The night was alive.
Music didn't just play — it roared, shaking the ground beneath expensive shoes and glittering heels. Neon lights carved the club into moving fragments of red, purple, and molten gold. Sweat, perfume, laughter, temptation — everything blended into one irresistible chaos.
And in the middle of it sat the boy people whispered about.
Ren Liwei.
He lounged on a velvet couch like a sin painted in human form.
Messy brown hair falling over half-lidded eyes, lips curved in a lazy smirk, black silk shirt open enough to expose smooth skin and the teasing glint of a silver chain resting against his collarbone.
He looked like trouble.
He looked like a dare by himself.
"Liwei!" one of his drunk friends yelled over the pulsating music. "Truth or dare?"
Liwei chuckled — low, casual, dangerous.
"Oh, please. You think I'd ever pick truth?"
"Dare it is!" someone grinned wickedly, pointing across the club.
"There. Go kiss him."
Liwei's smirk froze.
The man in the VIP section wasn't just handsome — he looked sculpted from authority itself.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Jet-black suit sharp enough to cut.
Cold, elegant hands wrapped around a wine glass.
And those eyes…
Dark. Sharp.
A storm hidden behind calm.
Liwei felt a small, involuntary shiver crawl down his spine.
"That one?" Liwei scoffed. "He looks like he owns half the city."
"Then it should be fun," his friend said with a wicked grin. "Unless you're scared?"
Liwei scoffed, pushing off the couch.
"Scared? Watch and fall in love."
He adjusted his cuffs, smoothed his shirt, and moved — not walked, moved — through the crowd with a confidence that made heads turn and whispers rise.
People parted for him without being asked, drawn to the heat of his presence.
In the VIP section, the security stiffened.
The businessmen paused their conversation.
Only one man remained still.
Xian Lu.
His eyes stayed fixed on Liwei — calm, unreadable, but carrying a dangerous intensity that felt like being pinned to the wall without a single touch.
Liwei stopped right in front of him.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Liwei leaned in, close enough for his cologne to brush across Xian Lu's senses.
"Apologies in advance," he whispered, voice dripping with playful sin.
Then he did it.
He kissed him.
Soft. Shockingly soft.
For a moment, the club vanished — no music, no noise, nothing but the warm press of lips and the spark that shot straight through Xian Lu's controlled heartbeat.
Gasps erupted around them.
Someone whispered, "He's insane—"
Someone else, "He's going to die—"
But Xian Lu didn't move.
His eyes stayed half-lowered, fixed on Liwei even after he pulled back with a teasing, wicked glint in his gaze.
Liwei ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip.
"Dare completed," he murmured, voice low enough to be intimate.
"No need to thank me."
He turned away, walking back with the confidence of a man who owned the moment.
Silence followed him — shocked, electric.
Behind him, Xian Lu remained still, expression as calm as ice…
Until his thumb lifted.
Slowly. Almost unconsciously.
And brushed across the exact spot Liwei had kissed.
Something dangerous flickered in his eyes — interest, irritation, and something deeper he refused to name.
His heart had skipped a beat.
And that — for a man like him — was the most dangerous part of all.