Faced with Shirley's fierce struggles, Jiang Cheng stood unmoving, a mountain against a storm.
His powerful hands clamped around her delicate wrists like iron pincers.
Far from stopping, he deepened the scorching, lingering kiss.
Eyes blazing with unyielding resolve and raw desire, he rasped, "Don't resist."
The sudden assault left Shirley utterly bewildered.
Eyes wide with panic, she gasped, "I'm your Bodyguard."
With her skills, she could have twisted free and pinned him in a heartbeat.
But Jiang Cheng's status forbade such a move.
Her gaze darted, frantic, unsure what expression to wear.
While she hesitated, Jiang Cheng's lips had already reached her throat.
His breathing roughened; she remembered the sounds outside his door when Wang Yuyan had visited—sounds that had scorched her ears.
Feeling her resistance fade, Jiang Cheng felt a surge of conflicting emotion—lust, and something gentler.
For the first time, he resented the mind-reading skill that let him taste her turmoil.
Shirley wasn't like other women; she was his Bodyguard, sworn to absolute loyalty.
In danger, she would throw herself between him and death without hesitation.
Even at the cost of her own life.
That oath now tangled her mind into knots.
Her thoughts scattered, trapped between duty and self.
It made her reactions strange, almost mechanical.
To Jiang Cheng, it felt like forcing a puppet.
Gently, he rested his palms on the exquisite line of her collarbones.
His fingers traced the delicate ridges, marveling at their beauty.
Even now, he watched her every flicker of expression.
Afraid any move might hurt or repel her.
Yet desire had already seized him, wild and unstoppable.
Stealthily, he found the zipper of her dress and drew it down, slow and silent.
The soft rasp sounded thunderous in the hush.
Fabric slid from her shoulders; her body stiffened with a shiver.
Lost in a haze, Jiang Cheng never noticed.
His lips drifted lower, nearing the curve of her neck—until a roughness grazed his cheek.
Confusion flashed across his eyes.
The teasing motion stopped.
He lifted his gaze to her body—and froze.
An angry red scar glared back at him, snatching his breath away.
It stretched across her chest like a twisted centipede, hideous and dark.
Beginning just above her right breast, near the heart.
It slanted downward in a vicious slash that seemed to split her in two.
The sight obliterated every trace of desire.
He stared, stunned, unable to believe what he saw.
A wave of pure anguish for her washed through him.
His roaming hands stilled.
Unbidden, his right hand rose and eased her dress lower.
More of the scar emerged, clearer, crueler.
When he saw it reached all the way to her navel, his heart felt hammered by iron.
He couldn't look away from the crimson centipede coiling across her skin.
What he saw wasn't just a scar—it was every agony she had endured.
Sensing his stillness, Shirley's heart plummeted.
Panic and shame crashed over her.
Her hands trembled.
Instinctively she grabbed for cloth, desperate to hide the ugliness.
To her, the scar was more than skin: it was the emblem of every past torment.
Each time someone saw it, her wounds tore open anew.
Jiang Cheng caught her wrists, his gaze gentle as spring sunlight.
No disgust—only deep sorrow and a need to understand.
He bent, studying the brutal seam.
With careful fingers he traced the ridged line, feeling each bump like a thorn in his own heart.
Nearby, smaller scars marred her skin, a cruel tapestry.
"How…?" he whispered, voice shaking.
What nightmare had done this?
He searched her face for answers, finding only pain.
He had seen countless flawless bodies.
Moments ago he had expected hers to be perfect too.