Chapter 12

The door barely opened before I saw her.

Lingling was standing by the windows, the city lights casting a soft glow around her. She had a glass of whiskey in her hand, but the moment her eyes landed on me, it slipped through her fingers, shattering against the marble floor.

She was in front of me in an instant.

"Orm—" Her voice was sharp, almost panicked, and before I could react, her hands were already on me, cupping my face, her fingers trembling as they traced the cut on my cheek.

I had never seen her like this before.

Her dark, piercing eyes were wide, almost wild, searching my face as if trying to confirm I was really here, still standing, still breathing.

"Who did this to you?" Her voice was quiet, but it was filled with something dangerous—rage, fear, something raw and unrestrained.

I swallowed.

Lingling's touch was careful, almost hesitant, like she was afraid I'd break under her fingers. She wiped the blood away with the sleeve of her own suit, not caring that it stained the expensive fabric.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice coming out softer than I expected.

She didn't believe me.

"You're not," she snapped, shaking her head, her grip tightening slightly. "Tell me what happened, now."

I hesitated.

Because for the first time since I met her, Lingling wasn't wearing her mask.

Her sharp, calculating expression was gone. The untouchable, unshakable Lingling—who always had a plan, who always knew what to do—was standing in front of me looking completely and utterly terrified.

For me.

I exhaled.

"It was a warning," I finally said. "Someone crashed into my car. A man—he had a knife." I hesitated before adding, "He said he understood why you were obsessed with me."

Lingling stilled.

I could hear how sharp her inhale was, the way her body tensed immediately.

And then, just like that, something shifted in her eyes.

Something cold. Lethal.

She turned away from me, her hands clenched into fists.

Jiang, who had been watching silently, seemed to already know what was coming.

"Boss," he said carefully.

Lingling didn't acknowledge him.

Instead, she turned back to me, and this time, there was something unreadable in her gaze—something possessive.

"Nobody touches you like that," she said, her voice low, controlled.

My breath caught in my throat.

Her fingers brushed against my cheek one last time before she turned to Jiang.

"Find out who did this," she ordered. "And bring them to me. Alive."

Jiang gave a sharp nod and disappeared from the room.

Lingling looked back at me, her eyes still dark with something I couldn't name.

Then, without another word, she gently took my wrist and pulled me inside.

I let her.

Because despite everything—despite the fear, the adrenaline still rushing in my veins, the danger that I knew was coming—

I felt safe.

Lingling didn't say anything as she guided me to the couch, but her grip on my wrist was tight—almost as if she was afraid I'd disappear the moment she let go.

I sat down, and within seconds, she was back with a glass of water, pressing it into my hands.

Her movements were controlled, precise. But I could see through it now.

Her fingers were still trembling.

I took a slow sip, trying to steady myself. But before I could say anything, Lingling spoke.

"This," she said, voice low but firm. "This is exactly what I was scared of."

I looked up at her.

She wasn't looking at me. She was staring at the floor, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"This was what I was talking about, Orm," she continued, shaking her head slightly. "The reason I tried to push you away. The reason I didn't want you too close."

She finally met my gaze, and the intensity in her eyes made my breath catch.

"I ruin things," she said, almost like she was forcing the words out. "Everyone I care about—" she stopped, exhaled sharply. "People use them to get to me. They get hurt because of me."

She gestured toward my cheek, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"And now you're hurt."

There was something almost broken in her voice when she said it.

I set the glass down on the table and reached forward before I could stop myself.

My fingers brushed against hers.

She tensed.

"I'm still here," I said softly. "I'm not running."

Lingling let out a quiet, bitter laugh and pulled away, running a hand through her hair.

"You should," she muttered. "You should be running far away from me."

I frowned. "Why do you think you don't deserve—"

"Because I don't," she cut me off, her voice sharp.

Silence settled between us.

I didn't know how to answer that.

Because I had never seen her like this.

Lingling Kwong—the woman who always had control, who faced danger without flinching—was looking at me like she was scared.

