passed, her emotions hit rock bottom.

So annoying.

Her mind wouldn’t quiet, like a taut string snapping, images flooding uncontrollably.

The woman so close to Liu Tingsong.

A rose-red, fluffy skirt, satin ruffles layered upward, intricate lace patterns—a puffed-sleeve gown, the height of 18th-century fashion.

In this musical, only one character dressed like that.

The noble’s mistress.

Xu Fengluan’s favorite character, a vibrant rose—half-blooming, half-withered—stretching from a gilded cage, her boldest act amid rumors of debauchery.

Did she love the protagonist?

Perhaps she loved the wind beyond the cage more.

Xu Fengluan had pitied her countless times.

Thinking of the bouquet, she had to admit Liu Tingsong chose well. She’d have picked the same.

Black Magic roses, deep red verging on black, petals thick with a velvety decadence, less frivolous than typical roses, exuding a luxurious decay.

The cold tiles pressed against her curved spine, the sharpest bone delivering the most tangible pain.

Irritation.

Her emotions spiraled out of control.

She reached for her pocket, finding no familiar cigarette pack. Maybe she should’ve bought a few to carry.

But then her thoughts shifted.

Why should she?

Why, because Liu Tingsong left, did she pick up this bad habit, only to quit it?

She had a girlfriend now, just beyond the wall, and the person Xu Fengluan had longed to see was in Liu Tingsong’s arms!

Infuriating!

Despicable!

Having such a great person yet still entangled with her—where was the fairness in that? Wanting the cherished cinnabar mole *and* the discarded rice grain stuck to the wall, acting like she wanted to salvage things, lost in her self-indulgent drama, causing trouble for others.

Xu Fengluan clenched her teeth, her fist tightening, leaving pale marks on her palm.

Outside, movement stirred—unknown actions, perhaps a moment of silence or a deep gaze, their bond unspoken.

Xu Fengluan was beyond annoyed. She should’ve braved the screaming kids instead.

*Buzz.*

Her phone vibrated, startling her. Her back straightened, slamming against the wall, pain flaring, but she had no time to wince, frantically digging for her phone.

It was Liu Tingsong’s fault—her silent mode from before caused a missed call, leading Xu Fengluan to switch to vibrate after much debate.

The screen showed “Orange”—Chu Cheng, likely calling because she hadn’t returned.

Xu Fengluan didn’t explain, swiping to hang up.

Too late. The empty space amplified every sound, even the faintest vibration.

The people outside had noticed someone inside but assumed it was a regular audience member. Only when sounds persisted without anyone emerging did they grow puzzled.

Footsteps approached. Xu Fengluan instinctively wanted to hide.

But the space was small, the sink sealed below, and the stalls too far to reach.

The steps grew closer.

She pressed against the tiles, every bone aching, hoping Liu Tingsong would cover for her, pretending she was just a shy fan too starstruck to come out.

After all, who’d want a scene with new and old flames colliding? A smart person would ditch the worn-out ex to keep the fresh new love, right?

Her chaotic thoughts tangled until Liu Tingsong appeared before her.

Like a fugitive caught, she felt a reckless abandon.

She stood there, spine slightly curved, legs casually crossed, lacking only a cigarette to complete the image of a delinquent hiding in the restroom.

She’d figured it out—Liu Tingsong should be the one panicking, not her, the ex firmly drawing boundaries.

Why should she hide?

Liu Tingsong should be the one scrambling, weaving lies to placate her new flame, terrified Xu Fengluan might expose her.

That’s how it should be.

Xu Fengluan’s lips curled, suddenly calm, looking up at her.

Liu Tingsong was visibly shocked, her eyes wide with surprise.

Xu Fengluan crossed her arms, feeling in control, perhaps because of Liu Tingsong’s flustered look. She stood confidently, raising a brow: “What’s wrong, Teacher Liu?”

The familiar title resurfaced.

Liu Tingsong frowned slightly: “Why are you here?”

