Chapter 8

I stayed there for a while, watching the way Lingling's breathing evened out, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way the tension in her face finally smoothed as she let herself rest.

She looked... peaceful. Like she belonged here.

I swallowed the thought down and finally forced myself to turn away.

I was a doctor.

I was just doing what any doctor would do—making sure my patient was okay. That's all this was.

So why did my chest feel tight?

I settled onto the couch, lying on my back and staring up at the ceiling, trying to will away the warmth lingering in my skin from our earlier embrace.

I needed to sleep.

But every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was her.

Her sharp, calculating gaze that softened when she looked at me.

Her voice, usually so smooth and commanding, shaking ever so slightly when she whispered about her past.

Her heartbeat, wild and fast against my chest.

I exhaled sharply and ran a hand through my hair.

This was dangerous.

Lingling wasn't just some girl I could fall into so easily. She was one of the most powerful—and dangerous—people in the country.

And yet...

When she looked at me with those guarded, longing eyes, all I wanted was to let her in.

...

I must've fallen asleep at some point because the next thing I knew, the soft rays of morning light were spilling into the apartment, casting a warm glow over everything.

I pushed myself up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I walked toward my bedroom door. Just as I reached for the handle, the door swung open.

And there she was.

Dressed in my oversized hoodie and a pair of my sweatpants—which were slightly too long for her legs.

I blinked, caught completely off guard. Lingling—cold, dangerous, mafia leader Lingling—looked... domestic.

Her hair was slightly damp, like she had just washed her face, and she was holding a mug of coffee in one hand.

For a second, I just... stared.

She raised a brow. "Morning, doctor."

I blinked again, shaking myself out of it. "Morning," I muttered, crossing my arms. "You're up early."

She smirked, stepping past me into the room. "Old habits."

I narrowed my eyes at her. Something was different.

She seemed lighter.

Less guarded.

Less like the untouchable mafia leader and more like... someone I could actually reach.

I hesitated before finally asking, "How are you feeling?"

Lingling took a slow sip of her coffee before answering. "Better."

Her voice was quiet, but the way she looked at me when she said it—like she meant it in more ways than one—made my stomach flip.

I swallowed. This was dangerous.

And yet, as she sat on the edge of my bed, looking up at me with something warm in her usually cold eyes...

I didn't want to run.

I cleared my throat, pushing past the strange warmth spreading through my chest. Focus.

"If you're staying here for the morning, you might as well eat something," I said, shifting on my feet. "I'll make breakfast."

Lingling tilted her head, watching me with an unreadable expression. Then, to my surprise, she smiled. A small, amused curve of her lips—real, not the usual smirks she wore like armor.

"You're going to cook for me?" she asked, leaning back slightly, her posture relaxed in a way I rarely saw.

I rolled my eyes. "It's just breakfast, not a five-star meal."

Her smile didn't fade. "Still... no one's ever offered to cook for me before."

I hesitated at that, the casual way she said it making something uncomfortable settle in my stomach.

No one?

Not her family, not a past lover?

Just how alone had she been?

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just turned toward the kitchen. "Well, I hope you like eggs and toast, because that's what you're getting."

Lingling chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as she followed me. "Sounds perfect."

⸻

The kitchen was quiet except for the faint crackling of eggs in the pan. Lingling leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee as she watched me move around.

It was strange, having her here—in my home, wearing my clothes, waiting for me to make her breakfast.

I wasn't sure what this was.

What we were.

But for once, it didn't feel like we were dancing around sharp edges. It felt... normal.

And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.

The scent of butter and eggs filled the kitchen, warmth radiating from the stove as I flipped the toast onto a plate. Lingling stood across from me, her arms crossed over her chest, her dark eyes lazily following my every movement.

She was still in my clothes—my hoodie hanging loosely off her frame, the sleeves slightly too long for her arms. It was almost comical, seeing the infamous Lingling, feared by so many, drowning in soft cotton like she belonged here.

