Yes, there was worry in his eyes. A genuine, aching worry that made my chest tighten. But layered beneath it was something darker. A madness. A feral desperation, as though he was a beast who had nearly lost his prey, clinging to the only thing he could not afford to lose.
I swallowed, but the lump in my throat remained. His arms trembled slightly, betraying the storm inside him.
"Richard…"
"Don't disappear from me again," he murmured, his voice raw, unsteady. "I won't survive it."
The moonlight carved sharp lines across his face, and for the first time, I couldn't tell if he was the boy I was meant to love… or the man who might consume me whole.
His grip loosened slightly, as if he remembered himself. He exhaled, slow and shaky, before pressing his forehead against my temple.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to scare you." His voice softened, mellow like a lullaby. "I just… you have no idea what it does to me when I can't reach you. When I don't know where you are, or if you're safe."
He pulled back, giving me a faint smile, so tender, so gentle, it almost convinced me. Almost.
"But Richard," I said, staring at him, "you didn't have to break into my life like this. You could've waited."
His smile faltered.
"Wait?" His tone was light, but the flicker in his eyes betrayed him. "Boss, I've waited long enough. Years. Do you know how long I've been chasing the day I could stand beside you again? I won't… I can't… lose a single second more."
His fingers brushed mine, feather-light, but there was a pressure beneath them, like an unspoken command that I must stay.
"Don't you think this is too much?" I whispered, my chest tightening.
He shook his head, almost boyishly, but his gaze never wavered, sharp as a blade cloaked in silk. "No. You deserve someone who will never let go, not even when you try to run. You deserve someone who will fight the whole world to keep you safe. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"
My heart skipped, because somewhere inside, those words stirred something. Familiar. Dangerous.
His hand rose, brushing my cheek. "I won't cage you, Shang. I promise. I'll just… follow wherever you go. Be wherever you are. As long as I can see you, hear you, know you're breathing... I'll be fine."
But I saw it.
The tremor in his hand. There was a glint in his eyes that contradicted his soft words. The madness he was trying to cover with affection.
Richard wasn't asking.
He was warning me.
And deep down, I knew, no matter how gentle he smiled, his love could burn everything around us to ashes if I pushed him away again.
But my heart… my heart was suddenly at peace.
Not the calm of a quiet lake, but the kind of peace that blooms in the middle of a storm. As if, deep inside, I enjoyed and welcomed this kind of maddening, obsessive, possessive love. As if my body ached to be one with him, to trust his words above all others.
It frightened me.
And yet it didn't.
It felt like déjà vu, like I was remembering the kind of love I had prayed for, wished for, and craved before I lost my memories. A love that promised safety but smelled of danger. A love that looked like devotion but had teeth beneath its smile.
Dinner came swiftly.
When I blinked, Richard had already moved away, his broad back turned to me. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, and he was standing at my small kitchen counter, opening cabinets as if he'd done it a thousand times before.
"Sit down," he said over his shoulder, voice light, like a melody. "I'll cook for us today."
I stayed in my seat, watching him. He opened my fridge, picked ingredients, and washed vegetables with practiced hands. His movements were steady, elegant even, like someone from an old fairy tale, like the kind of man who'd appear from the woods to rescue the heroine.
But this wasn't a storybook, and I wasn't sure who was rescuing whom.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked softly.
He didn't turn to look at me. "Because you've done enough for me. Because you deserve to rest. Because I want to."
It should have sounded ordinary. It should have been simple. But there was a weight in his words, a kind of unspoken promise...
Because you're mine now. Because I'll make sure you never forget this again.
The scent of garlic and onions filled the air as he moved around the kitchen with ease. For a moment, he didn't look like a stranger or even a young husband I barely knew.
He looked like a man out of a dream, a man who had always been there, waiting for me. And without realizing it, I smiled.
Another night to spend with him.
As I lay on the bed, he quietly slipped into the space beside me. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and this time, he was shirtless, his skin warm and smelling faintly of soap and the outside air. He was only wearing a pair of boxer shorts.
"You went home," I murmured, half accusing, half curious. "But why did you forget to bring sleeping clothes?"
He gave me a sheepish smile, his hair slightly tousled. "I was in a hurry. I thought something happened to you, so I forgot."
I turned on my side, looking at him fully. "Bring more clothes next time."
"Boss…" his voice dropped lower, a teasing note hidden there. "Wasn't it you who always admired men with mermaid lines? Why don't you check mine out?"
I arched an eyebrow at him.
"Are you teasing me?" I retorted, but there was a flicker of playfulness in my eyes he didn't see, at least not yet.
I pushed myself up and, without thinking twice, swung a leg over him, sitting on his hips purposely. I made sure to shift my weight so that I could feel the hardness pressing beneath me. His sharp intake of breath filled the quiet space between us.
The loose shirt I was wearing barely covered me now. The thin fabric clung to my skin and outlined the curves of my breasts and the narrowness of my waist, enough for him to notice. His hands, which had been resting on the bed, twitched slightly as if fighting the urge to touch me.
His eyes darkened, a flicker of something primal hidden beneath the softness he always tried to show me. He licked his lips slowly, his gaze traveling up my body until it met mine.
"Boss…" His voice was rougher now, trembling between restraint and desire. "You're playing with fire."
I tilted my head, leaning down so that my hair brushed against his bare chest.
"Am I?" I whispered, my lips ghosting over his ear.
He groaned low in his throat, his hands finally coming up, but stopping just short of my hips, as though he was fighting himself, fighting the possessiveness that always threatened to spill over.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice softer, darker. "Or I won't."