Chapter 7

The city stretched beneath me, a pulsing sea of neon and shadows. From my penthouse balcony, I could see the faint glow of the docks in the distance. By this time tomorrow, Sen Yui's empire would have a crack in its foundation—one that I would widen until the whole damn thing collapsed.

I swirled the dark amber liquid in my glass, the ice clinking softly as I took a slow sip. My mind wasn't just on Sen Yui. No, there was something else—someone else—who had been haunting my thoughts just as persistently.

Orm.

Her amber eyes had been following me in my mind ever since that night at her place. Every time she looked at me, it felt like she was peeling back layers I hadn't even realized I had built. She was distant, keeping me at arm's length, treating me like nothing more than a patient. A patient.

I scoffed softly to myself.

Orm was strong—disciplined, determined—but she was also avoiding something. I could see it in the way she hesitated, in the way her breath caught sometimes when I got too close.

I exhaled slowly, closing my eyes for a brief moment.

This wasn't the time to be distracted.

I turned back inside, setting my glass down with a quiet clink against the glass table. My bodyguards were gathered in the main room, waiting for my next move. Jiang had already mapped out the docks, pinpointing the weak spots in Sen Yui's security.

"Any new updates?" I asked, adjusting the cuff of my sleeve as I walked over.

Jiang nodded, sliding a tablet across the table. "We've confirmed the shipment will arrive at Berth 12 at exactly 11:45 PM. Sen Yui's men are using minimal guards—probably because they think no one has this information."

"They're idiots," another one of my men muttered.

I smirked. "No. They're comfortable. And comfortable men make mistakes."

I scanned the tablet, taking in the dock's layout. "And what about the encrypted files?"

"We're still working on breaking them," Jiang admitted. "It's heavily protected—whatever's in there, Sen Yui doesn't want anyone seeing it."

That only made me more determined to get it.

I leaned forward, my fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table. "Then we make sure it falls into our hands before anyone else's. I don't just want to sabotage him—I want to know what he's hiding."

Jiang exchanged glances with the others before nodding. "Understood. We'll be ready."

I straightened, rolling my shoulders back. "Good. Get some rest tonight." I gave them a small, sharp smile. "Tomorrow, we make history."

As my men filed out of the room, I picked up my glass again, staring at the dark liquid.

My mind should have been focused on Sen Yui.

And yet, when I closed my eyes, all I could see was Orm.

And I didn't know which battle would be harder to win.

....

The next night, the city felt different—charged, electric, as if it knew something was about to shift.

I stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, adjusting the cuff of my black gloves. Outside, the streets stretched below in an endless tangle of neon and shadow, a web of power that I had spent years learning how to manipulate.

Tonight, Sen Yui would learn just how dangerous it was to underestimate me.

Jiang entered the room, his expression sharp with anticipation. "The team is in position. Everything is set."

I nodded, slipping on my coat. "And the shipments?"

"Still scheduled for 11:45 PM. We'll intercept at Berth 12."

I smirked. "Good. Let's move."

The drive to the docks was silent, the tension thick inside the car. My men knew better than to speak when I was like this—calculating, precise, already several steps ahead in my mind. The USB drive Zhang had handed over was burning a hole in my memory. The information inside was still being decrypted, but I didn't need to know every detail yet.

I only needed to make sure Sen Yui suffered.

As the black SUVs pulled up near the docks, the sea air hit me—salt, rust, and the unmistakable scent of oil. The industrial lights cast long, eerie shadows against the metal containers stacked high like a steel graveyard.

Jiang spoke into his earpiece. "All teams, in position."

I stepped out of the car, my heeled boots clicking softly against the pavement. My men fanned out, silent ghosts in the dark. I could see the movement near the ship—Sen Yui's men, relaxed, too comfortable in their routine.

A mistake.

I raised a gloved hand, signaling the others. It was time.

A low whistle cut through the night—a signal from my snipers. Within seconds, my men moved. The first guard barely had time to react before a silenced shot took him down. Another fell with a choked gasp, my people moving like shadows, efficient and deadly.