The show had started; Xu Fengluan, who loved this musical, should be in her seat. Liu Tingsong had seen her engrossed earlier, ignoring even Chu Cheng slumped on her shoulder. She shouldn’t be here, missing a moment.

To Xu Fengluan, it sounded like Liu Tingsong was nervous about being caught.

She raised a brow, retorting: “Why *can’t* I be here?”

Her overly casual tone dripped with sarcasm.

Liu Tingsong sensed something off, quickly saying: “Sorry, I thought you’d be in the theater.”

That “thought” sparked suspicion. Xu Fengluan asked: “You knew I was here?”

Her suppressed anger flared, forgetting the ticket was a gift, twisting it into Liu Tingsong spying on her. She hated being watched—hence her clashes with paparazzi—and now it was happening again.

Her jaw clenched, her eyes darkening.

How didn’t she know Liu Tingsong played these games? Cozying up with a new lover in the same theater, behind her ex’s back?

How thrilling, Liu Tingsong.

Unaware of her thoughts, Liu Tingsong, fearing misunderstanding, stepped closer, explaining: “I saw you in the audience earlier.”

Xu Fengluan stood opposite, her expression unsoftened, seemingly unmoved by the explanation.

“I was just meeting a friend.”

Friend?

Xu Fengluan’s face flashed with impatience.

“She’s one of the leads in this musical. If you like it, you might want to meet her?”

It sounded like bragging—unable to win her back, so she flaunted her new girlfriend?

Xu Fengluan knew her thoughts were irrational, twisting every word into malice, her defenses up, not hurting Liu Tingsong but stabbing herself.

As Liu Tingsong drew closer, their distance shrank. Xu Fengluan caught a faint whiff of perfume—not Liu Tingsong’s usual scent, more like…

“No,” Xu Fengluan spat coldly, her words laced with ice, chilling to the bone.

Liu Tingsong sensed something wrong but, before she could speak, Xu Fengluan glanced at her phone, saying: “The show’s starting. I’m leaving.”

She moved to go, but Liu Tingsong grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Like a powder keg, her pent-up emotions ignited at those words.

Xu Fengluan spun around, snapping: “What do you *want*?!”

Her barely restrained tone couldn’t hide her fury, her eyes cold as frost.

“You’re the one who wanted me gone, and now you won’t let me leave.”

She advanced, Liu Tingsong’s grip unyielding, her steps retreating in sync.

Liu Tingsong wore a gentle apricot satin gown, paired with a matching shawl, no ornate patterns except layered pleats at the hem—a simple yet demanding look, perfectly accentuating her refined, soft curves.

Her collarbone peeked from under the shawl, silver earrings swaying. Her hat, meant for concealment, was gone, leaving only her hair tucked to one side.

Xu Fengluan’s peripheral vision caught their reflection: one graceful and poised, the other in a black tee and cap, white hair screaming rebellion. They didn’t belong in the same world.

More like a delinquent sneaking into the venue, cornering a refined lady in the restroom, intimidating her.

“A-Feng…” Liu Tingsong called softly, but Xu Fengluan pressed closer, backing her against the sink.

The mirror’s image wasn’t flattering. Xu Fengluan, half a head taller with a broader frame, loomed over Liu Tingsong’s curved silhouette, barely concealed.

Their near-inseparable distance amplified the dissonance. It felt like the woman in the palace gown outside belonged in this scene, better matched with Liu Tingsong.

“You wouldn’t let me leave, but now you’re scared?” Xu Fengluan leaned down, her cold eyes narrowing, part scrutiny, part warning.

“Teacher,” she bit out, emphasizing: “What do you *want*?”

Her gaze slid downward, lingering on the unhealed cut on Liu Tingsong’s lip, stark and obvious.

“Looking for a thrill in the restroom?” she taunted.

“So you’re into *that* kind of excitement?” Her lips curled, the smile not reaching her eyes.

“Was I too boring before, making you run away?” Xu Fengluan’s malice surged.

