11:45 p.m.

 

Heavy clouds pressed low over North City’s night sky. The air was thick and damp with the sultry heaviness that comes right before a storm.

 

Shen Muchen sat alone on the single sofa in the living room.

 

He hadn’t turned on the lights.

 

Only the faint glow from the city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows cast deep shadows across his face. There was no book in his hands. No script. Not even the glass of iced water he usually kept beside him. His fingers were interlaced, his elbows resting on his knees, his body frozen in a perfectly still posture.

 

He was waiting.

 

The wall clock ticked with dull, mechanical regularity.

 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

 

With every passing second, the pressure in the apartment seemed to sink lower and lower.

 

11:48 p.m.

 

At last, the sound of the door lock turning broke the silence.

 

Beep. Fingerprint verified.
Click. The door opened.

 

Song Xingran slipped inside quietly. She didn’t turn on the lights. Guided only by the sensor light in the entryway, she carefully changed her shoes, moving as lightly as a stray cat afraid of waking its owner.

 

“Phew…”

 

She let out a small breath, thinking she had gotten away with it.

 

But just as she turned to sneak into the bedroom—

 

Click.

 

The living-room light snapped on.

 

The sudden brightness made her raise a hand to shield her eyes. When she finally adjusted, she froze in shock.

 

Shen Muchen was sitting less than three meters away, looking straight at her.

 

Expressionless.

 

His gaze was as cold as polar ice.

 

There was no anger, no impatience—only a frightening, unnatural calm.

 

“S-Shen… Teacher Shen…”

 

Her heart skipped violently. Instinctively, she hid her injured left leg behind her.

 

“You’re… not asleep yet?”

 

He didn’t answer.

 

He stood up slowly.

 

Under the light, his tall figure cast a long shadow that completely enveloped her.

 

He walked toward her, one step at a time.

 

His footsteps were light, yet each step felt as if it were crushing her nerves.

 

He stopped in front of her and looked down at her.

 

His gaze swept over her messy hair, her slightly pale face—and finally stopped on the knee she had tried so hard to hide.

 

There was a bandage on it.

 

Not an ordinary one.

 

It was a brightly colored, cartoon-patterned bandage—far too cute and lively.

 

Shen Muchen’s pupils tightened slightly.

 

He knew it very well.

 

It was the brand Gu Xingzhou always used.

 

That man full of sunshine, childish enthusiasm, and so-called “90 BPM” energy always liked to carry those silly little things to charm girls.

 

Besides the bandage, Shen Muchen caught another scent.

 

It was faint, diluted by the wind outside—but he still recognized it instantly.

 

The expensive citrus fragrance unique to Gu Xingzhou’s recording studio.

 

And…

 

Coffee.

 

“Where did you go?”

 

Shen Muchen finally spoke.

 

But the voice that came out was nothing like his usual deep, resonant tone.

 

It was flat. Cold. Mechanical.

 

As if all emotional channels had been cut off, leaving only a judgment program running.

 

“I… I was working overtime at the company…”

 

She lied.

 

Because she knew the consequences of telling the truth would be far worse.

 

“Working overtime.”

 

He repeated the words slowly, a sharp, mocking curve appearing at the corner of his mouth.

 

Suddenly, he reached out.

 

He was so fast that she had no time to react.

 

His fingers did not touch her skin.

 

Instead, they precisely pinched the corner of her skirt and lifted it slightly.

 

“Hiss—!”

 

Song Xingran sucked in a sharp breath.

 

Under the hem, besides the cartoon bandage on her knee, there was a large, obvious bruise on her calf—red and swollen, shockingly severe.

 

“This is the result of your ‘overtime’?”

 

He released the fabric and let the skirt fall.

 

He looked at the bandage as if it were a fly.

 

“Tear it off.”

 

She froze.

 

“What…?”

 

“That thing.”

 

He pointed at the cartoon bandage.

 

“Tear it off. Now.”

 

“But… the wound isn’t healed yet…”

 

“I don’t want to say it a third time.”

 

His voice was not loud.

 

He didn’t even raise it.

 

But the absolute pressure behind it made her instinctively tremble.

 

She bent down, hands shaking, and tore the bandage off.

 

The wound was exposed.