Scared of me getting too close. Scared of letting me in.

But I had already fallen.

And I wasn't going anywhere.

So instead of saying anything, I reached for her hand again, slower this time, giving her the chance to pull away.

She didn't.

She just stared down at our fingers as if she wasn't sure if this was real.

I gave her hand a small squeeze.

"I'm not afraid," I said.

Lingling's lips parted slightly, like she wanted to argue. But no words came out.

And for the first time, she didn't fight me on it.

She just closed her eyes, exhaled, and squeezed my hand back.

Lingling's breath hitched the moment my fingers brushed against her cheek.

I expected her to pull away, to put up those walls again—but she didn't.

Instead, she leaned into my touch.

My thumb traced over her skin, the warmth beneath my fingertips making my heart beat faster.

For a moment, I forgot about everything else—the cut on my cheek, the crash, the man with the knife.

There was only her.

Lingling.

The woman who terrified the world, yet was melting under my touch like she had never been held gently before.

I let out a slow breath.

"I never believed in beautiful endings," I murmured, watching her expression closely. "But if it's you who ends me... let it be."

Her eyes widened slightly.

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something—but no words came out.

I felt her hand tighten around mine.

She swallowed, her throat moving slightly, before whispering, "Don't say things like that."

"Why?" I asked, tilting my head.

She exhaled shakily. "Because it makes me want to keep you."

Something in my chest tightened.

"Then keep me," I said before I could stop myself.

Lingling's expression shifted—like she was torn between wanting and resisting.

Her fingers slowly reached up, tracing the fresh wound on my cheek, her touch featherlight.

"You don't know what you're saying," she whispered.

I leaned into her touch the same way she had leaned into mine.

"I do," I said softly.

She let out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking her head.

"You're dangerous, Doctor."

I smiled slightly. "That's funny. I was just thinking the same about you."

Lingling's eyes softened, but there was still hesitation.

Still fear.

I squeezed her hand again.

"I'm not afraid, Lingling," I whispered. "So don't be afraid for me."

She inhaled sharply.

And for a long moment, she just looked at me.

Like she was memorizing my face.

Like she was making a decision.

Then, she exhaled, and for the first time, I saw her let go of the fight.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against mine, closing her eyes.

"...Stay," she whispered.

Lingling's breath was warm against my skin, her forehead resting against mine, as if she was afraid that if she pulled away, I would disappear.

Her hands trembled slightly as they gripped my sleeves, holding onto me like I was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"I—" she started, voice barely above a whisper, then stopped, swallowing hard.

I stayed quiet, letting her take her time.

"I don't know how to say this," she admitted, voice raw, vulnerable.

My hands gently squeezed hers, silently telling her that it was okay. That I was listening.

She took in a shaky breath.

"Every time you touch me... I feel something I don't understand," she said softly. "Something warm. Something that makes me forget everything else. Every single moment I look at you, those damn amber eyes of yours—I melt."

I felt my breath hitch at her words.

Lingling let out a weak laugh, shaking her head. "Do you know how frustrating that is? You—Orm, you make me feel things I swore I would never let myself feel. Every time I'm near you, I get these stupid butterflies in my stomach, and I hate it—no, I don't hate it, I just—" She exhaled sharply, gripping my hands even tighter.

"I'm terrified."

I frowned, my heart aching at the way she said it. "Of what?"

She opened her eyes then, looking straight into mine.

"Of hurting you," she whispered. "Of ruining you."

Her voice cracked at the last word, and I realized how much this had been eating away at her.

Lingling, the woman who held the world in her hands, the woman who had built herself from nothing, the woman who never let anyone get too close—was breaking right in front of me.

I lifted my hand, brushing my fingers lightly against her cheek.

"You won't ruin me," I said softly.

Lingling let out a breathy laugh, but it sounded pained. "You don't know that."

I smiled slightly, shaking my head. "I do."