“No, how could you…” Liu Tingsong started, shocked, but was cut off.

Xu Fengluan lifted her hand, flipping the skirt’s hem, her calloused fingers gripping Liu Tingsong’s thigh, the rough texture stinging yet itching, silencing her.

Her vicious intent didn’t spark guilt; she even pushed further.

Yet it felt right, as if this was her true self—not the withdrawn, timid figure retreating from Liu Tingsong, but the brash, defiant one who riled paparazzi and polarized fans, loved or loathed.

This brazen, wicked version was her real face.

“You, don’t…”

Liu Tingsong’s eyes flicked to the exit, the once-bold one now wary.

Xu Fengluan didn’t care—her reputation was already shaky; a little worse wouldn’t matter.

Her fingers grazed other fabric, not advancing, more like teasing, testing the edge.

Liu Tingsong, cornered, perched on the sink, her right hand bracing the surface, her waist bending further.

“A-Feng…” The familiar call sounded like a plea.

Xu Fengluan laughed abruptly: “Scared now?”

“Don’t you like thrills?”

“What’s there to fear?”

She paused, her tone cutting: “Afraid someone will walk in?”

Her implication was clear, but Liu Tingsong thought she meant someone else, her explanation off-target.

“I’m just worried you’ll be seen, ending up on X-blog, stirring trouble.”

What trouble?

The lead singer of a hot band playing the third wheel?

The word “threat” flashed in her mind, fanning her anger, but before she could act, a soft sigh drew her in.

The woman’s expression softened: “What are you so mad about?”

No blame, no resentment, just a gentle murmur, like a lover’s playful complaint after being teased.

Before Xu Fengluan could retort, Liu Tingsong leaned up, kissing her lip corner. Her arms looped around Xu Fengluan’s neck, a dangerous position.

Forced upward, Liu Tingsong barely sat on the sink, more propped than seated, her toes trembling, risking a fall.

Yet she released her bracing hand, fully entrusting herself to Xu Fengluan.

A slight push could topple her.

Soft lips brushed her corner, unhurried, grazing lightly, like coaxing or soothing, wisps of mist mingling with her lips, carrying a faint fruit candy sweetness.

Liu Tingsong’s voice was hoarse, patient: “What’s making you so angry?”

“Tell me, okay?”

The old scar brushed her lips with each press, a different sensation.

Her hand, still gripping the thigh, tightened unconsciously, sinking into soft flesh, reddening the skin.

The skirt, meant to reach her ankles, was pulled up, revealing a sleek calf, taut with tension.

Fingers on her neck pressed deliberately, forcing Xu Fengluan’s head down, their lips locked.

Liu Tingsong didn’t invade, instead tilting her head, noses brushing, knocking off Xu Fengluan’s cap with a *thud*.

Now, neither had any cover.

In the bustling theater, the lead singer of a trending band and a retired music legend kissed in a hidden corner, a wall away from a “current partner” holding flowers.

The sentence formed in Xu Fengluan’s mind, but the next second, she sank into a gentle sea, her soul sighing in comfort, an indescribable instinctual attachment.

“Old love” wasn’t just past history—it was etched with moments of perfect fit, like a bear cub’s first winter nest, meticulously crafted, filled with sun-warmed cotton and the sweetest berries.

Even if lost for reasons, meeting it again as a grown bear, it still felt warm, familiar—her favorite haven, remembering every quirk, embracing her wholly.

Their breaths mingled, Xu Fengluan’s spine stiffened, wanting to flee but rooted.

Liu Tingsong didn’t rush, grazing lightly, coating her lips with a glossy sheen.

Xu Fengluan’s gaze flicked to the mirror.

The woman’s slender back, half-hidden by hair, her delicate shoulder blades, her fragile waist trembling under strain.

She’d always found Liu Tingsong’s back beautiful, often leaving marks there.

“A-Feng…” she murmured.

Her fingertips climbed higher, burning hot.