I caught her smirking and narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"You," she said simply, sipping her coffee. "I didn't think the serious Dr. Kornnaphat knew how to make breakfast."

I scoffed, dropping the spatula onto the counter with an exaggerated motion. "Excuse me? What do you think I eat every morning? Air?"

She shrugged, looking entirely too entertained. "I don't know, maybe you just live off caffeine and pure determination."

I rolled my eyes, turning back to the stove. "You have way too much to say for someone who nearly bled out on my floor last night."

Lingling chuckled, low and smooth. "And yet, here I am, very much alive and watching you struggle to make toast."

I gasped, turning toward her with mock offense. "I will have you know I am excellent at making toast."

She raised a perfectly arched brow. "That so?"

"Absolutely." I slid the plate toward her with a flourish. "Try it and weep, Miss Mafia Queen."

Lingling bit back a laugh but took a bite anyway. She chewed thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her coffee mug. I waited, crossing my arms expectantly.

Finally, she swallowed and nodded, like she was making a grand declaration. "Not bad."

"Not bad?" I repeated, aghast.

She smirked. "A little burnt, but not bad."

I grabbed the nearest kitchen towel and threw it at her. Lingling dodged effortlessly, her laughter warm and genuine. It was an unfamiliar sound—one I didn't realize I wanted to hear more of.

And just like that, the morning stretched between us, easy and unguarded, like we'd known each other for years instead of just a month.

Like, for once, there was no mafia, no blood, no boundaries—just her and me, in my kitchen, laughing over breakfast.

...

The warmth of breakfast still lingered in the air, but something heavier settled between us as I grabbed the first-aid kit from the counter. I turned back to see Lingling casually pulling the hoodie over her head, revealing the toned lines of her stomach, the smooth curve of her waist.

I swallowed.

The hoodie was mine, but seeing it leave her body felt different. Maybe it was the way the morning light traced over her skin, highlighting the old scars that told stories I didn't know yet. Or maybe it was the way she didn't look away, her dark eyes locked onto mine as if she could hear my thoughts.

Lingling sat on the counter, leaning back on her palms, completely unbothered by the way my eyes lingered for a second too long.

"Something wrong, doctor?" she murmured, her voice low, teasing.

I blinked, snapping out of it. "Nothing," I muttered quickly, shaking my head as I stepped closer. Too close. I could feel the heat of her skin now, smell the faint trace of my detergent mixed with the lingering scent of her own perfume.

She smirked, clearly enjoying this.

I ignored her and focused on the wound, fingers ghosting over the bandage. "I need to check if it's healing properly," I murmured, peeling the tape away. Lingling didn't even flinch.

But I did.

Because now, my hands were on her.

I knew I was supposed to be focusing on the wound, on the past stitches, on the fact that she had barely rested enough for proper healing—but my gaze kept betraying me.

My fingers brushed against her bare waist, and I felt her muscles tense slightly beneath my touch. She was warm, impossibly so, and suddenly, it didn't feel like I was tending to a patient. It felt like something else entirely.

Lingling's eyes softened, the teasing glint fading into something heavier, something I wasn't sure I was ready to name. "You're staring, Orm."

My breath caught.

"I'm not," I lied.

She tilted her head, studying me, like she knew I was lying but wasn't going to call me out on it. Not yet.

I focused on applying fresh ointment, forcing myself to keep my hands steady despite how distracting she was. The heat between us only grew stronger, thickening the air, making my throat dry.

I cleared it. "It's healing fine," I said, stepping back, needing space. "Just don't do anything reckless."

Lingling smiled, slow and knowing, like she had already won something. "No promises."

I rolled my eyes, turning away to put the kit back, but I could still feel her gaze burning into me.

The tension still clung to the air between us, even as I forced myself to step back, to reclaim the space that had blurred too much just moments ago. Lingling hadn't moved from the counter, her sharp eyes still watching me like she was studying every small shift in my expression.