I walked forward, my steps slow, deliberate, as if I had all the time in the world. One of Sen Yui's men finally noticed me, panic flashing in his eyes before he reached for his gun.

I tilted my head.

Jiang was faster. A single, precise shot, and the man collapsed.

We reached the shipment containers, my fingers tracing the cool metal. I turned to one of my men. "Open it."

With a creak, the doors swung open. My eyes swept over the contents—crates stacked high, marked with codes I recognized immediately.

Weapons. High-grade military equipment.

I smirked. "Sen Yui, you've been very, very bad."

Jiang exhaled sharply. "This is bigger than we thought."

I didn't reply immediately. Instead, I pulled out my phone and sent a single message.

'Make the call.'

A minute later, I heard the wail of sirens in the distance. I turned to Jiang, a slow smile forming. "Time to leave."

By the time Sen Yui's people realized what had happened, the authorities would be all over this place. And I would be watching from a safe distance, a glass of wine in hand, as his empire started to crumble.

I walked back toward the car, satisfied.

And yet...

A different thought lingered in my mind. Amber eyes, sharp yet soft, distant yet impossibly close.

Orm.

As I slid into the car, I let out a quiet breath.

One battle had been won tonight.

But there was another war I wasn't sure I was ready to fight.

The hum of the engine beneath me was steady, a rhythmic purr that usually soothed my nerves. The city stretched ahead, neon and steel blurring past as I made my way to Éclipse, my most exclusive nightclub—the heart of my empire.

I was satisfied with how the night had played out. Sen Yui's shipment was gone, and with it, a significant portion of his power. He would retaliate. That much was certain. But I was always three steps ahead.

Or so I thought.

The first sign of trouble came when Jiang tensed beside me. His fingers twitched toward the gun at his side, his sharp gaze flicking to the rearview mirror.

I frowned. "What is it?"

Before he could answer, the world tilted.

A violent jolt threw me forward as my driver slammed on the brakes. Tires screeched against asphalt. My pulse spiked as I snapped my head up, eyes locking onto the four black SUVs cutting us off in the middle of the street.

Traffic had stopped. The streetlights flickered ominously. A setup.

The back doors of the lead SUV opened, and he stepped out.

Sen Yui.

Dressed in a tailored black suit, his expression was unreadable, but I saw it—the fury burning beneath his calm mask. The way his hands flexed at his sides. The way his men fanned out, surrounding us like wolves closing in for the kill.

Jiang cursed under his breath. "Boss—"

"Stay in the car," I ordered smoothly, my voice like steel.

I stepped out before he could protest, heels clicking against the pavement. My bodyguards followed instantly, weapons subtly shifting into position.

Sen Yui tilted his head, eyes glinting under the dim city lights. "Lingling." His voice was smooth, amused, but I didn't miss the venom laced beneath it. "That was quite the move you pulled tonight."

I smirked. "Oh? I wasn't aware you still kept track of your inventory."

His jaw tightened.

Silence stretched between us. A game of tension, of control.

Then, he moved.

Fast.

A flicker of motion, a blur of black fabric—before I could react, a knife slashed through the air.

Pain flared sharp and hot against my side. My breath hitched as I staggered back, my gloved hand pressing against the sudden warmth blooming beneath my ribs.

Jiang shouted. My men reached for their weapons—

"Ah, ah," Sen Yui tsked, stepping back with a bloody blade in his grip. "Shoot, and I promise she'll bleed out before you make it to a hospital."

I exhaled slowly, the pain dulling to a throbbing ache.

Shit.

I had been careless.

Sen Yui smiled. "This is me returning the favor."

His men were already moving, slipping back into their vehicles, engines roaring to life. He didn't need to say anything else. This was a warning.

And then—just as quickly as they had come—they were gone.

The street was eerily quiet.