Half her mind fought for reason, half surrendered.

“What?” Liu Tingsong spoke timely, her trembling voice tickling Xu Fengluan’s lips. She resisted as before, biting Liu Tingsong’s lip, adding a new wound to the unhealed scar.

But Liu Tingsong didn’t flinch, enduring the pain silently, wrapping her more gently.

Glossy eyes, black and white blurred, like a clear spring, soft and hazy.

Sharp canines bit again, breaking the skin, a faint iron taste spreading.

Liu Tingsong pried open her lips, slipping her tongue inside.

Not understanding her anger but willing to offer herself to vent it.

Her fingertips slid, cradling Xu Fengluan’s face, thumbs brushing her skin, coaxing her to bite more, like soothing a child.

“Baby…” A rare term, its endnote lilting.

The hand on her thigh tightened, green eyes narrowing.

Both were reserved, intimate terms rare, used only in moments of lost control.

But now…

In shock, Xu Fengluan lost all control, her breath stolen, her lips and mouth claimed, marked by Liu Tingsong’s scent.

Panic surged, an inexplicable fear. She stepped back, trying to create distance.

But Liu Tingsong followed, erasing the fleeting gap.

“Liu—” Xu Fengluan resisted unconsciously, unable to form a full sentence.

Liu Tingsong closed her eyes, as if ignoring her panic or lost in the moment, indistinguishable.

Footsteps suddenly echoed outside, several people chatting as they passed.

Xu Fengluan tensed, grabbing Liu Tingsong’s wrist, pulling her hand from her face, trying to regain control.

But Liu Tingsong remained unfazed.

The voices neared—likely musical actors.

Was the show over?

How long had they been here?

Questions swirled, unanswered, overtaken by another thought.

They couldn’t be seen.

Xu Fengluan hadn’t considered that the foreign actors, leaving post-show, likely didn’t know her, so what impact could it have? If her assumptions were right, Liu Tingsong should be the one panicking—her “current partner’s” colleague was out there.

Right or wrong, she instinctively shielded Liu Tingsong.

She yanked her toward the farthest stall, locking the door just as the group entered.

*Click.*

Liu Tingsong didn’t resist, letting herself be dragged, pulling Xu Fengluan onto her once inside.

Xu Fengluan’s heart pounded, only easing slightly in the stall, too distracted to notice Liu Tingsong’s actions.

The group entered, joking in a language she didn’t understand, laughing loudly.

Xu Fengluan pressed her lips tight, still tense.

The tighter space made her more uneasy.

A moment of confusion hit—she didn’t know what she was doing. Repeatedly pushing Liu Tingsong away, yet growing closer, now hiding together in this cramped space. A strange self-loathing mixed with guilt for intruding on another’s relationship surfaced.

What were they saying outside?

She couldn’t understand, only twisting it into them joking about Liu Tingsong visiting her girlfriend.

Why hadn’t *she* come in?

Was she waiting outside?

Holding that bouquet.

What excuse had Liu Tingsong used to stay so long?

Her cap?!

Xu Fengluan jolted, remembering the cap on the floor. She turned, reaching for the door.

But Liu Tingsong grabbed her first, pressing her head into her shoulder.

“Mmph,” Xu Fengluan let out a muffled grunt.

Taller and longer-limbed, yet she was bent low, trapped in Liu Tingsong’s arms, the thin fabric revealing protruding bones. The scene was almost comical, but Liu Tingsong didn’t relent, covering Xu Fengluan’s ears.

She knew Xu Fengluan’s peculiar cleanliness obsession—not typical, more psychological. She could eat street food, sit carelessly on curbs, or cling to others without issue.

But when emotions flared, her quirks surfaced—bathing thrice daily, washing her hands raw, fixating on moles as blemishes, frantically wiping surfaces. It wasn’t just cleanliness; it was anxiety.

Like now, blaming the environment or her cap, Liu Tingsong noticed first.