She looked at me like she wanted to believe it—like she was fighting every instinct telling her to push me away.

I reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her skin.

"Lingling," I murmured, watching her eyes flicker with hesitation, with longing.

She swallowed. "Yes?"

"I trust you."

Something in her expression shattered at those words.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head, as if trying to fight back whatever storm was raging inside her.

Then, after a long, trembling breath—

She leaned in.

Her lips barely brushed against my cheek, just above the cut, so gentle it almost wasn't a kiss at all.

But I felt it.

And my heart nearly stopped.

Lingling pulled away, just enough to look at me, her eyes searching mine.

"...I don't deserve you," she whispered.

I smiled, brushing my thumb against her lips.

I don't think I even made the conscious decision to move.

One second, I was staring into Lingling's dark, stormy eyes, feeling her breath fan against my lips, and the next—

I closed the space between us.

The moment my lips met hers, my heart stuttered, then pounded so hard I swore she could hear it.

Lingling froze for the briefest second, as if she wasn't expecting me to actually do it. But then—she kissed me back.

And God, she kissed me like she meant it.

Her hands, which had been gripping my sleeves, slid up my arms, wrapping around my neck as she pulled me closer, deepening the kiss.

She tasted like something sweet and intoxicating—like the faint trace of expensive whiskey and something uniquely Lingling. The way her lips moved against mine was slow at first, savoring, almost teasing, but then it turned into something deeper, something desperate.

I let out a quiet moan when her teeth lightly tugged on my bottom lip, and she took the opportunity to slip her tongue in, exploring, claiming. I barely had time to react before she tilted her head, deepening the kiss even further, pressing me into the couch as if she couldn't get close enough.

My stomach flipped, a strange, exhilarating warmth spreading through my entire body. My fingers threaded through her silky dark hair, pulling her closer, and she let out a quiet, satisfied hum against my lips.

My head was spinning.

Lingling kissed with the kind of confidence that made me weak—the kind that made it impossible to think. It was rough yet tender, playful yet possessive. Every movement, every slight tilt of her head, every slow drag of her lips against mine—it was all so deliberate, so completely her.

God, she was such a good kisser.

It was overwhelming in the best way possible.

I barely even noticed the way my nails dug into the fabric of her suit, the way my entire body felt like it was burning from the inside out. All I could focus on was her—the way she tasted, the way she felt against me, the way her breath hitched slightly when my hand slipped under the collar of her jacket, brushing against her warm skin.

I had never been kissed like this before.

Not in a way that made my pulse race. Not in a way that made my entire body ache for more.

Lingling pulled back slightly, just enough to rest her forehead against mine. We were both breathing hard, our chests rising and falling in sync.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

We just looked at each other.

Lingling's dark eyes flickered with something unreadable—something intense, something vulnerable.

I swallowed, still trying to catch my breath. "That was..."

She smirked slightly, her thumb brushing against my jaw. "Unexpected?"

I let out a shaky laugh, my face burning. "Yeah."

She hummed, her lips ghosting over mine again, as if she wasn't done yet. "Do you regret it?"

I shook my head, breathless. "No."

A slow, almost dangerous smile spread across her lips.

"Good."

Lingling didn't give me a moment to recover.

Before I could catch my breath, she was kissing me again—harder this time, more urgent. It wasn't just a kiss anymore; it was raw, overwhelming, consuming.

She was pouring everything into it—her concern, her frustration, her desire.

I could feel it in the way her hands gripped my waist, fingers pressing into my skin as if she was afraid I would disappear if she let go. I could feel it in the way her lips moved against mine, desperate, claiming, devouring me whole.

A quiet whimper escaped me when she deepened the kiss even further, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my stomach tighten.

God.

I had never felt anything like this before.

She kissed me like she wanted to drown in me. Like she needed me.

And I—

I let her.

My hands found their way into her hair, pulling her closer, and Lingling let out a low, satisfied sound in response. Her body pressed against mine, heat radiating from her even through the layers of clothing between us.