Jiang was at my side in an instant, his voice tense. "Boss, we need to get you to—"

"No hospitals." My voice was firm despite the pain. I pushed away from him, standing straighter. Blood dripped between my fingers, staining the hem of my suit.

He hesitated. "Then where?"

I closed my eyes for half a second, exhaling. A face flashed through my mind—warm amber eyes, furrowed brows, hands that always knew how to heal.

I hated how instinctively I thought of her.

I hated that I needed her.

"...Drive," I ordered, voice quieter now. "Take me to Orm."

From Orm's Perspective

The soft glow of my bedside lamp cast a warm hue over my apartment as I scrolled mindlessly through my phone. It was late, but sleep refused to come. My mind had been restless all week—though I refused to acknowledge why.

The knock at my door was sudden, sharp against the quiet of my apartment.

I frowned, sitting up. Who would be here at this hour?

Another knock. Louder this time. Urgent.

I hesitated, my heart picking up speed. I wasn't expecting anyone. Cautiously, I slipped off my bed and padded toward the door, my fingers tightening around the knob before I finally pulled it open.

The breath in my lungs froze.

Lingling stood there, barely upright, blood staining the side of her pristine suit. Her normally poised expression was tight with pain, her breaths slow and deliberate. Behind her, two towering figures flanked her—her ever-present bodyguards. The only two she ever trusted.

But I couldn't focus on them.

All I could see was the way Lingling's face softened the second she met my eyes. The way her body swayed slightly, as if standing was suddenly too much effort.

I didn't even realize I had stepped forward until I was reaching for her. "Lingling—"

She exhaled a quiet, almost relieved breath as if my voice alone was grounding her. And then—her knees buckled.

I barely caught her. Her weight pressed into me, heavier than I expected, the warmth of her blood seeping through my shirt where our bodies touched.

Panic shot through me.

"What the hell happened?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.

The taller of the two bodyguards—Jiang, I think his name was—stepped forward. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was respectful. "She was attacked. She refused a hospital."

Of course she did. Of course she came here.

I clenched my jaw, pushing away every emotion threatening to surface. I didn't have time for them. Not when she was bleeding out in my arms.

"Get her inside," I ordered, shifting my grip.

Jiang and the other man nodded, stepping aside as I carefully guided Lingling inside my apartment. Her body was heavy against mine, but I could feel the tension in her muscles—the way she was still trying to hold herself together.

I closed the door behind us, sealing us off from the outside world.

"Lingling," I murmured, adjusting my hold on her as I half-carried, half-walked her toward the couch. "Stay with me."

She hummed softly in response, but when I lowered her down onto the cushions, her eyes fluttered shut for a moment too long.

Shit.

I moved quickly, my hands instinctively reaching for her jacket. "I need to see the wound."

Her fingers wrapped weakly around my wrist, stopping me.

Dark brown eyes, heavy-lidded from exhaustion, met mine. Despite the pain, despite the blood staining her expensive clothes, she still managed to smirk.

"You're touching me an awful lot, doctor," she murmured, voice teasing but weak.

I glared at her.

"I swear to god, Lingling—if you die on my couch, I will personally drag your ghost back just to kill you myself."

She chuckled, but it turned into a sharp inhale of pain. Her grip on my wrist loosened.

I shook my head, pushing past the frustration, past the fear I refused to name.

Focus. Treat the wound first. Ask questions later.

I grabbed my medical kit from the cabinet and got to work.

I worked quickly, hands steady despite the pounding of my heart. I'd seen wounds like this before—deep but not fatal, slicing through skin and muscle. She was losing blood, but she'd make it if I stopped the bleeding fast enough.

I pulled her jacket off, my fingers brushing against her skin as I peeled away the fabric. More bruises. Some fresh, some fading—how many times had she come home like this?

Lingling didn't make a sound, though her breathing was ragged. She watched me, dark brown eyes half-lidded, unwavering despite the pain.

"Who did this to you?" I asked, voice lower now, forced into something steady.

Lingling huffed, a ghost of amusement on her lips. "You're more concerned than usual, Doctor."