Xu Fengluan, buried in her shoulder, her vision and hearing blocked, inhaled Liu Tingsong’s scent. The lingering perfume was gone, leaving only a cool, indescribable fragrance, easing her agitation slightly.

Liu Tingsong said nothing, just held her quietly.

Her heartbeat slowed, the gears of thought clicking, turning sluggishly.

Her arms lifted slowly, wanting to return the embrace, but froze at Liu Tingsong’s waist, clenching into fists and dropping.

The noise outside faded, moving away.

The hand on her ears released, threading through her hair, stroking her nape repeatedly.

Neither spoke.

Liu Tingsong was worried; Xu Fengluan was escaping.

She didn’t know how to face this, unable to find a solution. With others, she could be decisive, but with Liu Tingsong, it was a tangled mess—cutting one thread spawned more.

A shameful thought emerged: let this relationship linger like this. Liu Tingsong could stay with her new love, and Xu Fengluan could be her secret mistress, safe from abandonment by never being too close, balanced on a tightrope—danger equaling safety.

How disgusting, Xu Fengluan.

To even think such a vile thought.

Her lips twitched, no longer fleeing. She pushed Liu Tingsong away, standing straight, stepping back.

The distance let a breeze rush in, wiping away residual warmth.

Xu Fengluan waited until the voices vanished, then pushed the door open.

Ignoring the person behind her, she saw water stains on the floor but didn’t care, heading to the sink.

Water flowed, followed by vigorous scrubbing. Her hands, unlike her throat, could take it—peeling skin would heal in days.

Her wet hair clung to her forehead, her eye rims redder, possibly infected from neglect, looking pitiful.

But Xu Fengluan didn’t care.

The person behind approached, picking up her cap.

Maybe she’d overthought it—who’d care about a discarded cap? Not valuable enough to bother with.

Liu Tingsong stood behind, eyes lowered, watching her scrub, her emotions hidden.

Xu Fengluan had no energy to probe. With others, she might hide, but Liu Tingsong knew her flaws inside out.

Her sleeves soaked, water spreading from fingers to wrists to forearms, she scrubbed redder, the cold water warming.

“Enough,” Liu Tingsong finally spoke.

“You’ve washed enough,” she grabbed Xu Fengluan’s hands, pulling them away.

The sensor faucet stopped.

“Very clean,” Liu Tingsong stressed.

She held Xu Fengluan’s hands, grabbing a paper towel, frowning at its roughness.

With no bag or softer tissues, she lightened her touch, wiping gently, replacing each soaked towel.

Xu Fengluan tried to pull away but was held firm, only able to look down.

Liu Tingsong focused, her gaze unwavering, her trembling lashes casting faint shadows, like butterfly wings.

All water was wiped away, even between her fingers, making the red marks from scrubbing starkly visible.

But Xu Fengluan didn’t mind. To make up for her recent grueling schedule, her manager gave her a long break, no work beyond the last stream, so no need to worry about hiding marks for the camera.

Liu Tingsong paused, her gaze fixed on a small indentation, as if realizing something.

The blatant stare made Xu Fengluan uneasy, curling her fingers and yanking her hand back.

“Enough,” she growled.

“You went to the hospital for mole removal?” Liu Tingsong asked.

She should’ve guessed—Xu Fengluan wouldn’t go for just a cold.

“None of your business,” Xu Fengluan refused to answer.

But the answer was obvious, needing no words.

Her emotions surged again, glancing at the sink.

Her small movement didn’t escape Liu Tingsong’s eyes.

She stepped forward, her paper towel brushing Xu Fengluan’s lips.

Liu Tingsong wore light makeup, her faint lipstick glaring when smeared on Xu Fengluan’s lips, especially with blood traces, screaming of what she’d just done.

The act reminded Xu Fengluan. She glanced at Liu Tingsong’s lips.

As expected, they were a mess—old wounds reopened, new ones added, swollen and red, likely from smeared lipstick, painfully obvious even after time.

