Where… am I?
A cutting wind tore at Texas's exposed face. Her body swayed uncontrollably, and she forced her eyes open with effort.
What she saw first was Lungmen's glittering skyline—towering buildings, restless streams of people, cars slicing through the streets like arrows—
And then, sitting directly in front of her, smiling as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment:
Chen Mo.
"Chen… Mo?"
Texas snapped fully awake. She lowered her gaze, only then realizing her body was wrapped up so tightly she looked like luggage ready for shipment. For a second, her mind buzzed blankly, unable to match cause to effect.
"Why am I here?"
"Why do you think?" Chen Mo said, cheerfully prodding at the long, bundled "package" that was Texas—now hanging from a clothes rack like a bizarre, oversized scarf. "Don't tell me you remember nothing about last night. What—amnesia?"
He leaned closer, still grinning.
"If you dare tell me you forgot, I'll go tell Exusiai and Ch'en everything that happened."
Why was Exusiai even involved in this?
The teasing edge in his voice made Texas choke on whatever she'd been about to say. Her brow furrowed as she tried to piece the memory together.
"Last night…?"
And then—like a flood breaking through a weakened dam—everything slammed back into place.
The mood. The heat. The way his scent clung to her thoughts. The smooth, maddening texture of his tail scales under her fingertips.
And—
His lips.
At the memory, Texas's ears shot upright. Her eyes moved almost involuntarily to Chen Mo's mouth, to the warm breath he exhaled when he spoke.
"…Did I… harm you?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Chen Mo shot back. "What, you think I was the one who jumped you?"
He didn't look angry. If anything, he looked… entertained. That made it worse. His smile was too calm, too unreadable.
But the fact remained: something had happened, and it wasn't something she could pretend away.
Texas took a slow breath. Her expression steadied. She met his gaze directly.
"Put me down, Chen Mo. We need to talk. About last night."
Chen Mo ignored her. Instead, he used his thick tail like a mischievous lever, making her swing back and forth in the wind.
"I think this is perfect," he said lightly. "Consider it ventilation. Maybe it'll blow some of the filth out of that brain of yours."
Texas fell silent. If he was angry, arguing would only dig the hole deeper. She endured the humiliating swaying, letting the cold air strip her thoughts down to something workable.
But Chen Mo wasn't punishing her.
He was enjoying himself.
For someone like Texas—usually cold, composed, the kind of person who could freeze a room with a glance—being reduced to a quiet, guilty offender in front of him was apparently hilarious.
Chen Mo even started humming.
And with every note, a heavier dread settled into Texas's chest.
Is he really going to make this public?
What would her coworkers think? What would Exusiai do? How would she even look them in the eyes?
Her heart thudded, then slowed—cooling into a hard, controlled rhythm. Her canine teeth dragged unconsciously across her lower lip.
Chen Mo watched her spiral for a moment, then finally relented. His tail coiled back, and he stepped forward to unhook her and set her down.
"Alright, I'm done messing with you." He tilted his head, eyes bright with mischief. "So? You're not going to suddenly lunge at me and kiss me again, right?"
"…No."
Texas nodded once. She didn't trust her voice to carry anything else.
Chen Mo turned and strolled into the living room, flopping back onto the sofa—the very sofa she'd… abused last night.
"Stop standing out there freezing, you shameless wolf. Come in. Let's talk."
Texas followed. The moment she entered, she lowered herself into a formal kneel in front of him—straight-backed, hands resting neatly, eyes lifted without flinching.
Cold and handsome as ever, yet now stripped of her usual dominance by the simple fact that she was undeniably at fault.
"I'm sorry, Chen Mo."
"And?" Chen Mo asked.
He crossed one leg over the other. His right foot swung lazily, the toe drifting close to her face and pulling her gaze with it, almost like a metronome setting the pace of her humiliation.
"You think one 'sorry' makes this go away? That's a little too cheap."
He hooked a finger at the corner of his mouth and pulled his lip aside so she could see the injury.
"And you really went for it last night. Honestly impressive. To bite through a Draco's defenses at that angle… you're something else, Texas."
Was he mocking her? Scolding her? It didn't feel like either—not exactly. He was acting like himself. Too normal. Too casual. Too difficult to read.
Texas analyzed him the way an employee studies a superior's mood after making a catastrophic mistake.
A superior didn't want excuses. They wanted sincerity. And tangible action.
Her eyes sharpened. A decision settled into place with the clean finality she used to bring to battle.
She raised her gaze and locked onto his—steady, direct, without avoidance.
"I will take responsibility."
For a moment, the room went quiet.
Only the television, blaring in the background, broke the stillness. Chen Mo blinked as if he hadn't expected those words to come out of her mouth.
"Responsibility… for me?" He shuddered faintly. "That sounds unbelievably weird."
Texas didn't soften. She looked dead serious.
Chen Mo stared at her for a second, then scratched his cheek, reached for his phone, and opened a message thread. He angled the screen toward her.
"This," he said, "is why you really lost control."
Texas's eyes flicked to the screen.
"…What is it?"
"The real reason." Chen Mo put the phone away, then lay sideways against the sofa with a yawn, his tone turning practical. "Those two women you ran into? They were the ones distributing and using illegal stuff. The Guard Department already swept them up—and the network behind them too."
Texas's expression tightened.
Chen Mo continued, watching her with open amusement.
"But you were impressive. The dose they slipped in was strong enough to send even a Vouivre into a full-blown frenzy—someone like that wouldn't stop until they'd burned it out completely."
He tapped his temple as if recalling the report.
"And yet you held on. You didn't go berserk. You didn't hurt anyone. You… basically got satisfied with just jumping me and kissing me."
His smile widened.
"So what should I call you, Texas? An iron-willed monster? Or a… painfully inexperienced straight-laced woman who doesn't even know what she's doing?"
Texas's face twisted in frustration. She wanted to snap back, to deny it, to reclaim dignity—
But she had no ground to stand on.
Chen Mo laughed, waved his hand, and mercifully stopped digging.
"Alright, alright. I'm done. You weren't doing it on purpose." He leaned back, voice bright and effortless. "Here's the deal: from now on, if I ever need your help, you show up. No questions, no delays. Do that, and I'll let this go."
He didn't care about "responsibility." It had been a kiss—nothing more. He wasn't about to cling to it like some fragile man demanding repayment.
He'd gotten his entertainment. That was enough.
He tilted his chin toward the door, dismissing her with a lazy confidence.
"Now go on. Get back before someone notices you're missing. Otherwise my 'cheap little sister' might find out and—"
Knock. Knock.
The sharp, sudden pounding on the door cut him off mid-sentence.
....
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