Zi Han remained seated on the edge of the bed long after the door had closed, the faint click of the lock still echoing in her mind like a chain fastening into place. The room felt unbearably quiet now. Her hands rested loosely in her lap, fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her skirt as her thoughts tangled together in exhausting knots.
She could still feel the warmth of Ming Ye's forehead against her knees, could still hear the fragility in his voice when he admitted he knew she was afraid of him.
And somehow, that frightened her more than his anger ever had.
Because anger was easy to understand. Anger exploded loudly, violently, predictably. But this softer version of Ming Ye, the one who looked at her with something so raw and desperate it almost resembled heartbreak, was infinitely more dangerous. It blurred the lines too much. Made her hesitate when she should have been resolute.
She slowly lowered her head into her hands, exhaling shakily.
