When I opened my eyes, I sat up so quickly that the room seemed to move with me. I gasped for air, one hand pressed against my chest as I tried to understand where I was.

The bedroom was silent.

I turned towards the other side of the bed and found it empty. The sheets were cold. Cheng hadn't slept there.

For a few seconds, I stared at the space beside me, disturbed by how much his absence bothered me.

What the hell happened?

My memories refused to arrange themselves properly. I remembered the movie, the phone call about the trial shift, feeling sick again, Cheng leaving the bedroom... and then nothing. Whenever I tried to reach further, the fragments slipped away.

I rubbed both hands over my face. I'd barely arrived in this country, yet somehow time was already escaping me while I remained stuck in the same place—sick, confused and depending on someone I'd known for less than a week.

Enough.

I needed to get back on track. University. Work. My hostel. My life.

Whatever was wrong with me, Xiao Luo would figure it out eventually. Then I could stop lying in Cheng's bed like a permanent patient and start behaving like the person I'd crossed an ocean to become.

My body protested the moment I moved. Every muscle ached, and the IV line was still attached to my arm.

I stared at it with growing irritation. I hated the heaviness it left in my body, the fog in my head, the missing pieces of time.

Before I could reconsider it, I detached the line and dropped it beside the bed.

The moment I stood, my legs almost gave way. I caught the edge of the mattress, waited for the dizziness to pass, then made my way to the bathroom.

Cold water ran over my hands as I leaned against the sink and studied myself in the mirror.

Terrible.

My face was pale, dark shadows sat beneath my eyes, and my hair looked as though I'd spent the night fighting someone.

Will I ever look decent in front of him?

I splashed water over my face. My skin still felt unbearably hot, so I turned the tap completely cold and bent over the sink, pushing my head beneath the stream.

The freezing water struck my scalp and stole my breath.

Breathe.

I concentrated on the cold instead of everything else—the fever, the trial shift, my hostel payment, Cheng, whatever had happened yesterday.

For a few minutes, I even tried one of those exercises I'd read about once: acknowledge the pain, breathe through it, imagine your body healing instead of fighting against it.

It sounded ridiculous, and nsurprisingly, nothing magical happened.

I shut off the tap and grabbed a towel. As I dried my hair, something in the mirror caught my attention.

Red.

I stopped.

Slowly, I moved the towel away from my neck.

“What the...” A reddish-purple mark spread across the left side of my neck, thin broken capillaries branching beneath the skin.

I leaned closer.

It looked painful. Almost violent.

I touched it carefully.

Nothing.

No sting. No tenderness.

That somehow made it worse.

Where did this come from?

I searched my memory again and found the same wall of darkness.

“Hey. You okay?”

I jumped, my hand immediately covering the new mark.

Cheng stood near the bathroom entrance, his eyes already fixed on my neck.

Too late. He'd seen it.

I grabbed a high-necked shirt and pulled it on. “I'm fine.”

He clearly didn't believe me, but thankfully he didn't ask.

“Come on,” Cheng said instead. “I'll make you some soup.”

I followed him towards the kitchen.

When my balance shifted, Cheng didn't grab me. He simply offered his forearm and waited.

I hesitated before curling my fingers around his sleeve.

Warmth travelled through my palm. Beneath the fabric, I could feel the faint rhythm of his pulse.

Steady. Alive.

For one strange second, I wanted to pull him closer—not because I was falling, but because I wanted to feel that heartbeat more clearly.

I released him. “Cheng...”

“Hm?”

The question escaped before I understood why I was asking it. “Do you have any red meat?”

He stopped walking.

So did I.

Why did I ask that?

My mouth watered.

An image appeared in my head with disturbing clarity: a thick steak, barely cooked, red in the middle, warm red juice spilling beneath the knife.

I swallowed.

After days of struggling to keep food down, suddenly I was starving.

For that.

Cheng watched me carefully. “Red meat?”

“Yeah. I don't know why. I just really want some.”

Something changed in his expression, so quickly that I might have imagined it. “Sure. Give me a second.”

He took out his phone and made a call. Chinese flowed rapidly from his mouth as he paced across the living room. I couldn't understand a word, but his posture gradually changed. His shoulders tightened and his voice sharpened.

Then he raised it.

I flinched.

Cheng glanced at me and immediately lowered his tone.

I looked away—and realised we weren't alone. Xiao Luo sat at the far end of the dining table.

I hadn't even heard him arrive.

The older doctor looked worse than yesterday. A dressing covered part of his face, dark swelling coloured the skin near his cheekbone, and his split lower lip was still healing. His gold-framed glasses sat slightly crooked over tired eyes.

