Chapter 9

"I almost killed him today."

The words hit me like ice water.

I stiffened. "Who?"

Her lips parted like she was about to answer—but then she hesitated, exhaling through her nose.

Instead of answering, she took a step toward me.

I didn't move.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, like she wanted to reach out but was fighting the urge.

"Orm." Her voice was lower now. Quieter. "I don't know why I came here."

I swallowed, my chest tightening. "But you did."

Lingling exhaled sharply, like she was frustrated. "Yeah. I did."

Silence stretched between us.

I knew I should be asking more questions. I should be pressing her about what happened tonight, about who she almost killed and why she was standing in my apartment looking like she was unraveling.

But instead, I just reached forward and grabbed her wrist.

Her breath caught.

I didn't pull her. I didn't say anything. I just held her wrist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers.

Lingling stared down at where I touched her, and for a second, I thought she was going to pull away.

But she didn't.

Instead, she took the smallest step forward—so close that I could feel the warmth of her body, so close that I could see every detail of her face, the tired shadows beneath her eyes, the way her lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"You're safe here," I murmured.

Lingling closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they were softer than I had ever seen them.

"...I don't feel safe anywhere but here," she admitted, so quietly I almost didn't hear it.

And that was the moment I realized—

I was falling.

Hard.

I sat beside Lingling on the couch, keeping a careful distance even though the air between us felt charged, thick with something unsaid. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, fingers threading through her long black hair in frustration.

For the first time since I'd met her, she looked... vulnerable.

She didn't speak right away, but I could tell her mind was racing. I watched the way her jaw tightened, the way her fingers twitched against her temples.

Finally, she exhaled.

"I almost killed him tonight."

I felt my stomach twist.

I knew exactly who she was talking about, even though she never said his name.

I didn't react immediately. I just watched her, waiting for her to continue.

Lingling tilted her head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as she let out a humorless chuckle. "I was inside his house. Right there. I could've done it, Orm. I had the chance."

My fingers curled into the fabric of my pants. "But you didn't."

She exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. "No. I didn't."

Silence stretched between us. The only sound was the quiet hum of the city beyond my apartment window.

I shifted slightly, searching her face. "Why?"

Lingling let out a slow breath, her hands falling to her lap. "Because I wasn't thinking clearly. Because I was too angry. And anger—" she scoffed, tilting her head slightly, "—makes you reckless."

I watched her closely. "And you're never reckless, huh?"

She smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Not unless it comes to you."

My breath caught in my throat.

Lingling didn't seem to notice the way my fingers tightened against my knee. She just kept speaking, her voice softer now.

"He's the reason for everything. The bullets, the wounds, the mess that follows me around like a fucking shadow." Her fingers brushed her ribs absentmindedly, right where I knew her fresh stitches lay beneath the hoodie, my hoodie. "I should've ended it tonight. But instead..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"But instead, you came here," I murmured.

Lingling turned her head to look at me.

The silence between us stretched longer this time.

Her dark eyes, always so unreadable, now held something raw beneath the surface. Something she was trying hard to keep buried.

"You're the only place I want to be," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

I felt something deep inside me crack.

Lingling was dangerous. Ruthless. A woman who built an empire in a world where weakness meant death.

But here she was—sitting in my apartment, looking like she was unraveling at the seams.

And somehow, she had come to me.

I reached out, hesitating only for a second before my hand found hers.

Her fingers twitched but didn't pull away.

I squeezed gently.

"You're safe here," I said again, the same words I had told her before.

Lingling swallowed.

And then, for the first time since stepping into my apartment, she let her shoulders drop, exhaling a breath like she had been holding it for hours.

For a moment, Lingling stayed still. Just breathing. Her fingers flexed against my thigh as she hesitated, but then, slowly, she lowered her head onto my lap.

I stiffened at first, the unexpected weight of her so unfamiliar, yet somehow natural. But as I felt her body relax, as if this was the first time she had let her guard down in days, my own muscles eased.

Without thinking, my fingers found their way into her silky dark hair. I brushed through the strands, slow and gentle, feeling the tension in her shoulders melt away.

Lingling let out a quiet sigh, her breath warm against my leg.

I didn't know if she'd fallen asleep, but I kept my touch steady, running my fingers along her scalp, over the soft strands. It felt intimate in a way that neither of us acknowledged out loud.