 

It wasn’t deep—just an abrasion—but the surrounding skin was dark with bruising from the impact.

 

“Throw it away.”

 

She dropped the bandage into the nearby trash can.

 

The coldness in his eyes did not fade.

 

Of course, he knew she was working.

 

He knew how desperately hard she pushed herself for interviews.

 

He also knew she had gone to Gu Xingzhou’s studio today—because that man had posted a photo online: ‘Late-night overtime, small injury.’ Only half a shoulder appeared in the frame, but Shen Muchen recognized her clothes at a glance.

 

She was hurt.

 

The first person who treated her wound wasn’t him.

 

It was Gu Xingzhou.

 

She came home late.

 

The one who brought her back wasn’t him.

 

It was Gu Xingzhou.

 

And now—

 

She was lying to him.

 

An unprecedented sense of losing control, mixed with the fury of betrayal, surged violently in his chest.

 

But he did not explode.

 

For someone who was used to controlling everything through sound, the greatest anger was not shouting.

 

It was silence.

 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced down the impulse to pin her against the wall and interrogate her.

 

“Come here.”

 

“Shen Muchen… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have lied. I did go to Gu Xingzhou’s place, but it was for an interview… and then I fell by accident… he only helped me clean the wound…”

 

She tried to explain, reaching for his hand.

 

He avoided her.

 

Not even letting her touch him.

 

Without looking at her, he turned and walked toward the bathroom.

 

“Come here.”

 

The two words were cold and final.

 

She dared not disobey and limped after him.

 

In the bathroom, Shen Muchen had already wrung out a warm towel.

 

His face was calm, his tone distant—like he was speaking to a stranger.

 

“The wound can’t get wet. You can’t shower.”

 

He walked over and took her hand.

 

The warm towel covered her skin as he carefully wiped her fingers, her palm, and every gap between her fingers.

 

Then her uninjured foot, and the lower part of her injured leg.

 

His movements were meticulous—almost gentle.

 

But the whole time, his eyes were lowered.

 

There was no eye contact.

 

When he finished, he stopped.

 

He rinsed the towel, wrung it out, and handed it to her.

 

“The rest, do it yourself.”

 

Those words fell between them like a wall of ice.

 

Normally, at times like this, he would tease her, deliberately helping her clean more intimate areas, or gently wiping her back.

 

Today, he refused to touch any part of her that had nothing to do with treating the injury.

 

It was silent disgust.

 

And a line drawn between them.

 

Her eyes reddened as she took the towel.

 

She said nothing.

 

She wiped herself, changed into clean loungewear, and stood there quietly.

 

“Come out when you’re done.”

 

He had already gone back to the living room.

 

The first-aid kit lay on the coffee table.

 

She walked over and stood in front of him.

 

“Sit.”

 

She sat down.

 

Shen Muchen knelt on one knee in front of her.

 

He held her ankle and placed her injured leg across his thigh.

 

His movements were professional and gentle.

 

A cotton swab dipped in ointment carefully cleaned the wound, removing dust and dried blood bit by bit.

 

If one only looked at his actions, he was tender enough to be an angel.

 

But—

 

There was no sound.

 

Since telling her to sit down, he had not spoken another word.

 

She watched his lowered eyes, trying desperately to find even the slightest emotional change in his face.

 

But he looked like a perfectly carved marble statue.

 

Cold. Closed off.

 

“It… hurts a little…”

 

She whispered, trying to break the suffocating silence.

 

He paused for a fraction of a second.

 

He didn’t answer.

 

He didn’t even lift his eyes.

 

His hands continued working—only slightly more gently.

 

“Shen Muchen… say something…”

 

She was starting to panic.

 

She would rather he scold her.

 

She would rather he punish her the way he used to.

 

Anything was better than this dead quiet.

 

For someone who had grown used to being guided, soothed, and controlled by his voice, this silence felt like slow torture.

 

Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.

 

Only the sound of the cotton swab brushing her skin.

 

Rip—

 

The sound of a new bandage being opened.

 

He finished wrapping her wound neatly.

 

The white gauze knot was perfectly tied—far more professional than Gu Xingzhou’s flashy bandage.

 

He closed the first-aid kit and stood up.

 

He still didn’t look at her.

 

No kiss.

 

No “be careful next time.”