I could barely think.

All I could do was feel.

Feel the way her lips left a trail of fire down my jaw, my neck. Feel the way her breath was heavy, uneven, as if she was barely holding herself together.

"Orm," she murmured against my skin, voice low, rough with something unspoken.

The way she said my name—

It sent shivers down my spine.

I could feel her heartbeat, fast and erratic against my own.

"Stay," she whispered, pressing her forehead against mine. "Stay with me tonight."

My breath hitched.

This—

This was hella dangerous.

I knew it.

But as I looked into her dark, stormy eyes, saw the silent plea hidden beneath the hunger—

I realized I didn't care.

Because the truth was—

I wanted to stay.

I wanted to drown in her.

"Okay," I whispered back.

Lingling's lips trailed lower, her breath hot against my skin.

She kissed the curve of my jaw, then my neck, her teeth grazing over sensitive skin in a way that made my body shiver.

"You make me weak," she whispered, her voice rough, vulnerable in a way I had never heard before.

I gasped when she bit down gently, sucking at the spot just below my ear, her hands tightening around my waist.

"You—" Her voice broke for a second before she steadied herself, pressing her lips softly against the mark she had just left. "You're the only thing that scares me, Orm. Because if something happens to you, I don't know what I'd become."

Her confession sent a sharp ache through my chest.

"Lingling..."

She pulled back slightly, just enough for me to see her eyes—dark, filled with so much emotion it was suffocating.

"I love you," she breathed. "I love you so much it terrifies me."

My heart clenched.

Hearing those words from Lingling—from her—felt almost unreal.

She wasn't someone who said things lightly. She was calculated, sharp, always in control.

But right now, she was stripped bare before me. No masks. No walls. Just Lingling.

My Lingling.

I reached up, brushing my fingers against her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch.

She leaned into my palm, closing her eyes for a brief second, as if savoring it.

"I don't want to lose you," she whispered, her lips brushing against mine again, softer this time. "I can't lose you."

"You won't," I murmured, tilting my head to kiss her gently, reassuringly.

She let out a shaky breath, her forehead pressing against mine.

"You promise?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitated.

Because the truth was—

In this world, with everything against us, I couldn't promise that.

But what I could promise was this moment.

And so, I tightened my arms around her and whispered—

"I'm here now. With you."

Lingling exhaled, her grip on me tightening as if she was anchoring herself in my presence.

And as she kissed me again—slower this time, as if memorizing every second—I realized something.

I wasn't just falling for Lingling.

I was already hers.

Lingling's hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, slowly undoing them one by one. The soft rustling of fabric filled the quiet room as she slid it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

I had seen her like this before—when I was tending to her wounds, my hands brushing over her bruised skin with careful precision. But this—this was different.

She was right in front of me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off her.

Her body was breathtaking. The soft glow of the room's dim light traced over the defined lines of her abdomen, the curve of her toned shoulders. But what caught my attention the most were the scars—some old, some new—marking her skin like untold stories.

I swallowed hard.

Lingling watched me carefully, her expression unreadable.

"Does it scare you?" she asked, her voice softer than I had ever heard it.

I looked up, meeting her gaze. Her dark eyes held something fragile, something she rarely showed.

I reached out, my fingertips lightly tracing over a scar near her ribs, then another just below her collarbone. Each one told a story of survival, of pain, of battles she had fought alone.

"No," I whispered. "It doesn't scare me."

Lingling exhaled, her eyes searching mine for something—reassurance, maybe.

I didn't know what possessed me in that moment, but I leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the scar on her collarbone.

Lingling stiffened, her breath hitching, but she didn't pull away.

My lips lingered against her skin before I looked up at her again.

"You're beautiful," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her jaw clenched, as if the words unsettled her. But then, slowly, she lifted a hand to my cheek, her thumb brushing over the faint cut from earlier.

"You're the only one who sees me like this," she murmured.