A few moments passed before I spoke.

"You know," I murmured, still stroking her hair, "whenever I feel overwhelmed, I go to this place."

Lingling's eyelashes fluttered slightly, but she didn't move.

"A food stall," I continued, "right next to a beach. It's nothing fancy. Just some old guy who makes the best seafood skewers you've ever tasted." I chuckled softly. "He's been there forever. I used to go there all the time after my shifts."

Lingling hummed, barely opening her eyes. "Sounds... peaceful."

"It is," I admitted. "Something about the waves, the quiet hum of the city behind you but still far enough to feel... free."

I hesitated, glancing down at her.

"I was thinking of going there tonight," I said carefully. "Would you come with me?"

Lingling finally opened her eyes, dark and unreadable as she looked up at me.

Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but then she closed them again.

I knew how risky my offer was. Lingling never went anywhere without her bodyguards, without a plan, without knowing every escape route.

She wasn't someone who could just... exist in the open.

But after a long pause, she spoke.

"Just us?"

I nodded.

Lingling was silent for a moment, then—"Okay."

I blinked, caught off guard by how easily she agreed.

"Really?"

She smirked a little. "You make it sound like I've never left my own house before."

I rolled my eyes. "I mean, if we're being honest—"

She pinched my thigh lightly, and I yelped, making her chuckle.

The tension from earlier had shifted. It was still there, lingering beneath the surface, but now it was something else. Something lighter.

Lingling sat up slowly, stretching a little, and I stood, offering her a hand.

She took it.

"Let's go before I change my mind," she muttered, but there was something playful in her voice.

I squeezed her fingers before letting go.

As I grabbed my keys, I realized something.

She had agreed to go—without her bodyguards.

Just her and me.

And somehow, that meant more than I could put into words.

...

The night air was crisp as we stepped out of my apartment building, the quiet hum of the city filling the space between us. Lingling walked beside me, her usual graceful posture slightly weighed down by her injuries. Still, she held herself like nothing could touch her.

We reached my car, and as I unlocked it, Lingling hesitated before getting in. A brief glance around, as if she was mentally mapping out the area, checking for potential threats. It was instinct for her. But after a second, she let out a small breath and slid into the passenger seat.

I started the engine, the soft rumble filling the space. As I pulled out onto the road, I stole a glance at her from the corner of my eye. The streetlights cast a soft glow on her face, highlighting the sharp lines of her jaw, the way her dark lashes framed her eyes. But what caught my attention most was the way she seemed... at ease.

For someone who always had to be in control, it was rare to see her like this.

"Are you feeling any better?" I asked, keeping my voice light.

Lingling turned her head slightly, as if considering the question. Then, she gave a small shrug.

"Better than I was earlier," she admitted. "Though I'm sure that has more to do with you than the actual wound."

I huffed a quiet laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," she said smoothly, a teasing glint in her eyes.

I shook my head, my fingers tightening slightly on the wheel.

A beat of silence passed before I asked, "And your wounds? Any pain?"

Lingling exhaled through her nose, leaning back against the seat.

"It still stings a little, but I've had worse," she murmured. "Your stitches are holding up well, though. You're good at what you do, doctor."

I rolled my eyes at the teasing emphasis on the last word. "That's literally my job, Lingling."

"And yet, I trust your hands more than most," she said, her voice softer this time.

Something about the way she said it made my stomach flip.

I glanced at her again, but she was looking out the window, as if she hadn't just casually made my heart race.

"You should still be careful," I said, clearing my throat. "No sudden movements, no unnecessary fights. Your body needs time to heal."

Lingling hummed. "No promises."

I sighed. "Of course not."

The drive continued in a comfortable silence, the city lights reflecting in the glass of the windshield.

I wasn't sure why this moment felt different.

Maybe it was the fact that she was in my car, going somewhere with me—just us. Maybe it was the fact that she had let me see her vulnerable, let me take care of her.

Or maybe it was just her.

And how I was starting to realize I had never felt this way about anyone before.

The city lights faded behind us as we drove further down the highway, the air becoming fresher, crisper. Out here, away from the towering buildings and constant buzz of people, it was quieter. More open. The glow of the dashboard lights cast a faint blue tint over Lingling's features, making her look almost ethereal.