I cleared my throat, grabbing a clean towel to wipe my hands, using the small action as an excuse to regain control of my thoughts. "I have to head to the clinic soon," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "I can drop you off on the way, if you want."

The second the words left my mouth, I realized how risky of an offer it was.

Lingling wasn't just anyone.

A mafia leader didn't let people know where they lived—especially not someone who, in her world, was an outsider. Someone who wasn't supposed to be this close.

I expected her to refuse. To smirk and say something dismissive, to slip back into the untouchable version of herself that she showed the rest of the world.

But instead, she just... looked at me.

Something shifted in her gaze, something unreadable but softer than I'd ever seen before. And then, to my absolute surprise—

"Alright," she said, sliding off the counter. "Take me home."

I blinked. "Wait. Seriously?"

Her lips curved into something small—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. "You offered, didn't you?"

I had no argument for that, so I just grabbed my keys, still thrown off by her answer.

As we stepped outside, the air was crisp, the sun shining lazily down on the quiet street. I glanced at Lingling beside me—bare-faced, still wearing my hoodie, looking more like a normal person than the dangerous woman the world feared.

It felt... strange. Almost intimate.

She slid into the passenger seat without a word, her bodyguards nowhere in sight for once. Like she trusted me.

I got in, started the car, and as I pulled out onto the road, I could feel her gaze on me again. Watching. Studying.

I didn't ask why.

And she didn't explain.

But as I drove through the city, heading toward a destination I never expected to be given, I knew something had shifted between us. Something irreversible.

The soft hum of the engine filled the silence between us as I drove through the early morning streets, the city slowly waking up around us.

Lingling sat beside me, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp, watching the world pass by outside the window. She still had my hoodie on, the sleeves slightly too long for her, but it did nothing to hide the quiet power that clung to her presence.

I hesitated before speaking, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. "You should put your address into the maps app," I said, keeping my voice casual. "I don't exactly know where I'm going."

For a second, Lingling didn't react.

And then she turned to look at me.

The weight of her gaze was heavy, assessing. Like she was trying to decide something.

I didn't push. I just kept my hands steady on the wheel, waiting.

Then, in a slow, deliberate movement, she reached for my phone in the cup holder. Her fingers brushed against mine briefly before she pulled back, unlocking the screen with ease.

The silence stretched as she typed in the address.

And then she handed the phone back to me.

I glanced at the screen, my breath catching slightly when I saw where she lived—one of the most high-end, heavily secured areas in the city.

Of course.

I shouldn't have expected anything less.

"You trust me enough to know where you live?" I asked, trying to keep the question light, but there was something deeper laced within it.

Lingling didn't answer right away.

Instead, she turned back to the window, her fingers absently toying with the hem of my hoodie sleeve. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than usual.

"I wouldn't be in this car if I didn't," she said simply.

Something in my chest tightened.

I didn't reply. I just turned my attention back to the road, following the directions on the screen.

The drive stretched on in comfortable silence, the city blurring past us as I followed the directions on the screen. Lingling hadn't said anything since her quiet admission, but I could feel her presence beside me—strong, unwavering, yet softer than before.

I stole a glance at her.

She was leaning slightly against the window, her sharp eyes scanning the roads ahead, as if she were still on alert. But there was a calmness in her expression, something almost unguarded. The sleeves of my hoodie were still bunched around her fingers, and for some reason, that sight made something stir inside me.

Trust.

She said she wouldn't be in this car if she didn't trust me.

And for someone like Lingling—a woman who had built her world on power, secrecy, and control—that meant something.

I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

The GPS finally guided me into an area I recognized but had never stepped foot in before—one of the most expensive, well-guarded residential districts in the city. Instead of houses, towering high-rises with private elevators and rooftop helipads dominated the skyline. This wasn't just wealth. It was power. The kind that didn't need to be flaunted because it was understood.

Of course, this was where Lingling lived.

I pulled up to the entrance of one of the sleekest skyscrapers in the district, its reflective glass exterior revealing nothing of what lay inside. Two men in black suits stood at the private entrance, their gazes flicking toward the car the moment we approached. They didn't even hesitate before stepping aside, letting us through. No questions asked.