I smiled faintly. "Then I guess I'm lucky."

Lingling let out a small, breathy laugh before pulling me into her arms.

And in that moment, as I melted into her embrace, I knew—

This wasn't just desire.

This was something far, far deeper.

As my lips brushed against Lingling's skin, I could feel her heartbeat beneath them—steady, strong, yet somehow vulnerable in a way I had never seen before. I kissed along her collarbone, trailing lower, pressing soft kisses over the scars littering her chest, as if I could somehow erase the pain she had endured.

She let out a slow, shaky breath, her fingers tightening ever so slightly in my hair.

I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. My hand instinctively found its way to her side, fingers resting over the bandaged wound I had treated just days ago.

"Does it hurt?" I asked softly, my thumb brushing gently over the area.

Lingling's dark eyes flickered with something unreadable before she smirked, the expression a little forced. "Not as much as it should."

I frowned slightly, not convinced.

She placed her hand over mine, pressing it firmly against her side. "I'm fine, Orm." Her voice was quieter this time, almost like she was trying to reassure me as much as herself.

But I could see it in her eyes. The exhaustion. The weight she carried. The burden of always being strong, of always being the one who couldn't afford to fall.

Without thinking, I leaned in, pressing my forehead against hers.

"I don't want you to just be fine," I murmured. "I want you to be okay."

Lingling let out a soft, breathy chuckle, but it lacked her usual confidence. Her hand moved to cup my face, her thumb tracing over the fresh cut on my cheek.

"You're the one bleeding right now," she teased, but there was no humor in her tone.

I leaned into her touch, closing my eyes for a moment.

"I'd take a thousand cuts if it meant keeping you safe," I whispered.

Lingling inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening slightly against my cheek.

And then, suddenly, she kissed me again—this time slower, deeper. There was no rush, no hunger like before. Just a quiet desperation, a silent plea that neither of us dared to say aloud.

I felt her tremble slightly beneath my hands, as if she was letting go of something she had held onto for far too long.

For the first time, Lingling wasn't the fearless mafia leader.

She was just a woman, broken and beautiful, clinging onto me like I was the only safe place she had left.

Lingling took a shaky breath and pulled back slightly, her dark eyes flickering with a storm of emotions—desire, concern, hesitation. Her fingers lingered against my cheek, tracing the fresh cut with a touch so delicate, it contradicted everything about her.

She exhaled, her forehead still resting against mine. "We should clean this," she murmured, her voice lower, steadier now. "Before it gets worse."

I swallowed hard, my own breath uneven as I tried to gather myself. The warmth of her body, the scent of her—something faintly smoky and expensive—still clung to my senses. My fingers curled slightly against her waist, reluctant to let go, but I nodded.

Lingling pulled away completely, standing up from the couch, her movements fluid and controlled again, as if forcing herself back into composure. I watched as she grabbed a first-aid kit from a sleek cabinet, her bare back momentarily turned to me.

When she turned back around, her expression was unreadable. "Sit still," she ordered, kneeling in front of me with a damp cloth in her hand.

I obeyed, watching her closely as she dabbed at the wound with gentle precision. The sting was sharp, but I barely registered it—too focused on the way Lingling's lips pressed together, the way her jaw tensed slightly.

I could tell she was still fighting something within herself.

"You don't have to be so careful," I murmured, my voice softer than I intended.

Lingling paused for a fraction of a second, her gaze flicking up to mine. "I do," she said simply.

Something about the way she said it made my chest tighten.

She continued cleaning the cut, pressing a sterile bandage over it once she was done. Her fingertips lingered on my cheek for just a moment before she pulled away, clearing her throat.

"There," she said, standing up, her usual smirk ghosting over her lips. "Good as new, doctor."

I let out a quiet chuckle, shaking my head. "You're really calling me that right now?"

Lingling crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. "It's payback. You patch me up, I patch you up. Fair deal."

I smiled, but something about the way she was holding herself—like she was physically stopping herself from reaching for me again—made my heart ache.