I stole a quick glance at her—her face was relaxed, her eyes lazily watching the road ahead. She had one arm resting against the car door, her fingers idly tracing patterns on her thigh. It was a rare sight, seeing her this at ease.

"You're quiet," I mused, breaking the comfortable silence. "That's not normal for you."

Lingling smirked, finally turning her gaze to me. "Are you implying I talk too much?"

I bit my lip, suppressing a smile. "I'm implying that you usually have something clever to say."

She hummed, tilting her head slightly. "I'm just enjoying the drive. And your company."

Something about the way she said it made warmth creep up my neck.

I tried to play it off, clicking my tongue. "You must be really exhausted if you're being this sweet to me."

Lingling let out a low chuckle. "Oh, I can be much sweeter, doctor. You just don't let me."

That made my grip tighten on the steering wheel. I shot her a look, and she met my gaze head-on, her lips curved into something wickedly amused.

"Please," I scoffed, trying to focus on the road. "You're only nice to me because I stitch you up every time you get yourself nearly killed."

"Mm, maybe," she murmured, leaning in slightly. "Or maybe it's because you look cute when you're flustered."

I nearly swerved off the road.

Lingling chuckled at my reaction, clearly pleased with herself.

"You're impossible," I muttered under my breath, trying to ignore the way my pulse had picked up.

"I've been called worse," she said smoothly.

I sighed dramatically. "Why do I even put up with you?"

Lingling smirked, her fingers drumming lightly against her thigh. "Because you like me."

I turned my head just slightly to look at her, raising a brow. "Oh? That confident, huh?"

She leaned back, exuding nothing but certainty. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

Damn it.

She wasn't wrong.

I kept my eyes on the road, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. "You're annoying, you know that?"

Lingling chuckled again, a low, satisfied sound. "And yet, here you are. Taking me to your favorite place."

I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head. "I regret this already."

"No, you don't," she said, voice softer now.

I pressed my lips together, ignoring the way my chest tightened at her tone.

She was right.

I didn't regret it.

Not even a little bit.

As the car cruised down the open road, the scent of the ocean began to creep into the air, salty and crisp, mingling with the faint scent of Lingling's perfume. The closer we got to the beach, the quieter Lingling became—not in an awkward way, but in a way that felt... different. Contemplative.

I let the silence settle between us, only the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the wind filling the space. It felt oddly peaceful. Lingling, the woman who moved like a ghost in the shadows, who carried danger in her blood, was sitting beside me, looking out the window as if she was somewhere far away.

"You okay?" I asked after a while, my voice softer now.

Lingling blinked, turning to me. Her lips parted slightly before she gave me a small, almost lazy smile. "Yeah."

I didn't believe her.

I didn't push either.

Minutes later, I pulled the car into a small, gravel parking lot near the beach. The food stall sat just a few feet from the sand, illuminated by warm yellow lights, the sound of sizzling meat and clinking utensils filling the air. A few people were gathered around, some eating on small wooden benches, others standing and chatting casually. The ocean waves crashed gently in the background, the moonlight casting a silver sheen over the water.

I killed the engine and glanced at Lingling. "This is it."

She looked around, her expression unreadable. Then, she smirked. "Didn't think you were the type to like small, hidden food stalls, doctor."

I scoffed, pushing open my door. "And what do you think I am? A five-star restaurant kind of person?"

Lingling stepped out, shutting the door behind her. "I don't know. You've got that proper, well-put-together look. I wouldn't have pegged you for this kind of place."

I crossed my arms. "That just proves you don't know me as well as you think."

Lingling tilted her head, eyes glinting under the dim light. "I'd like to, though."

My breath caught slightly, but before I could say anything, she was already walking ahead, hands tucked into the pockets of my hoodie that she was still wearing. I swallowed and quickly followed.

We reached the stall, and the elderly man behind the counter—someone I'd known for years—grinned when he saw me.

"Orm!" he greeted. "It's been a while."

I smiled. "Work's been busy, Uncle."

His gaze flickered to Lingling, and he gave me a knowing look. "And who is this?"

Lingling, to my surprise, gave a polite nod. "Just a friend."

I felt something twist in my chest at that, though I had no idea why.

Uncle raised an eyebrow at me, amused, but didn't say anything. "The usual?"