I swallowed. They knew this car.

I put the car in park and let out a breath.

Lingling finally moved. She reached for the door handle but then hesitated, her fingers resting lightly against the metal. Instead of getting out, she turned to me.

I met her gaze.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

Something lingered between us, something unfinished, like a thread waiting to be pulled.

Then, Lingling's lips curled into something almost amused. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts. "Well," I exhaled, shaking my head, "I don't usually drop off my patients at heavily guarded residences."

Lingling's smirk deepened. "Then I suppose I'm your first."

There was a teasing glint in her eyes, but beneath it, something else lurked.

I didn't let myself dwell on it.

She finally opened the door, stepping out of the car with the kind of effortless grace only she could manage—even with an injury. Her bodyguards were already waiting at the entrance, but Lingling didn't acknowledge them right away.

Instead, she looked back at me, resting one hand lightly on the door.

"...Thank you," she said, voice quieter than before.

I should've just nodded. Should've let her walk away.

But I found myself speaking instead. "Are you going to be okay?"

Lingling stilled.

For a moment, something flickered across her expression—so fast I almost missed it.

Then, just as quickly, the mask returned. She smirked, tapping the car door lightly with her fingers. "Don't miss me too much, Doctor."

And with that, she turned and walked toward her house, disappearing past the doors without looking back.

I sat there for a second longer than I should have, staring after her.

Then, with a deep breath, I put the car into drive and pulled away.

But the feeling in my chest stayed.

The city passed by in a blur as I drove, but my mind wasn't on the road.

It was on her.

On the way her eyes softened when she looked at me. The way she clutched the sleeves of my hoodie like it was something precious. The way she lingered in the car, as if she didn't want to leave just yet.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter.

My heart had been too loud around Lingling lately. Too restless. Too unpredictable.

And that wasn't normal.

Not for me.

I had spent so much time trying to keep a professional distance, to convince myself that Lingling was just a patient, someone I was obligated to take care of. But then she would go and look at me like that. Or let her guard down, even just for a second, and suddenly—I was lost.

And worse?

I didn't hate the feeling.

I exhaled, drumming my fingers against the wheel as I stopped at a red light.

Lingling made me feel... safe.

It didn't make sense. She was one of the most dangerous people in this country. A woman who could take a life without hesitation, whose presence alone demanded fear and respect.

And yet, when I was with her, I felt—protected.

Not just physically, but completely. Like nothing in the world could touch me as long as she was there.

I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated at myself.

When did this happen?

When did Lingling become the person who made my heart beat like this? Who made me feel seen?

Who made me feel... wanted?

The light turned green, and I exhaled sharply before pressing on the gas.

I needed to stop thinking about this.

I had a clinic to run. Patients to see.

But as I pulled into the parking lot, turning off the car, my fingers lingered over the keys.

Because deep down, I knew the truth.

No matter how much I tried to deny it,

Lingling wasn't just a patient to me anymore.

...

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden hue over the city, I leaned back in my chair, exhaling deeply. For the first time in a while, the weight on my shoulders felt a little lighter. The clinic had been running smoothly today—no urgent cases, no financial stress pressing down on me like before.

I stared at my desk, absentmindedly tapping my fingers against the polished wood. A lot has happened.

Too much, actually.

Lingling. The way she made me feel. The way my heart wouldn't stop acting up around her.

I shook my head and reached for my phone. There was only one person I could talk to about this without losing my mind.

I scrolled through my contacts and pressed Becky's name.

The phone rang twice before her familiar, cheerful voice filled my ear. "Orm! Finally, you call me first! You missed me, huh?"

I rolled my eyes, smiling. "A lot has happened, Becky. Let's meet up?"

There was a brief pause before she spoke, her tone shifting slightly. "Oh? That serious? Now I'm curious. Name the place, I'm already putting on my shoes."