"Lingling..." I started, my voice gentle.

She looked at me, her confidence wavering just slightly.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, holding her gaze.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but instead, she just exhaled, running a hand through her hair.

"Let's get some rest," she finally said, and for once, I could tell—she wasn't just saying it for me.

She needed it too.

Lingling led me down the dimly lit hallway of her penthouse, her presence commanding yet unusually soft tonight. My fingers brushed against the bandage on my cheek absentmindedly as I followed, my eyes tracing the way her toned back moved with every step, the muscles shifting under the scars that told a thousand untold stories.

The bedroom we stepped into was everything I expected of her—dark, luxurious, and mysterious. The walls were a deep shade of charcoal, with a massive window overlooking the city, the skyline twinkling like a galaxy of secrets. A sleek king-sized bed, dressed in black silk sheets, took center stage, and a glass case in the corner housed an array of rare liquor bottles. It was exactly the kind of space a woman like Lingling would sleep in—a queen in her own empire.

Lingling walked over to a massive wardrobe and pulled out a set of clothes, tossing them onto the bed. "Here," she said, glancing at me with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "They should be comfortable."

I picked up the sweatpants and immediately noticed the length. Holding them against myself, I arched an eyebrow. "Lingling... these barely reach my ankles."

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Not my fault you're a giant, doc."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You're just short."

"Excuse me?" Lingling placed a hand on her hip, tilting her head in playful offense.

Cute.

I bit back a grin as I grabbed the oversized T-shirt she had given me. It smelled like her—warm, rich, with a hint of expensive cologne. I hesitated for a second before turning my back to her, pulling my blouse over my head.

Lingling didn't say anything, but I could feel her gaze on me. The air between us shifted again, like an invisible thread connecting us, tightening with every passing second.

I glanced at her through the reflection in the large mirror by the bed. She was standing there, her arms still crossed, still with her only bra on, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

Something between hunger and hesitation.

For once, I decided to be the one to break the tension.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare?" I teased, pulling the shirt over my head.

Lingling's lips curved into a slow smirk, but her voice was quieter when she spoke.

"Maybe."

Her answer sent a shiver down my spine.

I exhaled, trying to keep my heart steady as I finished changing into the sweatpants. They were a bit snug at the waist and, of course, comically short on me.

I turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. "Happy now?"

Lingling's gaze flickered down for a moment before meeting mine again. "Very."

I rolled my eyes and walked towards the bed, but before I could sit, she reached out, gently grabbing my wrist.

For a second, neither of us moved.

"Orm," she said, her voice lower now, almost hesitant.

I swallowed, looking at her. "...Yeah?"

Lingling's fingers tightened around my wrist slightly before she sighed, as if battling something internally. Finally, she just shook her head. "Never mind."

I felt like she wanted to say something more. But for now, I let it go.

Instead, I squeezed her hand in reassurance and pulled her towards the bed. "Come on. You need rest too."

And for once, she didn't argue.

As Lingling changed into comfortable clothes—an oversized black hoodie and loose sweatpants—she looked less like the ruthless mafia leader feared by many and more like the woman who had just poured her heart out to me. The shift in her demeanor was subtle but undeniable.

She climbed into bed first, leaning against the pillows as she exhaled deeply. The exhaustion was evident in her movements, but something else lingered in her expression. The fear she had admitted earlier, the vulnerability she had only dared to show when we were alone.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should just take the couch, but before I could decide, Lingling reached out and pulled me into her embrace.

It wasn't gentle—it was desperate.

Her arms wrapped around me tightly, one hand gripping the back of my shirt as if letting go would mean losing me forever. I could feel her heartbeat through the fabric, pounding hard against my own chest.

"Lingling..." I whispered, startled by the intensity.

She buried her face in my shoulder, her breath warm against my skin. "Just stay like this for a while."

My heart clenched at her words. She was terrified. Terrified of losing me. Of failing to protect me.