The moment our gazes met, his body stiffened. His hands were clasped on the table.

They were trembling.

Because of me?

I approached slowly. Xiao Luo shifted backwards in his chair before I had even reached him.

That answered my question.

“Doctor?”

His eyes snapped to mine.

“What happened yesterday?” I sat opposite him, deliberately leaving plenty of distance between us.

“I remember feeling sick again, but after that...” I searched for something that wasn't there. “I don't remember anything.”

Xiao Luo said nothing. His gaze flicked towards Cheng, who was still speaking on the phone, then returned to me.

There was something in his expression I hadn't seen before.

Fear.

Not concern. Not discomfort. He was afraid of me.

I lowered my voice. “Did I do something?”

His face tightened. Before he could answer, Cheng ended the call and came over to us. He sat beside me, immediately noticing the tension.

“He asked you something,” Cheng said. “Answer him.”

Xiao Luo looked down. For a second, an image flashed through my mind.

Blood covering Cheng's knuckles.

I froze. The memory disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, leaving a dull ache behind my eyes.

I rubbed my temple.

Cheng noticed. “I need to go downstairs for a second. I'll be right back.” His chair scraped against the floor.

My body tensed before I could stop it.

Cheng paused. “Or I can stay.”

“No.” The answer came too quickly. I forced myself to smile. “Don't worry. Do what you need to do.”

He studied me for several seconds. “I'll be right back.” He hesitated, then left.

The front door closed behind him and the apartment immediately felt different.

Heavier.

He's just downstairs.

My heartbeat had already accelerated.

I'd spent years learning not to rely on anyone. Then he appeared, and within days I felt lost when he wasn't in the same room as me.

Get a grip.

I had survived before him. I could handle university, work, this new country and whatever came next.

With or without him.

“I think you should see another doctor.” Xiao Luo's voice interrupted my thoughts.

I looked at him. His eyes remained fixed on the front door.

“What?”

His jaw tightened. “I'm not capable of treating someone like you.” The emphasis made my skin prickle.

“Someone like me?”

He finally looked at me. Fear burned in his eyes, mixed with something much uglier.

Hatred.

“Doctor, I don't understand.”

“You really don't remember?”

My stomach tightened. “Remember what?”

Xiao Luo stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

I instinctively leaned away.

“You should leave.”

“What?”

“Leave this apartment. Leave him alone.”

“Who?”

His expression twisted. “The Young Master.”

Cheng.

I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

Xiao Luo moved around the table.

Fast. Too fast. His hand clamped around my wrist before I could react.

Pain shot up my arm.

“Doctor—”

He dragged me off the chair before my weak legs could catch my weight.

“Get away from the Young Master!” His voice cracked with fury. “Leave him alone, you monster!”

Monster.

The word hit harder than his shove.

My back struck the floor, sending pain through my body. Before I could recover, Xiao Luo came down over me.

Panic exploded inside my chest.

“No—”

His weight trapped my hips. One hand closed around my throat while the other disappeared behind him.

“Doctor!”

His fingers tightened. Air vanished. I grabbed his wrist with both hands and tried to pull it away. “What are you—”

The question broke into a gasp.

I searched his face for some sign that this wasn't real. That he was only trying to frighten me. Warn me.

Anything.

There was none.

He wanted to hurt me.

Why?

Tears blurred my vision.

Why does everybody want to hurt me?

I kicked beneath him, but my body was still too weak. The edges of the room began to darken.

Then something sharp struck my chest.

I jerked.

Again.

Right over my heart.

A broken sound escaped me as I tried to twist away, but Xiao Luo's grip only tightened.

Fight.

My fingers slipped against his hand.

Fight back.

My strength was disappearing. Fear burned into anger. When was I finally going to be strong enough to protect myself?

The front door slammed open. “CHIN MAE!”

Xiao Luo's weight vanished. Air tore painfully into my lungs.

I rolled onto my side, coughing, and through blurred vision saw Cheng tackle him.

They hit the floor hard. Then Cheng's fist came down.

Once. Twice. Again.

“Cheng...”

He didn't hear me.

Xiao Luo tried to shield his face, but Cheng hit him again. The sound of knuckles against flesh made my stomach turn. “Cheng!”

Nothing.

I dragged myself across the floor, every breath hurting.

Xiao Luo had attacked me. Called me a monster. Tried to choke me.

I should've wanted Cheng to hurt him.

I didn't.

I wanted to know why.

What had Xiao Luo seen that frightened him enough to do this?

I reached Cheng from behind and caught his sweater in both fists. “Stop.”