I chuckled, relieved that she didn't even hesitate. That was Becky for you—always ready. Always there.

I glanced at my watch. "How about that bar near your place? The one with the rooftop?"

"Done. See you in twenty. And Orm?"

"Yeah?"

"If this is about a certain dangerously hot woman in a suit, you owe me a drink."

I groaned, but Becky only laughed before hanging up.

Shaking my head, I grabbed my bag and stood up, already knowing this conversation was about to be a long one.

The cool evening air brushed against my skin as I stepped out of the clinic, my mind still tangled in thoughts of Lingling. No matter how much I tried to push them away, they lingered—her sharp gaze softening only for me, the way she teased but always made sure I was comfortable, the warmth of her body curled against mine that night.

I exhaled sharply. This is dangerous.

By the time I arrived at the rooftop bar, Becky was already there, leaning back in her chair with a smug grin, a cocktail in hand. She wore a casual oversized blazer over her crop top, her dark eyes glinting with mischief.

"You're late, doctor." She raised her glass. "I was starting to think you chickened out."

Rolling my eyes, I slid into the seat across from her. "I was working, Becky. Some of us have jobs that actually require effort."

She snorted. "Right, and some of us don't spend our free time babysitting mafia queens."

I tensed, and Becky caught it instantly. She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Oh my god. It really is about her, isn't it? What happened?"

I hesitated, suddenly unsure where to start. With the dinner? The night she stumbled into my apartment, bleeding? The way she looked at me this morning, wearing my hoodie like it belonged to her?

Becky wasn't known for patience. She slammed her drink down lightly, making the ice clink. "Orm. Spill. Right now."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "She... stayed over."

Becky blinked. "Excuse me?"

I waved my hands before she could jump to conclusions. "It's not like that! She was stabbed, Becky. She showed up at my place barely standing. What was I supposed to do? Slam the door in her face?"

Her expression softened just a little. "Damn. That bad?"

I nodded, tracing the rim of my glass. "Yeah. I treated her, she stayed the night, and then... I don't know. Things feel different now."

Becky leaned in closer, smirking. "Different how? Like, 'Oh no, I accidentally fell in love with a dangerous woman' different?"

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "I don't know, Becky. I just—she makes me feel..." I struggled for words, feeling the weight of my own emotions pressing down on me. "Safe. And at the same time, completely on edge. She's—"

"Obsessed with you? Yeah, I noticed." Becky took a sip of her drink. "I mean, I get it. You're hot. But the way she chases you? That's not just attraction, Orm. That's something else."

I stayed silent, Becky's words sinking in.

"And you?" she asked, tilting her head. "Are you just her doctor? Or is there something more?"

I exhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around my glass. "I don't know. But... I think I want to find out."

Becky leaned forward, eyes gleaming with excitement as I hesitated. I knew that once I said it out loud, there was no taking it back.

Still, I sighed and took a sip of my drink before placing it down carefully, my fingers tracing the condensation on the glass. "Yesterday..." I exhaled. "It was different. After I treated her wound, she—" I swallowed, the memory making my stomach twist. "She let her guard down in a way I don't think she's ever done before."

Becky's smirk faded slightly. "What do you mean?"

I leaned back against my chair, staring at the city lights beyond the rooftop. "She told me she felt safe in my arms." The words tasted strange coming out of my mouth, like they weren't meant to be spoken but kept locked away. "She talked about her past—how she never really got love, how she was always treated sharply. And she said that when she's with me, she forgets everything."

Becky blinked, her teasing expression softening into something else—something that looked like concern.

I laughed weakly, shaking my head. "And you know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

"I hugged her." My voice was quiet, as if admitting it too loudly would make it more real. "I couldn't stop myself. She looked so... vulnerable, Becky. I've never seen her like that. Never imagined her like that. And then she just—she melted into me. Like she'd been waiting for someone to hold her."

Becky exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Shit, Orm."