I glared. "Don't do that. Don't act like this is normal."

She let her head tilt back against the couch, exhaustion settling into her limbs. "It is normal."

Her words sent a sharp sting through my chest, but I didn't respond. Instead, I focused on cleaning the wound. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, mixing with the faintest trace of her perfume—something expensive, something distinctly her.

She hissed when the alcohol touched her skin, her muscles twitching beneath my fingers.

"Hold still."

Her lips curved slightly. "You're bossy."

I ignored her. My fingers brushed along the edges of the wound, checking the depth. It wasn't deep enough for stitches, but it would scar. Like the others.

"You're reckless," I muttered, shaking my head as I pressed gauze to the wound. "Why didn't you go to a hospital?"

Lingling exhaled, a slow, measured breath.

"You know why," she murmured.

The words sent something uneasy crawling up my spine.

My fingers faltered for half a second before I taped the bandage into place. Lingling noticed. Of course she did.

"You don't have to keep saving me, Orm," she said, softer this time.

I froze.

Lingling's voice—so usually sharp, so usually composed—was different now. Tired. Stripped of all the layers she wore like armor.

I should've let the words pass. Should've ignored the way my chest tightened.

But instead, my fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, my eyes locking onto hers.

"You keep coming back to me."

Silence.

Lingling stared, her gaze unreadable, unreadable, unreadable—until suddenly, it wasn't.

I saw it then. The way her lips parted slightly. The way her fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to reach for me.

The way she looked at me—not like her doctor, not like someone she needed, but like someone she wanted.

I swallowed hard.

This—whatever this was—was dangerous.

So I did what I always did. I pulled away first.

"Get some rest." My voice was firm, even as I stood up, even as my chest felt too tight.

Lingling didn't move, didn't argue.

But as I turned away, she spoke, her voice softer than I'd ever heard it.

"You're right, you know."

I glanced back.

Her dark eyes burned.

"I do keep coming back to you."

I closed the door of my bedroom behind me, exhaling sharply. My hands trembled slightly as I unbuttoned my stained shirt, peeling it away from my skin. Lingling's blood. It had seeped into the fabric, a stark, dark reminder of what had just happened.

I tossed it into the laundry basket and grabbed a clean one—an oversized cotton shirt, something comfortable. Something neutral. My mind was already hazy with exhaustion, but I wasn't done for the night.

She's staying.

The thought alone sent something warm and unsteady through my chest.

I took a deep breath, grabbed some extra clothes for her, and walked back into the living room.

Lingling was still on the couch, her head tilted back, eyes closed. The soft glow of the lamp traced over her features, the tension in her brow, the sharpness of her jawline. Even like this—wounded, tired, vulnerable—she was breathtaking.

I forced myself to look away.

"You should stay the night," I said, setting the clothes beside her.

Lingling's eyes opened slowly, flickering to mine. There was something unreadable in them, something dangerous.

"You worried about me, doctor?" Her voice was low, teasing, but weaker than usual.

I sighed, shaking my head. "Just let me help you."

For once, she didn't argue.

I knelt beside her, my fingers already reaching for the buttons of her shirt. But the moment I started unfastening them, I became painfully aware of what I was doing.

My hands moved carefully, deliberately, as I pulled the fabric aside, exposing more of her skin. Smooth. Warm. Bruised in places I didn't want to think about.

Her bra was black. Simple. Elegant. Expensive, like everything else about her.

I swallowed. Hard.

Focus, Orm.

Lingling, however, didn't make it easy. She was watching me, her gaze heavy, her lips slightly parted.

"You're distracted."

I was.

I focused on the stab wound instead—on the rise and fall of her breathing, on the way her stomach tensed slightly under my touch.

"You need to be careful," I murmured, pressing a fresh bandage into place. "This could open again if you move too much."

She hummed, barely listening. I could feel her eyes on me, burning, tracing over my face, my mouth—

I stood up abruptly.

"You should change," I said quickly, handing her the clean shirt I'd brought.