I nodded, and he started preparing our orders.

Lingling leaned against the counter beside me, watching the man cook. "You come here often?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "It's quiet, and the food's good. Helps me clear my head."

Lingling hummed, her gaze drifting to the waves. "It's nice."

I studied her for a moment. The way the soft glow of the lights highlighted the curve of her jaw. The way the ocean breeze made a few loose strands of her hair dance. She looked... out of place in a way that somehow made sense. A woman who belonged in the shadows, standing here in the open, bathed in warmth.

It was dangerous how much I was starting to like seeing her like this.

"Hey," I said suddenly, nudging her lightly. "You're not spacing out on me again, are you?"

Lingling chuckled, shaking her head. "Just thinking."

I gave her a look. "Dangerous."

"Everything about me is dangerous, doctor."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'm aware."

Lingling smirked, but there was something softer in her eyes now. "And yet, you still let me stay."

I faltered.

Before I could answer, Uncle placed two steaming plates in front of us, breaking the moment.

"Eat up," he said. "And don't let your date go home hungry."

Lingling chuckled, clearly enjoying the flustered look on my face. "Oh, I won't."

I sighed. This woman was impossible.

And yet, I still let her stay.

We took our plates and found a spot near the beach, a small wooden bench facing the waves. The night was calm, the distant chatter from the food stall fading into background noise as Lingling and I sat side by side, eating in comfortable silence.

The food was as delicious as always, but I found myself more focused on Lingling than the meal. She ate with a certain elegance, despite the casual setting—slow, thoughtful, like she was savoring every bite.

"You like it?" I asked after a while.

Lingling turned her head toward me, chopsticks still in her hand. "It's good," she admitted. "Didn't think you had good taste, but I'm impressed."

I scoffed. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

She smirked. "Take it however you want."

I shook my head but smiled. The teasing was easy, effortless. Like we'd done this a thousand times before.

For a while, we just ate, letting the salty breeze brush against our skin. The moon hung low, casting a soft glow over everything. The rhythmic crash of waves filled the space between us. It was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

I risked a glance at Lingling, only to find her already looking at me.

My breath caught.

Her gaze was unreadable, dark eyes holding something intense—something that made my pulse stutter. It wasn't just amusement or curiosity. It was deeper. Like she was memorizing me, piece by piece.

"What?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Lingling tilted her head slightly, resting her chin on her hand. "You're interesting to me, Orm."

I felt a strange heat creep up my neck. "That's—uh—not something I hear every day."

She hummed. "I don't say it often."

Silence stretched between us again, but this time, it felt different. Heavier. Charged.

Lingling's fingers tapped idly against the wooden bench, and for a moment, it seemed like she was hesitating. Then, quietly, she said, "I don't do this."

I blinked. "Do what?"

She exhaled slowly, gaze flickering to the ocean. "Sit like this. Talk like this. Feel like this."

The last part was barely a whisper, but I heard it.

My fingers curled slightly around my chopsticks. My heart was beating too fast, and I wasn't sure why.

"This isn't... normal for me," she continued, voice lower now. "And yet, with you..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

Lingling wasn't just saying words—she was telling me something. Something raw, something real.

And I didn't know what to do with it.

So, instead of answering, I reached for my drink, taking a slow sip, trying to calm whatever was stirring in my chest.

Lingling let out a quiet chuckle. "You're running away from the conversation."

"I am not," I denied, setting the drink down.

She smirked. "You are."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't deny the way my heart was hammering. "I just don't know what you expect me to say."

Lingling leaned back, watching me carefully. "Nothing. Just... don't push me away."

The words were simple, but they hit deeper than I expected.

I looked at her then, really looked at her. Not as the infamous mafia leader, not as the dangerous woman everyone feared—but as the person sitting beside me, trusting me with a piece of herself.

I nodded, my voice softer now. "I won't."

I watched as Lingling leaned back, her gaze lifting toward the sky. The vast expanse stretched above us, dark and endless, speckled with stars. Most clustered together, but there was one—a single, lonely light flickering at a distance from the rest.

She exhaled, her voice quiet. "It's as if that lonely star in the sky represents me."

Something in my chest ached at the way she said it, so soft yet full of weight, like she had carried the thought for a long time.

I swallowed. "What do you mean?"