I laughed, though it lacked humor. "Yeah."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The noise of the bar buzzed around us—music, chatter, the clinking of glasses—but I felt distant from all of it. Lingling's words, her warmth, the rapid beat of her heart against mine—it was all I could think about.

"You're in deep," Becky finally said, breaking the silence.

I dragged a hand down my face. "I know."

She tilted her head. "What are you gonna do about it?"

That was the real question, wasn't it? Because no matter how much I tried to tell myself this was just a complicated situation—just a matter of circumstance—I knew better. Lingling wasn't just a patient. She wasn't just some dangerous woman tangled in a world I didn't belong to.

She was Lingling—sharp, unreadable, and terrifying. But with me... she was something else entirely.

And I didn't know if I could ignore it any longer.

Becky frowned, stirring her drink absentmindedly. "Orm, have you ever thought about why Lingling keeps getting hurt?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

She gave me a look. "Come on. Not even a month ago, she got shot. And now she's stabbed? That's not normal, Orm. Even for her."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "I—she never really tells me anything. Whenever I ask, she just shrugs it off. Says something like 'occupational hazard' or jokes about how she's 'just bad at dodging.'" I huffed, shaking my head. "It's like she doesn't want me to worry."

Becky's gaze sharpened. "Maybe she doesn't. But Orm, you're a doctor, not some clueless outsider. You know this isn't some random bad luck. Someone's coming for her."

I swallowed hard, gripping my glass. "I know."

And I did. I wasn't naïve. Lingling was one of the most dangerous people in the country—her name alone was enough to make people whisper in fear. But even so, something about this felt... off.

I looked at Becky, suddenly needing to voice the thoughts that had been gnawing at me. "I don't think it's just business," I admitted. "It feels personal."

Becky's expression turned grim. "Then she's in more danger than she's letting on."

That thought made my stomach twist. I thought back to last night—how she looked, barely standing at my door, blood staining her white shirt. How she let herself rest in my arms for once, her heartbeat fast and erratic, like she had been holding back everything until she couldn't anymore.

And I hadn't pressed her for details.

I exhaled sharply, leaning forward. "I need to talk to her."

Becky raised a brow. "Are you sure she'll even tell you?"

That was the problem, wasn't it? Lingling never gave away more than she wanted to. But I had to try. Because whether I liked it or not, I cared. And if she kept getting hurt like this, if someone was really out to destroy her—I needed to know.

And maybe... just maybe, she needed someone to fight for her, too.

I exhaled sharply, realizing how tense I'd become. The weight of Lingling's situation sat heavy on my chest, but I needed a break from thinking about it—just for a moment. I glanced at Becky, a sly smirk creeping onto my lips.

"Enough about me," I said, swirling my drink. "Let's talk about you. And Freen."

Becky, who had been sipping her cocktail, choked.

"Excuse me?" she coughed, setting her glass down with wide eyes.

I raised a brow. "You heard me. Your mysterious 'situationship' with your very powerful, very hot boss." I leaned in, grinning. "So? Spill."

Becky groaned, rubbing her forehead like I was the biggest headache she'd ever had. "Orm. We're not talking about this."

"Oh, we absolutely are."

She sighed, slumping back against her chair. "There's nothing to tell."

I gave her a deadpan look. "Becky."

"Okay, fine." She huffed, crossing her arms. "It's complicated."

I snorted. "Of course it is. It's you."

She rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. "Freen is... intense."

I tilted my head, intrigued. "Intense how?"

Becky hesitated, her fingers tapping against the glass. "She doesn't do things halfway. When she wants something, she owns it. Controls it. And sometimes..." Her voice dropped slightly. "I feel like I'm just another thing she wants to control."

I blinked, my teasing smile fading. "Becks..."

She quickly shook her head. "No, not in a bad way. It's just—she's my boss, Orm. And she's... well, her. Every time I think I know what she wants from me, she pulls back. Like she's trying to keep things professional, but then she'll turn around and do something that makes it clear she doesn't want that at all."

I exhaled, understanding more than I wanted to. "Sounds familiar," I muttered.