Lingling smirked—because of course she did. "You sure you don't want to help me with that too?"

I shot her a glare. "Just put it on."

She chuckled but took the shirt, slow and deliberate as she pulled it over her head. I turned away, suddenly very interested in the stack of books on my shelf.

I heard the rustle of fabric, the soft sigh as she settled into the couch.

"You're cute when you're flustered," she said, amusement thick in her voice.

I clenched my jaw. "Go to sleep, Lingling."

She only chuckled again, softer this time.

"Goodnight, Orm."

I didn't answer.

Because my heart was still racing.

The moment Lingling closed her eyes, exhaustion sinking into her sharp features, I exhaled and ran a hand through my hair.

She looked softer like this—without the weight of the world pressing on her shoulders, without the sharp, knowing smirk she always wore like armor.

I should let her rest.

But there was no way I was letting her sleep on my couch.

I crossed my arms. "Get up."

Lingling barely stirred, only cracking one eye open. "Hmm?"

I frowned. "You're not sleeping here. You need a proper bed."

Her lips quirked. "Are you offering to sleep with me?"

I sighed, unamused. "I'm offering my bed. You are sleeping in it. I will take the couch."

Her brow arched. "That doesn't seem fair, doctor. I was the one who got stabbed."

"Exactly. So don't make this difficult."

Lingling studied me, her dark eyes flickering with something unreadable before she slowly—painfully—sat up. I moved to help, but she waved me off, exhaling sharply.

"Alright, alright," she muttered, standing on shaky legs. "But only because you look like you'll start scolding me again if I refuse."

I rolled my eyes but led her to my room anyway.

Lingling stood at the doorway, scanning the space. She hadn't been in here before—hadn't seen the soft glow of my bedside lamp, the books stacked on the nightstand, the thick blankets I liked to curl up under when it rained.

It felt weirdly intimate.

But I ignored that.

"Lie down," I instructed, pulling back the blankets.

She did, moving slower than usual, adjusting to the discomfort of her wound. Once she was settled, I stepped back, feeling a strange unease settle in my stomach.

She looked too natural there.

Like she belonged.

I cleared my throat. "I'll be outside if you need anything."

Lingling's lips curved slightly, but she said nothing. Just watched as I turned off the light and stepped back into the living room.

I collapsed onto the couch, exhaling.

This is fine.

She's resting. She's safe. That's all that matters.

I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come.

But it didn't.

The clock on the wall ticked softly, filling the silence of my dimly lit apartment. I turned onto my side, staring at the ceiling, the couch doing nothing to ease my restlessness.

No matter how much I willed myself to sleep, my mind wouldn't quiet.

I could feel her presence.

Just beyond the thin walls, Lingling was lying in my bed. Her scent—something rich and subtly spiced—still clung to my shirt from when I helped her change. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way she had looked at me earlier.

The way her dark eyes had traced my face.

The way her breath had caught when my fingers skimmed over her skin.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my face into the pillow. Stop thinking about it.

But it was impossible.

She was too much.

Too close yet so untouchable.

I sighed, throwing off the blanket. Maybe a glass of water would help.

I padded toward the kitchen, moving as quietly as possible. But as I passed my bedroom door, I hesitated.

Something felt off.

I turned the knob, peeking in.

Lingling was still on the bed, but she wasn't asleep.

Her head was turned toward the window, her brows slightly furrowed, as if lost in thought. The moonlight cut across her features, softening the sharp angles of her face.

She looked... vulnerable.

Not like the feared mafia leader.

Not like the woman who moved with lethal precision.

Just a girl—wounded and alone in the dim glow of my bedroom.

I should leave.

But before I could, she spoke.

"Can't sleep either?"

Her voice was lower than usual, quieter.

I hesitated, then sighed. "No."

Lingling's lips curved faintly, but there was something sad about it. She gestured toward the empty space beside her.

"Stay."

I stiffened. "What?"

