'What the—' Ningshun stopped dead. His breath caught, and a dry, rasping sound escaped his throat. Speechless—for what he witnessed had changed everything.

"Ah, finally," Meilin groaned as she pulled her shirt over her head. "Stupid, stupid bra!"

His power, the very essence of his spirit, shrank as if becoming one with the girl, dwindling in her heart space. He needed to act fast, or else—

'Wait. Did she—mention a bra?'

Brows lifted. He should not have heard that. Should not have noticed the way her tank top shifted as if he were nothing but a shadow in the room.

Quickly, he turned away, facing a pink wall that mocked his gaze. "Zayn..." His stomach twisted. Yet, he held on, since the alternative was to witness what was happening behind him.

Images of a half-naked man plastered the wall, a muscular man—no, a fictional man—staring back at him. That smoldering gaze dared him to look longer, the cocky smirk that practically screamed 'her dirty little secret' in the most obnoxious way imaginable.

He fought back a mocking laugh. "Well, well. And here I thought she played for the competition. Turns out, it's for the... scenery." He glanced at his fingers, as if they mattered more. "Poor thing. If only she knew she could've aimed higher."

"Ahh—"

Ningshun's spine snapped straight.

The sound was... breathy. Soft. Indulgent.

A rustle of fabric. A slow, drawn-out sigh. "Mmm... oh, that's so much better..."

Fists clenched, breath pressed thinly through his nose. This was fine. It was nothing. He had endured pain and walked through hell with a smile. A mortal girl undressing in the same room was inconsequential.

Or it should have been.

The soft click of a clasp. Straps sliding over skin. The whisper of tension releasing from her—unfiltered, raw.

'This wasn't part of the plan.' A muscle in his jaw ticked. 'Patience.'

The fabric shifting. The clothes hitting the floor.

She sighed. "Ah, yes... Yes, this is... what heaven feels like."

Ningshun was going to kill something. Himself, probably. That would be the fastest way out of this hell.

Meilin let out a slow, deep moan.

'What is she... doing?' His brain rejected the thought before it could fully form. He needed to get out. Now.

No! Not until he took what was rightfully his first. Making a mistake now could jeopardize his plan. So, he moved his hands to his ears, attempting to block out the sounds.

"God, I swear this thing shrunk in the wash... No wonder it suffocated me all day."

His thoughts blanked as her muffled voice still reached him.

That did not work.

Arms lowered. Wrecked. Fingers curled at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Pierced. Pain flared through his skin. Good. He needed pain. He needed something to anchor him.

"I dealt with torture with more dignity than this," the whispers ended with a scoff. "Never have I been tested like this..."

He recalled the days he had survived forces beyond mortal comprehension and outsmarted enemies while drenched in blood... He was a strategist. He had mastered himself!

And yet, this was going to kill him.

"I swear, they're like half my body weight," Meilin groaned.

Ningshun choked on absolutely nothing. 'What!?' Blinking and frowning, his brow twitched as he let out a sharp exhale, as if his ears were offended.

Her mumbling about makeup remover was already testing his patience, but the impact of her loud giggles—paired with her even crazier chatter about dreaming of Zayn and how 'hot' he was, sank his mind into the pit of her... stupidity.

"ENOUGH."