Lingling's fingers traced over the rim of her drink. "Everyone abandons me halfway," she murmured. "They use me for themselves, and when they're done, they leave. Or worse."

The way she said the last part sent a chill through me.

I hesitated before asking, "Worse?"

She didn't look at me, her eyes still fixed on the lonely star above. "The person who wanted to kill me... was my most trusted friend."

I felt my body tense.

She let out a hollow chuckle, one without any real humor. "He was like a father to me."

I stared at her, words failing me.

A father.

The person who tried to kill her was someone she trusted, someone she cared about—someone who was supposed to protect her.

I didn't know the details, didn't know his name, but the pain in her voice told me everything I needed to know.

I reached out, hesitating for just a second before placing my hand over hers.

Lingling finally turned to look at me, her dark eyes vulnerable in a way I had never seen before.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," she admitted.

I squeezed her hand gently. "Maybe because you know I won't leave."

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came.

So I just held her hand, letting the waves crash against the shore, letting the cool night air surround us.

And for the first time, Lingling didn't seem so alone.

Lingling didn't say anything for a long time after that. She just sat there, staring at the ocean, her fingers still beneath mine, warm despite the cool air surrounding us. It was strange—this moment, this silence. It wasn't empty. It wasn't awkward. It was just... heavy, filled with the weight of things unsaid, things she probably never told anyone before.

I watched her, the way her long lashes fluttered slightly, the way her lips parted just enough to let out a breath she had been holding.

Then she did something unexpected.

She turned her palm up, lacing her fingers through mine.

My heart jumped.

Lingling never sought comfort like this, never willingly allowed herself to be vulnerable. She was always composed, always controlled—except right now.

I didn't pull away.

"Do you regret it?" I asked softly. "Trusting him?"

She let out a slow exhale. "No."

I frowned. "Even after what he did?"

Her lips curled into a bitter smile. "I don't regret trusting people. I regret believing they wouldn't betray me."

I squeezed her hand.

She tilted her head slightly, looking at me through half-lidded eyes. "And you?"

"Me?"

"Do you regret getting involved with someone like me?"

Her voice was quieter now, almost careful, as if she was afraid of my answer.

I stared at her, my fingers tightening slightly around hers. "No."

Her brows lifted slightly, like she was expecting me to hesitate, but I didn't.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because I don't think you're the monster people make you out to be."

Lingling's breath hitched.

I leaned in slightly, holding her gaze. "You keep acting like you're this cold, untouchable person, but I see you, Lingling." I paused, feeling my own heart hammer against my ribs. "You think you're that lonely star in the sky, but maybe you're just waiting for someone to stand beside you."

Something flickered in her eyes—something raw, something fragile.

For the first time since we met, Lingling looked at me not as a doctor, not as an outsider, not as someone who was simply passing through her life.

She looked at me like I mattered.

The wind blew strands of my hair across my face, and before I could move them away, Lingling reached out, tucking them behind my ear.

Her fingers lingered, trailing down my jaw before she pulled back, almost reluctantly.

I swallowed, suddenly aware of how close we were, of how much heat there was between us despite the cold.

"I—" My voice wavered. "We should head back."

Lingling studied me for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah."

But neither of us moved.

Neither of us let go of each other's hand.

The ocean waves crashed softly against the shore, their rhythmic sound filling the silence between us. Neither of us moved. The wind had turned colder, but somehow, my skin felt warm—like an invisible force was holding me in place, tethering me to this moment, to Lingling.

She still hadn't let go of my hand.

Her thumb brushed absently against my knuckles, almost as if she didn't realize she was doing it. The motion was slow, unhurried, as if she was memorizing the shape of my fingers, tracing the ridges of my skin like I was something precious.

I exhaled, the air heavy in my lungs. "Lingling..."

She hummed in response, her eyes still on me, but softer now, like she was seeing something she hadn't dared to before.

"We should go," I repeated, though my body made no move to do so.

She tilted her head slightly. "Do you really want to?"

The question caught me off guard. It wasn't teasing, wasn't playful. It was quiet, sincere—almost hesitant.

I bit my lip. Did I?

A part of me wanted to stay. Here, where it was just us. No bodyguards, no hidden gazes watching our every move. No expectations. Just the sound of the waves and the warmth of her hand in mine.