Planning to ditch her cap for a mask, Xu Fengluan paused, thinking Liu Tingsong needed it more.

She’d caused the marks; even angry, she couldn’t ignore it. Especially with someone outside…

Her thoughts stopped, her lips pressing into a line, leaving no space for Liu Tingsong to wipe.

Liu Tingsong paused, slowly withdrawing her hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again, her soft, jade-like tone laced with helpless indulgence.

“Hm?” The questioning lilt hooked like silver.

Xu Fengluan was fed up. Before, she didn’t answer to avoid playing along with Liu Tingsong’s feigned ignorance. Now, she felt Liu Tingsong was treating her like a fool. She’d given her face, but Liu Tingsong didn’t want it.

“Someone’s waiting for you outside,” she finally reminded, her eyes dark, suppressing her emotions.

The repeated emphasis made Liu Tingsong realize something was off. Her eyes flickered: “You saw?”

The truth laid bare, Xu Fengluan felt no relief, only a burning sting in her chest.

She opened her mouth, forcing out: “Don’t let this happen again.”

Her底线 held, crushing her shameful thoughts.

But Liu Tingsong said: “You misunderstood. Camille and I are just friends.”

Fearing further misunderstanding, she explained hurriedly, words jumbled:

“She’s a friend I met abroad.”

“She came to S City with the troupe. I helped them out before, so she invited me.”

She paused, unsure how much Xu Fengluan saw, then spilled everything:

“She wanted to have dinner, but I saw you and Chu Cheng in the audience…”

“I apologized to her backstage.”

“The flowers were to congratulate her performance.”

“She’s stubborn about hugs, always clinging to friends. I usually stop her, but since we won’t see each other for a while…”

Was that it?

Xu Fengluan’s icy expression didn’t soften, but her heart began to race.

Just a hug, and she got this worked up?

“She left already. There’s nothing backstage, so why would she wait outside?”

Xu Fengluan didn’t want to hear more, tangled in another realization, her heart a mess. Her briefly warmed fingers chilled again.

“It’s none of my business,” she forced out, barely hiding her panic, wanting to flee.

But Liu Tingsong grabbed her again.

This time, Xu Fengluan was pressed against the sink.

Her broad, slender hands rested in a puddle, her knuckles protruding, grasping at nothing on the smooth marble.

Liu Tingsong leaned in, standing on her toes, pressing her soft body against Xu Fengluan’s.

Familiarly, she hooked her arms around Xu Fengluan’s neck, pulling her down, kissing her lip corner.

The earlier candy sweetness had melted away, leaving only a faint iron taste and an impossibly soft touch.

Unlike before, Liu Tingsong kissed fiercely, her teeth grazing Xu Fengluan’s lips, leaving small dents, disrupting her breath, claiming her before she could recover.

One hand clutched Xu Fengluan’s collar, crumpling the thin tee; the other pressed her nape, tugging her hair.

The old wound reopened, the cleaned spot glistened again.

“I’m yours,” her husky voice carried kiss after kiss, like branding irons.

“I’ve always been yours,” she murmured, soft words firm with resolve.

“Baby…” Her tongue teased Xu Fengluan’s, pulling it into her lips.

“No one else, never,” she assured repeatedly, not content with one spot, her heated kisses trailing to her jaw, pecking the taut line, her hand stroking the silver hair into disarray.

“I’m yours, always.”

The hand on her nape tightened, veins bulging, yet she didn’t push Liu Tingsong away.

Until her phone buzzed again, her closed eyes snapped open.

She shoved Liu Tingsong back, not daring to look, flinging something at her before bolting, her steps quickening into a run.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty hall, the wind whistling past, her heart nearly bursting.

*Done for, done for…*

Her mind held only those words.

She ran, directionless, blind to her path, just forward.

Until exhaustion hit, certain Liu Tingsong couldn’t follow.

She slumped against a wall.

*Ruined.*

She thought, covering her face with her hands.