Becky gave me a pointed look. "Oh? Are we talking about Lingling again?"

I scowled. "Focus."

She snickered, but her face softened. "I don't know what to do, Orm. I like her. A lot. But it's risky, and I don't know if I'm just setting myself up to get burned."

I thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "So ask her. What does she want? Where does she see this going?"

Becky let out a dry laugh. "You think I haven't tried? She avoids the question every time."

I sighed. "Then maybe it's time to stop waiting for her to make a move. Maybe you need to decide what you want."

Becky stared at me for a long moment, then groaned and rubbed her temples. "I hate when you make sense."

I smirked, raising my glass. "I know."

We clinked drinks, the tension from earlier easing just a little. But even as we moved on to other topics, laughing and teasing like always, my mind still lingered on Lingling.

And on the feeling that something bigger was coming.

After a few more drinks and plenty of teasing, Becky and I finally left the bar. The night air was crisp, cooling my slightly flushed skin from the alcohol. We hugged goodbye, and I slipped into my Mercedes, exhaling as I rested my forehead against the steering wheel for a second.

Lingering thoughts of Lingling still clung to my mind.

I'd spent all evening trying to push them away, but it was useless.

Her words from the night before kept repeating in my head. 'I've always been treated sharply. Beaten in the streets. No true love from my parents, my past relationships... but you... you make me forget everything.'

I gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Why did that make my chest ache so much?

With a deep sigh, I started the car and drove home, hoping the drive would clear my head.

But as soon as I pulled into my apartment's parking lot, my phone vibrated.

I frowned, glancing at the screen.

Unknown Number.

I hesitated. I wasn't in the mood for a scam call or some patient emergency. But something in my gut told me to answer.

I swiped to accept. "Hello?"

There was silence for a second. Then a familiar voice—low, smooth, but carrying a weight I couldn't quite place.

"Orm."

I froze.

"...Lingling?"

I heard a quiet exhale, almost like a relieved sigh. "Yeah. It's me."

I immediately sat up straighter. "Why are you calling me from an unknown number?"

A slight pause. "I'm... being careful."

That answer sent a chill down my spine.

I climbed out of my car, quickly locking it behind me as I hurried toward my apartment. "Lingling, what's going on?"

Her voice remained steady, but I could hear the strain underneath. "I need to see you."

My heart skipped.

I slowed my steps. "Now?"

"Yes."

I swallowed, already knowing my answer before I even spoke. "Come over."

"I'll be there soon."

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone for a moment before stuffing it into my pocket and rushing inside. My body was already moving on instinct—straightening up my living room, setting a glass of water on the coffee table like it was some sort of offering.

But deep inside, I knew this wasn't just a casual visit.

Something had happened.

And Lingling—one of the most dangerous people in the country, someone who never showed weakness—was coming to me.

I didn't know if I was ready.

But I wasn't going to turn her away.

I paced my living room, trying to shake off the growing unease curling in my stomach. Why did she sound like that? Lingling was always composed, always in control. Even when she joked, there was always a calculated sharpness beneath it.

But tonight... there was something else in her voice.

Something close to desperation.

I had barely sat down when a soft knock echoed through my apartment.

My pulse jumped.

I rushed to the door, my fingers hesitating on the handle for just a second before pulling it open.

And there she was.

Lingling stood in the dim hallway, her black coat slightly askew, dampened at the edges as if she had walked through the night air for too long. Her eyes—always sharp, always unreadable—looked softer, but there was something dark swirling beneath them.

She looked... exhausted.

And for the first time since I met her, she looked lost.

I stepped aside immediately. "Come in."

She didn't move at first. Just stood there, staring at me like she was trying to find something in my face.

Then, finally, she stepped inside.

I shut the door behind her, watching as she exhaled slowly, her posture still tense.

"Sit," I said gently, gesturing to the couch. "Do you want some water?"

Lingling didn't sit. She just stood there, still staring at me like she was trying to decide something.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"I almost killed him today."