But that wasn't reality, was it?

"We should," I murmured, forcing myself to stand.

Lingling's fingers finally uncurled from mine, and the absence was instant—like I had lost something I didn't realize I needed to hold onto.

She stood too, adjusting the hoodie she was wearing. It was slightly oversized on her, but it suited her in a way that made something tighten in my chest.

I turned towards the car, but before I could take a step, I felt a gentle tug on my sleeve.

I glanced back.

Lingling was looking at me, her expression unreadable, but there was something different in her eyes—something hesitant, something vulnerable.

"I—" She hesitated. Then, so softly I almost didn't hear it, she whispered, "Thank you."

I blinked.

For what?

Before I could ask, she had already let go, walking past me towards the car.

I stared after her for a long moment, my heart beating too fast, my thoughts spiraling.

Something had shifted between us tonight.

I just wasn't sure if I was ready to face what it meant.

Lingling winced as she slid into the passenger seat, her breath hitching. It was subtle—so subtle that if I hadn't been watching her so closely, I might have missed it. But I did see it. The sharp intake of breath, the way her fingers gripped the edge of the seat just a second too long before she eased back against it.

My hands froze on the steering wheel.

"Lingling," I said, my voice firm but laced with concern.

She turned her head towards the window, as if pretending she hadn't heard me. "It's nothing."

I sighed, shifting slightly to face her. "Nothing doesn't make you flinch like that."

Her jaw tightened. "It's just a dull ache. It'll pass."

I wasn't convinced.

Instead of arguing, I reached toward her, my fingers grazing the hem of my hoodie—the one she was wearing—before hesitating. It was stupid how cautious I was, considering I had already seen her wounds, already touched her skin while treating them. But something about this moment felt different.

I swallowed, then gently lifted the fabric just enough to get a glimpse of the bandage beneath.

It was stained. Not fresh, but still enough to make my stomach knot.

"Lingling," I exhaled, shaking my head. "You pushed yourself too much today."

She smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Wouldn't be the first time."

I frowned, pressing my lips together in frustration. She was impossible. Stubborn to the point of self-destruction.

Without thinking, I reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a small first aid kit I kept there. I flipped it open, grabbing a disinfectant wipe and some fresh gauze.

"Lift your shirt," I ordered softly.

Lingling arched a brow, clearly amused. "Aren't you moving a little fast, Doctor?"

I shot her a dry look. "Lift your shirt."

She chuckled but did as I asked, shifting in her seat and pulling the hoodie up just enough for me to get a better look at the wound.

The sight made my heart clench. The stitches were still intact, but the skin around them was slightly inflamed. She had definitely overexerted herself today.

I worked quickly, gently dabbing around the wound with the disinfectant wipe. Lingling didn't make a sound, but I felt her watching me.

The car was quiet, save for the distant crashing of the waves and the occasional rustle of fabric as I worked. But it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, the silence felt... intimate.

When I pressed the fresh gauze against her skin, her breath hitched again—though this time, I wasn't sure if it was from pain or something else.

I didn't dare look up.

Not when I could feel her gaze on me. Not when my own heart was betraying me with how fast it was beating.

I secured the gauze in place, letting my fingers linger just a second too long before pulling away.

"There," I murmured, my voice softer than before. "That should help."

Lingling didn't say anything for a moment.

Then, quietly, she said, "You're too good to me."

I finally looked up.

Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes... her eyes held something deep, something raw.

I swallowed. "Someone has to be."

She smiled. A real one this time. Soft, almost fragile.

For the first time since I met Lingling, she looked like just a girl. Not a mafia leader. Not someone feared by the entire underground world.

Just a girl, looking at me like I was something worth holding onto.

And that terrified me.

...

The silence inside the car was thick, but not uncomfortable. Midnight wrapped around us like a veil, the streetlights casting fleeting glows over Lingling's face as I drove. The roads were deserted, just the hum of the engine and the occasional whisper of wind against the windows filling the space between us.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Lingling watching me. Not in the sharp, assessing way she usually did, but in a quiet, lingering way that made something deep in my chest tighten.

"You're beautiful," she murmured suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

My hands tightened on the wheel.

I didn't know what to say to that.

It wasn't the first time someone had called me beautiful, but from Lingling, it felt different. Like it wasn't just an observation—it was a fact she had been holding onto, a thought she had allowed to slip past whatever careful walls she usually kept up.