She turned her head fully, meeting my eyes. There was no teasing in her gaze this time—just something real.

"Just for tonight," she murmured. "No games. No pushing each other away. Just..."

She trailed off, looking almost uncertain.

Something in me ached.

I shouldn't.

I really, really shouldn't.

But before I could stop myself, my feet moved.

I crossed the room, hesitating only a second before slipping under the covers, keeping a careful distance.

Lingling let out a quiet exhale, shifting slightly but not closing the space between us.

Silence stretched, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside.

Then—softly, barely above a whisper—she spoke.

"Thank you, Orm."

I swallowed, staring up at the ceiling.

I shouldn't care about her.

But somehow, I did.

The room was still, save for the rhythmic rise and fall of our breaths. I had meant to keep my distance, but I couldn't help it—my eyes kept drifting toward her.

Lingling looked different like this. The usual sharpness in her features had softened, her face relaxed against the pillow. In sleep, she almost looked... peaceful. Almost.

But she wasn't fully asleep.

Her breathing was steady, but her dark eyes were open—watching me.

Neither of us spoke.

Neither of us needed to.

There was something between us, something unspoken that hovered in the quiet space we shared.

Without thinking, I reached out, my fingers moving before my mind could catch up.

I brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. My fingertips barely grazed her skin, but it sent something sharp and electric through my chest.

Lingling's breath hitched, her eyes never leaving mine.

I should have pulled away.

I should have.

But instead, I stayed there, caught in the weight of her gaze—like a silent conversation was unfolding between us.

Do you feel this too?

Lingling exhaled slowly, something shifting in her expression. It was raw, open, vulnerable in a way I had never seen before.

I didn't know what came over me, but suddenly, I moved closer.

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her against me.

She didn't resist.

Instead, she melted into me, her body fitting against mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her head rested against my chest, and I felt more than heard her sigh—a soft, tired sound that made something deep inside me tighten.

Her arms slipped around my waist, her grip light but there.

I swallowed hard, my fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles against her back.

Lingling, the Lingling, was cuddling into me like a sleepy puppy, warm and trusting.

And I was letting her.

I should have questioned it. I should have pushed her away, reminded myself who she was, what she was.

But all I could do was close my eyes and let myself hold her a little tighter.

Just for tonight.

For a long moment, I just lay there, listening to the soft hum of Lingling's breath, the warmth of her body pressed against mine. It was strange—too strange—how easily she fit against me, how natural it felt to hold her like this.

Then I felt it.

The quick, uneven rhythm of her heartbeat against my chest.

At first, I thought I was imagining it, but no—her heart was pounding. Fast, unsteady, almost nervous.

I frowned, shifting slightly. "Lingling?" I murmured, my voice softer than I intended.

She didn't answer right away.

I pulled back just enough to glance down at her. Her face was turned toward my collarbone, but I could see the way her jaw tightened, the way her fingers curled slightly against my shirt as if she was holding back something.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, concern creeping into my voice.

Lingling let out a breath—shallow, controlled. "No," she said, but it was a lie. I could hear it in the way her voice wavered slightly, could feel it in the way she tensed under my touch.

I pulled back even more, tilting her chin up gently with my fingers. "You're a terrible liar," I said, studying her face.

Her dark eyes flickered, sharp and unreadable at first. But then—just for a second—something shifted. A crack in her usual mask.

Something vulnerable.

Something undeniably real.

"I—" she started, but then stopped herself, swallowing hard. Her eyes searched mine, as if trying to decide whether to say whatever was on her mind or keep it buried.

I wasn't sure which answer I wanted more.

Her heartbeat was still fast, still erratic against my skin. It was unlike her. This wasn't the powerful, unshakable Lingling that everyone feared. This wasn't the ruthless mafia leader who moved with precision and controlled every situation around her.

This was something else.

Something uncertain.

Something that made my own heart stutter in response.

I didn't push her.

Instead, I whispered, "You can tell me."

Her eyes softened for just a fraction of a second.

