Zhenyu hadn't planned it. He told himself that, again and again, as the bus rattled toward the far edge of the city — the district where pretty townhouses curled around fake gardens and security cameras bloomed like iron flowers at every gate.
He hadn't called ahead. Hadn't texted. Hadn't even checked if she'd be home.
It was stupid, he knew. Stupid to believe that after everything — the scandal, the debts, the court threats — she'd open the door and see the same man she'd married, the man she'd once trusted with the soft, trembling weight of a child in his arms.
But when he'd woken that morning, the folder from Yu Bai spread out like a wound on his table, the walls of his cheap apartment seemed to close in on him. He couldn't breathe with Yu Bai's scent clinging to the blanket, the taste of ginger still sour in his mouth.
So he'd run. Just for an hour, he told himself. Just to see her face. Maybe, just maybe, she'd look at him and remember he wasn't a monster.
The bus hissed to a stop in front of the gates. He stepped down onto the pavement, the winter wind knifing through his thin coat. Two men leaned against a black car across the street — suits too sharp for this neighborhood, eyes hidden behind sunglasses even on a cloudy day. He knew them. Yu Bai's shadows.
Zhenyu hunched his shoulders, pretending he didn't see them. He pressed the intercom button by the gate, thumb trembling. A pause, then static. A woman's voice — flat, cautious.
"Yes?"
"It's me," he said. The words scraped his throat raw. "It's Zhenyu."
Another pause. He imagined her standing in the warmth of her new kitchen — the one with granite counters and polished floors, the baby probably asleep upstairs, his son's soft hair tucked under a cartoon blanket.
"I'm not home," she said finally.
Zhenyu's chest squeezed. He forced out a laugh, brittle as glass. "Liar."
Silence.
"Please," he whispered. "Just five minutes."
A shape moved behind the frosted glass window by the door — her shadow, half-hidden. He wanted to scream, to beg her to come out, to see him standing there with the cold chewing through his bones. But the gate didn't buzz open. The shadow didn't move closer.
"Go home, Zhenyu," she said softly. "It's over."
Something inside him snapped. He stepped back, knuckles white around the bars of the gate. "Don't do this," he hissed. "Don't let him take my son."
The shadow flinched. Then, quieter: "Go home."
The line clicked off. The intercom's empty hiss filled the air.
Zhenyu stood there a minute longer, head pressed to the gate's cold iron. He thought about climbing it, pounding on the door until she had no choice but to see him — but the two suited men across the street shifted, one tapping a phone to his ear.
He turned and walked away before they could cross.
---
By the time he reached the bus stop, a cold drizzle had started. He hunched under the shelter, staring at the rusted timetable, not really seeing it. The black car idled at the corner, Yu Bai's men pretending not to watch him — but he could feel their eyes scraping along his spine.
He hated it. Hated the invisible cage he'd walked into the second Yu Bai stepped back into his life. But what choice did he have? Alone, he was a ghost. A ruin. They'd take everything from him.
His phone buzzed — a new alert. He flinched, half-expecting Yu Bai's name, but it was worse.
Breaking: Ex-CEO Lu Zhenyu seen begging at ex-wife's home — a fallen king in rags?
Below the headline, a grainy shot of him at the gate, head bowed like a beggar. He didn't have to guess which neighbor sold him out this time. Or maybe it hadn't been a neighbor at all.
The bus pulled up with a hiss. Zhenyu climbed aboard, phone clutched in his shaking hand, bile rising in his throat. The photo would be everywhere by evening. Another nail in his coffin.
---
Back in his building, the hallway smelled like bleach and cheap incense. His door swung open without protest — the lock had never worked properly. But someone had replaced the chain. New metal, shining and out of place.
Yu Bai sat on his couch, legs crossed, phone in hand. He didn't look up when Zhenyu stepped in, dripping rain onto the cracked tiles. He just scrolled, thumb lazy on the screen.
"Did you get what you wanted?" Yu Bai asked, voice too quiet.