 

He turned and walked straight back toward the bathroom.

 

“Shen Muchen!”

 

She stood up despite the pain in her leg.

 

Bang.

 

The bathroom door shut in front of her.

 

Locked.

 

She stood outside, listening to the sound of running water inside.

 

At that moment, she felt as if she had been abandoned in outer space.

 

No air.

 

No gravity.

 

And no…

 

frequency to anchor her soul.

 

When the water finally stopped, she sat curled up on the sofa, staring at the closed door like a small animal waiting for judgment.

 

Click.

 

The lock turned.

 

Shen Muchen came out.

 

He carried a chill of damp air with him.

 

His hair was still wet, hanging messily over his forehead.

 

A towel was wrapped around his waist.

 

His bare upper body was taut with tension, droplets of water still clinging to his skin.

 

She stood up instinctively.

 

“Shen—”

 

He didn’t look at her.

 

As if she didn’t exist.

 

He walked straight across the living room and headed up the stairs toward the master bedroom.

 

The feeling of being treated like air hurt more than being yelled at.

 

She gritted her teeth and followed him barefoot.

 

Her injured leg made her limp slightly.

 

She deliberately stepped louder.

 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

 

Trying to get his attention.

 

But he never turned around.

 

He didn’t pick her up like he usually did when he thought her footsteps were too loud.

 

He simply walked at an even, cold pace into the bedroom.

 

The small strawberry night-light—something she had brought—was on.

 

Its soft glow filled the room, but it couldn’t warm the frozen air.

 

Shen Muchen loosened the towel and put on his sleep pants.

 

She stood at the doorway, staring at his broad back.

 

For the first time, she didn’t dare walk into a room that used to be filled with intimacy and pleasure.

 

It now felt like a sealed low-pressure chamber.

 

He lifted the covers and lay down.

 

With his back to the door.

 

With his back to her.

 

Click.

 

The strawberry light was turned off.

 

The room plunged into darkness.

 

Her heart tightened sharply.

 

No matter how late it was, he always left the light on for her.

 

No matter how tired he was, he always pulled her into his arms and kissed her goodnight.

 

But tonight—

 

There was nothing.

 

She felt her way onto the bed.

 

The sheets were cold.

 

She lay down stiffly, afraid to get too close—but unwilling to move too far away.

 

A distance of thirty centimeters lay between them.

 

Like an uncrossable border.

 

Outside, rain began to fall again.

 

Drip… drip…

 

The sound of rain used to be noise to her sensitive hearing.

 

But as long as his heartbeat—60 BPM—was beside her, it became harmless background sound.

 

Now, she couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

 

Only the rain.

 

The wind.

 

The restless rush of blood in her own body.

 

And…

 

his steady, almost cruel breathing.

 

Inhale… exhale…

 

So close.

 

Yet not a trace of warmth reached her.

 

She couldn’t take it anymore.

 

This silent punishment triggered a painful withdrawal inside her.

 

She felt cold.

 

Empty.

 

Abandoned.

 

She shifted closer, little by little, like a small animal searching for warmth.

 

She timidly tugged at the corner of his pajama shirt.

 

No reaction.

 

Gathering her courage, she placed her hand on his back.

 

The muscles beneath her palm tightened instantly.

 

Hard.

 

Burning hot.

 

“Shen Muchen…”

 

She whispered.

 

“My leg hurts.”

 

It was her usual trick.

 

He always softened when she said that.

 

But tonight, he didn’t move.

 

He didn’t turn around.

 

He didn’t speak.

 

Not even his breathing changed.

 

He was like a wall.

 

A wall of ice.

 

Her hand froze on his back.

 

The humiliation of being ignored, mixed with hurt and grievance, made tears spill out immediately.

 

“Please don’t ignore me…”

 

She hugged him from behind, pressing her face to his back and rubbing against him, wiping her tears on his shirt.

 

“I know I was wrong… I shouldn’t have lied… I shouldn’t have let Gu Xingzhou touch me…”

 

“You can scold me… punish me…”

 

“Just… don’t stay silent…”

 

“I can’t fall asleep without your voice…”

 

It was the truth.

 

She had been spoiled by him.

 

Without his voice as a sedative, the world was nothing but chaotic noise.

 

At last, he moved.

 

He reached back and grabbed her wrist.