I risked a glance at her, my heart skipping a beat when I met her eyes—dark, unreadable, yet so full of something unspoken.

I swallowed, forcing my focus back on the road. "You should get some rest."

She hummed, but I could tell she was still looking at me.

Minutes passed in silence.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her posture relax. Her head tilted slightly, her eyes growing heavier with each passing second.

I kept driving, letting the rhythm of the road and the soft breathing beside me fill the space between us.

Then, finally, she gave in.

Her head gently tipped to the side, resting against the window. Her lashes fluttered once, twice—before settling.

She had fallen asleep.

I exhaled, my chest feeling unexpectedly light.

She looked... peaceful.

No walls. No sharp edges. Just Lingling.

A part of me wanted to reach out, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. To hold onto this moment before the world came rushing back in.

But I didn't.

The drive continued in silence, save for the gentle rhythm of Lingling's breathing. I stole glances at her when I could, watching the way the passing streetlights illuminated her face in soft, fleeting glows. She looked so different like this—unguarded, vulnerable, almost delicate.

It was strange to think that this was the same woman the world feared. The same woman whose name carried weight in the darkest corners of the city.

But here, in my car, she was just Lingling.

As we neared her penthouse, I slowed the car to a stop at a red light. Lingling stirred slightly, shifting against the window, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips.

I hesitated for a moment before reaching out, my fingers brushing against her arm.

"Lingling," I murmured softly.

She made a small sound—something between a sigh and a hum—but didn't wake.

I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. She must've been exhausted. Between the wound, the stress of whatever she had been dealing with, and the emotional weight of everything she had shared tonight—it made sense that her body had finally given in.

The light turned green, and I continued driving.

When I finally pulled up to her building, I debated whether to wake her. I knew Lingling—knew how much she valued control, how much she hated appearing weak in any way. But she also looked so at peace.

I reached for her arm again, this time shaking her gently.

"Lingling," I said softly.

Her lashes fluttered, her brows furrowing slightly before her eyes finally opened. For a moment, she just looked at me, as if still caught in the haze of sleep. Then, her gaze flickered around, realization settling in.

"We're here," I told her.

She blinked, sitting up slowly. I could see the moment she slipped back into herself—the exhaustion in her eyes masked, her expression smoothing into something unreadable.

"Sorry," she murmured, her voice still laced with sleep. "Didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," I cut in. "You needed the rest."

For a second, she just looked at me. The air between us felt heavier than before, laced with something I couldn't quite name.

Then, she exhaled and reached for the door handle. "Goodnight, Orm."

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "Lingling."

She paused, looking back at me.

"...Be careful."

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Always."

With that, she slipped out of the car, disappearing into the shadows of the night.

I sat there for a moment longer, my heart still beating a little too fast.

Then, with a sigh, I drove off—knowing that sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.

...

As I pulled into the small parking lot outside my apartment building, I let out a deep breath, leaning my head against the steering wheel for a moment. The events of the night played over and over in my mind—the way Lingling had looked up at the stars, the raw emotion in her voice as she spoke about betrayal, and then...

That small, fleeting moment.

The way her fingers had brushed against my skin as she tucked my hair behind my ear.

I bit my lip, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. It was ridiculous how something so simple could make my heart race like this.

With a quiet laugh, I shook my head and grabbed my bag before stepping out of the car. The night air was crisp, the soft hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the silence. As I made my way up the stairs to my apartment, I took slow, measured breaths, trying to steady myself.

She was just a patient. That's what I kept telling myself.

But the truth was, Lingling had never really been just a patient, had she?

The moment I entered my apartment, I was met with the familiar warmth of home. The faint scent of vanilla from the candle I had left burning earlier, the soft lighting, the cozy furniture—it all felt grounding.

I slipped off my shoes and made my way to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water. As I leaned against the counter, I closed my eyes for a moment, replaying the drive. The way Lingling had fallen asleep so easily in my car, as if she trusted me. As if she felt safe with me.

My fingers tightened around the glass.

I wasn't sure what this was between us—what was growing, shifting, changing with every interaction—but I knew one thing.

Lingling wasn't just a passing presence in my life anymore.

And that realization both thrilled and terrified me.