He didn't.

I tightened my grip until the fabric twisted between my fingers, clinging to it as if it were the only thing keeping me upright.

“Cheng, please!”

His fist finally stopped.

I wrapped my arms around his torso from behind and held on with everything I had.

“I-it's okay. He was scared. I don't know why, but... please. Let him go.”

Cheng remained rigid beneath my arms.

“I'm okay.” It was a lie. The tears running down my face made that obvious, but I needed him to stop.

Slowly, Cheng turned.

The moment he saw my face, something in his expression broke.

He pulled me against him.

Hard.

I buried my face against his chest, and a sob escaped before I could stop it.

Then another.

Monster.

One word. That was all it took.

I'd spent years telling myself that other people's cruelty didn't define me. That being hated didn't mean I deserved hatred. That being hurt didn't make me weak.

Beautiful sentences. Much harder to believe when I was the one bleeding and nearly got killed.

My fingers twisted into Cheng's sweater, gripping it hard as though I were trying to anchor myself to him.

His arms tightened around me.

No questions. No demands. Just warmth.

Gradually, my breathing began to match his.

For a few seconds, the apartment disappeared. So did Xiao Luo. The past. Everything.

There was only Cheng's chest against mine and the strange certainty that, right there, I was safe.

I couldn't remember the last time a hug had felt like that.

Not suffocating. Not possessive. Not something I had to repay.

Just warm.

I closed my eyes. Cheng simply held me and for once, I let him.

Eventually, I became aware of how tightly we were clinging to each other. The realisation changed the air between us.

I slowly lifted my face. Cheng loosened his arms, but neither of us moved far.

His gaze dropped to my chest. He carefully pressed his palm over the place Xiao Luo had struck. “Does this hurt?”

I waited for the pain.

Strangely...

“Not as much as it should.”

His expression darkened.

Movement came from across the room. Xiao Luo was trying to stand.

Cheng turned, and every trace of softness vanished from his face. “Get the fuck out.”

The older man froze. “If you ever touch him again,” Cheng said, his voice frighteningly calm, “I won't stop next time.”

Xiao Luo looked at us.

Fear. Anger. Disgust.

His gaze settled on me before he gathered his things with shaking hands and hurried towards the door.

It slammed behind him.

Silence returned. Cheng immediately faced me. “I shouldn't have left you alone.”

“Cheng—”

“I'm sorry.” He moved closer, then stopped. His eyes dropped briefly to my lips.

My breath caught when he leaned towards me. For one dizzy second, I thought—

His lips touched my temple.

I closed my eyes.

“I'm never leaving you alone again,” he whispered.

A shiver ran through me.

“Cheng, I'm fine.”

“You're not.”

“I will be.” My voice trembled enough to betray me. “Thank you for saving me.”

He pulled back enough to look at me. “No. This happened because of me.”

“How could you have known that something like this—”

“I should have.”

“How?”

He didn’t answer. His hand remained over my chest, warm and steady, while his other arm drew me towards him again.

This time, I didn't hesitate. I rested my forehead against his shoulder and released a long breath.

“I'll make sure you're okay,” he murmured. “I promise.”

Promises.

I should've hated that word.

I'd heard too many of them. People promised to stay, promised to protect you, promised they would change—and then broke those promises as easily as they'd made them.

But Cheng's arms were around me now.

And right now was all I could handle.

His fingers brushed the damp trail from my cheek. “You'll be fine, Mae.”

I froze.

Mae.

Nobody here called me that.

The name sounded strangely intimate in his voice. Before I could react, Cheng pressed a soft kiss against one tear-stained cheek.

Then the other.

Heat rushed into my face.

A tiny smile appeared on his lips. Somehow, despite everything that had happened, I found myself smiling back.

The moment felt tender. Far too intimate for two people who had supposedly decided to become friends.

Cheng rested his forehead against mine. His eyes closed, but mine remained open.

I studied him from only inches away—the faint tension between his eyebrows, the bruising beginning to colour his knuckles, the mouth that was always teasing me now completely still.

There were so many things about Liu Cheng I didn't understand.

Why Xiao Luo called him Young Master. Why his doctor feared me. Why Cheng had nearly beaten that same man unconscious. Why I couldn't remember what had happened yesterday, or why there was a mark on my neck that hadn't been there before.

And perhaps the strangest question of all was why, despite every unanswered question, I felt safer with him than I had felt with anyone in years.

“It's a promise,” Cheng whispered.

My chest tightened.

I should've told him not to make promises he couldn't keep.

Instead, I closed my eyes, and for the first time, I found myself hoping that someone actually would.