 

Her heart lifted.

 

But he only coldly and firmly—

 

pried her hand away.

 

Then placed her hand back at her side.

 

“Sleep.”

 

It was the first thing he had said since entering the bedroom.

 

Two words.

 

Flat.

 

Cold.

 

After that, he moved closer to the edge of the bed, widening the distance between them, and returned to his back-turned position.

 

She froze.

 

The decisiveness of that rejection dropped her into an icy abyss.

 

She stared at his back, listening to the growing rain outside, and finally realized—

 

He was serious.

 

He wasn’t sulking.

 

He was punishing her.

 

In the way she feared the most.

 

By taking away sound.

 

By taking away touch.

 

That night, on the wide double bed, a silent galaxy stretched between them.

 

She curled up under the blanket and cried without making a sound.

 

And Shen Muchen, with his back to her, stared into the darkness, listening to her suppressed sobs.

 

His fingernails dug deep into his palm.

 

But he never turned around.

 

For the first time—

 

with her right beside him—

 

he couldn’t sleep.

 

Time stretched endlessly in the dark.

 

The rain gradually eased, leaving only the occasional drip from the eaves, like a monotonous timer.

 

He remained motionless, his hearing fully alert, locked onto every tiny sound behind him.

 

Her sobs grew faint.

 

Her sniffles softened.

 

At last, her breathing became slow and heavy.

 

The rhythm of deep sleep after exhaustion and tears.

 

She had run around all day for interviews.

 

She had been injured.

 

And she had endured an emotional trial after coming home.

 

Her body had long reached its limit.

 

Only her fear of losing him had kept her going.

 

Now, the string snapped.

 

After confirming she was truly asleep, his tense back finally relaxed.

 

He turned over quietly.

 

By the faint moonlight from the window, he looked at her.

 

She was curled into a tight little ball, like a shrimp lacking any sense of security.

 

Half her face was buried in the pillow.

 

The exposed eye was red and swollen.

 

A single tear clung to the corner of her eye, glimmering heartbreakingly.

 

Even in her sleep, her brows were tightly knit.

 

One hand unconsciously clutched the corner of his pajama shirt.

 

His chest tightened painfully.

 

“Idiot…”

 

He whispered.

 

The word was soft beyond measure.

 

He brushed away the tear at the corner of her eye.

 

Cool.

 

Damp.

 

His finger slid down her cheek and paused at her slightly chapped lips, gently stroking them.

 

How could he really ignore her?

 

From the moment she limped in, his heart had already softened.

 

But he had to be cruel.

 

She had no awareness of danger.

 

Her guard against other men was far too low.

 

If he didn’t teach her a lesson—

 

if he didn’t make her understand who she belonged to—

 

would she come back next time carrying another man’s scent again?

 

“Mmm…”

 

She murmured softly in her sleep and rubbed her head into his palm like a kitten seeking affection.

 

His gaze darkened.

 

He lifted the blanket slightly and looked at her injured left leg.

 

The white gauze stood out clearly in the dark.

 

He gently placed his palm above her knee, warming the pain with his body heat.

 

“Serves you right for hurting.”

 

His words were harsh.

 

But his body leaned closer.

 

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her—blanket and all—into his chest.

 

Familiar warmth enveloped her.

 

She let out a satisfied little sigh in her sleep and automatically found a comfortable position in his arms, clinging to him with both hands and legs.

 

He stiffened briefly, then relaxed helplessly and let her hold him.

 

This time, he didn’t push her away.

 

He lowered his head and kissed the top of her hair.

 

Her shampoo carried the same scent as his.

 

This was how it should be.

 

This was her real scent.

 

Not that damn citrus fragrance.

 

“Xingxing…”

 

He whispered into the dark, his voice vibrating from deep in his chest, meant only for the two of them.

 

“Don’t force me to lock you up.”

 

“You can only be mine.”

 

He tightened his arms, firmly imprisoning her within his territory.

 

Their heartbeats overlapped again.

 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

 

The familiar 60 BPM.

 

In the quiet night after the rain, it once again became her lullaby.

 

Shen Muchen closed his eyes.

 

Tomorrow…

 

The punishment would continue.

 

He wouldn’t let her off that easily.

 

But tonight—

 

this was enough.