Zhenyu's fingers tightened around the phone until the plastic casing creaked. "You sent them, didn't you? The dogs with cameras."
Yu Bai's eyes lifted — cold, flat. "Dogs don't bite unless someone feeds them."
Zhenyu threw the phone. It bounced off the wall, battery popping out, skittering across the floor. Yu Bai didn't flinch. He just let out a soft sigh, like a disappointed parent.
"You said you'd fix it!" Zhenyu's voice cracked. "You promised—"
"I am fixing it." Yu Bai rose, uncoiling from the couch like a cat waking from a nap. "But you make it so difficult, gege."
Zhenyu stumbled back as Yu Bai crossed the room. His back hit the wall. Yu Bai's hand came up, palm flat beside his head — not touching, but close enough that the scent of him — crisp cologne, warm skin, a faint undercurrent of steel — filled Zhenyu's nose.
"You think they'll pity you?" Yu Bai murmured. "You think she'll let you in because you knock on her pretty little gate? She'd rather die than let her new husband lose face."
Zhenyu's throat worked. "You don't know her."
Yu Bai's laugh was low, bitter. "I know how people work. I know how they break."
His other hand brushed Zhenyu's damp hair back from his forehead — almost gentle, but his fingers curled tight at the nape, forcing Zhenyu to meet his eyes.
"You're mine to protect," Yu Bai said, each word soft but edged like a knife. "If you run to them, they'll eat you alive."
Zhenyu's chest heaved. "Then let them."
Yu Bai's eyes narrowed — a flash of something dark, possessive, hot enough to burn. He leaned in, lips grazing Zhenyu's temple, then lower, mouth hovering just over the curve of his jaw.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Yu Bai whispered. "To be ruined. To have everyone see you crawl."
Zhenyu tried to shove him back, but Yu Bai's grip only tightened. His knee slipped between Zhenyu's thighs, pressing up just enough that the panic in Zhenyu's chest twisted into something darker, needier.
"Stop it—"
"Make me," Yu Bai breathed.
For one heartbeat, Zhenyu thought he would. That he'd slap him, spit in his face. But Yu Bai's teeth grazed his jaw, lips pressing soft, possessive kisses down his neck. Heat coiled low in Zhenyu's belly — traitorous, shameful.
When Yu Bai pulled back, his pupils were blown wide, breath shallow. He looked almost undone — but his voice stayed calm as steel.
"You'll stay here. You'll let me handle it."
Zhenyu's lip trembled. "Or what?"
Yu Bai's mouth curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Or I'll handle you."
He stepped back, tugging Zhenyu away from the wall. The air between them felt scorched, but Yu Bai's touch was all business now — a guiding hand on the small of his back, pushing him toward the couch.
Zhenyu stumbled, half-falling onto the cushions. Yu Bai crouched in front of him, taking his bare foot in one hand — peeling off his wet sock like he was undressing a child.
"Stay out of sight for a few days," Yu Bai said. "Eat. Sleep. Let me speak to the lawyer."
Zhenyu hated how good it felt — the warmth of Yu Bai's hands, the sure way he pressed his thumb into the arch of Zhenyu's foot, grounding him. He hated the weakness thrumming in his bones even more.
"You can't keep me here forever," Zhenyu rasped.
Yu Bai's lips brushed the inside of his ankle — a fleeting, shocking touch that made heat flood Zhenyu's cheeks.
"Watch me."
---
The next morning, the headlines were gone. Erased. No trace of the photo, no whispers on the gossip channels. Zhenyu knew it wasn't a miracle. It was Yu Bai's teeth, his claws, buried deep in the city's soft throat.
He sat at the window, staring at the street below — the same black car parked at the curb. His phone buzzed once, a new message.
Yu Bai: Stay put. They're hungry. I'm the only one who knows how to feed them.
Zhenyu curled up on the couch, the faded blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. In his mind, he could still feel Yu Bai's lips on his skin — the echo of teeth, the promise of ruin.
He should've run years ago.
But it was too late now.
--