For a moment, there was only silence. Lingling's fingers gripped the fabric of my shirt, holding onto me like I was something solid, something safe.

Then, in a voice quieter than I had ever heard from her, she whispered, "I feel safe like this."

I felt my breath catch.

It wasn't just the words—it was the way she said them. The way her voice wavered ever so slightly, like she wasn't used to saying them out loud.

Lingling pulled back just enough to look at me, and that's when I saw it.

Her brown eyes, usually so guarded, so unreadable, were glistening. Not quite crying, but—close.

"I've never really felt safe before," she admitted, voice almost fragile. "Not really."

I frowned, my chest tightening.

She let out a small breath—almost a laugh, but it was bitter. "My whole life, people have treated me like something to be used. Or feared. Or... destroyed."

Her grip on me tightened. "I was raised to be sharp. To be ruthless. I got beaten in the streets when I was younger—had to learn how to fight before I learned how to trust. My parents... they never really saw me as a daughter. Just an investment. Something to shape into a perfect heir."

I could feel my jaw clench, anger simmering beneath my skin at the thought. But I didn't speak. I just let her talk.

"And love?" she let out a quiet scoff, shaking her head. "Love never came without conditions. My past relationships—" she exhaled, as if forcing herself to continue, "—they only ever wanted the power that came with me. Or they wanted to tame me. Control me."

She finally looked back up at me, her gaze piercing. "But you... somehow, you make me forget all of it."

Her words sent something achingly warm through me, settling deep in my chest.

I lifted a hand, hesitantly brushing my fingers against her cheek. "Lingling..."

She leaned into the touch, just barely.

Her breathing was slow, measured. But her heartbeat—still fast.

"I don't know why," she admitted, voice softer than ever. "But when I'm with you, I don't feel like I have to be that person. I don't feel like I have to wear the mask."

I didn't know what to say.

So instead, I just held her.

And for once, Lingling let herself be held.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of Lingling's words settle in my chest.

She was always so composed, so sharp-edged and untouchable—but here, in my arms, she was something else entirely. Soft. Vulnerable. Real.

I hesitated, then let my fingers brush over her back in slow, careful strokes, as if grounding her.

"You don't have to be anything with me," I whispered, voice steady but gentle. "You don't have to fight. You don't have to prove anything. Just... breathe, Lingling."

Her eyes flickered up to mine, something unreadable swimming in their depths.

I could feel how tense she was, even as she let herself lean against me. As if she didn't quite know how to let go.

I hesitated again before murmuring, "I'm just a doctor. I probably shouldn't be saying this, but... I'm here."

Lingling let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "You say that like it's nothing," she muttered, almost to herself. "But it's not."

I exhaled slowly, carefully.

I had been telling myself—over and over—that this was just me treating a patient. Just me helping someone in pain.

But the way she was looking at me now...

The way her fingers clung just a little tighter to my sleeve, like she was afraid I would disappear...

I was fooling myself.

I cleared my throat, straightening a little, trying to keep the moment from slipping too far. "You should rest," I murmured instead, my voice quieter now. "You need to heal."

Lingling's lips twitched into something almost like a smirk. "You're always so proper," she murmured, voice laced with something teasing but warm.

I rolled my eyes but didn't let go of her just yet.

After a beat, Lingling shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at me properly. Her fingers loosened on my sleeve, but she didn't step away.

"Orm," she murmured, and my breath hitched.

I blinked. "Yeah?"

Her lips parted slightly, as if she was about to say something—something important.

But then, she hesitated.

And instead of speaking, she just looked at me. Long enough to make my pulse stutter, long enough to make the air between us change.

Then, finally, she whispered, "Goodnight."

I exhaled slowly, nodding. "Goodnight, Lingling."

She didn't move right away.

But then, after one last lingering glance, she finally settled against the pillow, closing her eyes.

And as I stood there, watching her, I realized something I shouldn't have.

I had been trying so hard to keep her at a distance.

But somehow, without me even noticing—

Lingling had already gotten too close.