I softened against her embrace, slowly wrapping my arms around her in return. I wanted to tell her that I wasn't going anywhere, that I was here, that no matter how reckless this was, I wanted to be by her side.

But I didn't say anything.

Instead, I just held her.

The room was dimly lit, but above us, the star ceiling glowed faintly—a breathtaking illusion of the night sky. Tiny lights shimmered like real constellations, casting a soft, celestial glow over us.

"It's beautiful," I murmured, gazing up at the stars above.

Lingling shifted slightly, her hold on me loosening just enough for her to follow my gaze. "...It reminds me of when I used to sleep under the real sky." Her voice was quiet, nostalgic. "Back when I had nothing."

I turned my head to look at her. "You have something now."

Her eyes met mine in the dim glow. There was something unreadable in them—something raw.

Then, she reached out, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering against my cheek. "I don't want to lose you, Orm."

The way she said it—so unguarded, so real—sent a shiver down my spine.

I gently placed my hand over hers, pressing her palm against my face. "Then don't."

Lingling exhaled softly, her thumb grazing over my cheek in a slow, affectionate motion. "I'm scared that keeping you close will only put you in danger. But pushing you away is..." She hesitated, then whispered, "...it's unbearable."

I understood. God, I understood.

"Then let's just be here," I whispered. "Just for tonight."

Lingling didn't answer with words.

Instead, she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

And as we lay there, tangled in each other's warmth beneath the artificial stars, I realized that no matter how dangerous this was, no matter how complicated—

I wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

As the silence stretched between us, I could feel Lingling's breathing slow, her grip on me loosening just slightly as exhaustion weighed on her. I stayed still, listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat, feeling the warmth of her body against mine.

For the first time in a long time, I felt... safe.

I didn't want to move.

I didn't want this moment to end.

But I knew it would.

Just as I started to drift off, Lingling's voice broke the silence. "Orm..."

"Hm?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

"...If I tell you to run one day," she murmured, her fingers tracing small patterns on my back, "will you listen?"

I tensed slightly. "Lingling—"

"Promise me," she said, voice softer now, but firm. "That if things ever get bad... you'll leave. That you won't stay and fight. That you'll run."

I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. They were filled with something heavy, something desperate.

"I can't promise that," I admitted, my throat tightening.

Lingling exhaled sharply, her expression darkening for a split second before she closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against mine again. "Of course you can't."

A bitter smile tugged at her lips. "You're too damn stubborn."

I reached up, brushing my fingers against her cheek. "And you're too damn self-sacrificing."

She let out a quiet chuckle, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Guess we're both reckless."

We stayed like that for a moment, just breathing each other in.

Then, Lingling whispered something so quietly I almost didn't hear it.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Orm."

And for the first time, I let myself believe her.

Even if I knew it was a dangerous thing to believe.

The weight of Lingling's words lingered in the air, pressing against my chest like an unspoken truth we were both too afraid to acknowledge.

I knew what she meant.

She wasn't just saying she would protect me—she was saying she would destroy for me. That she would burn down the world before letting anyone lay a hand on me again.

And that terrified me.

Not because I doubted her, but because I knew exactly what kind of darkness she had been forged in. I had seen the scars on her body, the weight she carried in her eyes, the exhaustion of someone who had spent their entire life fighting.

I didn't want to be another reason she had to fight.

Lingling's arms tightened around me, as if sensing the storm in my head. "You're thinking too much," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss against my temple.

I sighed. "Can you blame me?"

"No," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "But just for tonight... don't think. Just be here with me."

I hesitated.

Then, slowly, I let myself melt into her warmth, letting my head rest against her shoulder.

The star ceiling above us flickered softly, casting gentle patterns of light across the room. It felt surreal, like we were in our own little universe—one where Lingling wasn't a feared mafia leader and I wasn't a doctor caught in a world I had no business being in.

Just for tonight, we were simply Orm and Lingling.

And that was enough.

For now.