The fluorescent lights of the parking garage flickered, casting long, sickly shadows over Tian. He was slumped against the concrete pillar, his breathing coming in ragged, wet gasps. Sayna's hands shook as she held his shoulders, feeling the terrifying heat radiating through his designer blazer.
"Tian? Can you hear me?" she whispered, her voice echoing in the empty space. He didn't answer with words—only a low, pained groan as his head rolled back, his eyes glazed and unfocused.
Tian's phone vibrated violently in his pocket. It was Chen. Sayna answered the call.
"Tian! Where are you? Chen said.
"Chen, something is wrong," Sayna stammered, bracing her weight to help Tian stand. "He's burning up. He can barely walk."
Chen-"what happened? Where are you guys right now?" He started panicking.
.
.
Chen came running to the parking lot and went towards the car.
Sayna started to back away, reaching for the front passenger door. "I'll sit up front so you can—"
"No!" Chen barked, already sliding into the driver's seat. He looked at her through the open window, his eyes frantic. "I need to drive like a maniac to get to the private clinic, and I can't have him thrashing around or choking back there. You're the only one here."
He pointed a finger at the backseat. "Get in the back. Sit with him. Hold him down if you have to, just don't let him pass out."
—————
——
The streetlights of the city flickered across Tian's face in rhythmic flashes, revealing the frantic pulse at his jawline. Beside him, Sayna felt as though she were sitting next to a live wire. She tried to keep her eyes fixed on the window, but the sound of his labored, ragged breathing pulled her back.
When she finally looked down, her breath hitched. The expensive fabric of his suit trousers couldn't hide the undeniable, painful-looking bulge beneath.
"Tian..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "The hospital is still ten minutes away. Just try to breathe."
"I can't," he choked out, his voice a low, guttural rasp she barely recognized. He reached out, his hand trembling as he gripped her wrist. His skin was searing, radiating a heat that seemed to burn through her. "Please. It feels like... like I'm burning from the inside."
He shifted, a low groan escaping his lips as he leaned his head back against the leather seat. The movement caused him to press closer to her, his thigh brushing against hers. Even through the layers of clothing, the friction was electric.
Sayna's heart hammered against her ribs.
Tian's hand, usually so steady when he posed for cameras, was trembling as he gripped the edge of the leather seat. His knuckles were white, the veins on the back of his hand popping against his pale skin. Every time the car hit a bump, a low, guttural sound escaped his throat—a sound that was half-pain, half-need.
In the rearview mirror, Chen's eyes were sharp, scanning the road and occasionally flickering to the backseat. He knew Tian was in trouble, but he didn't know how deep it went.
"We're five minutes out," Chen muttered, his voice tight. "Sayna, right? Keep him upright. If the paparazzi see him stumbling into the clinic like this, his career is over before the big release of the series even starts."
Sayna swallowed hard, her throat bone-dry. Sayna, right? Even the manager barely knew her name. She had only been on the team for some days, a quiet girl in the background blending in with the brushes and palettes. Now, the nation's biggest star was vibrating with a primal, drug-induced heat against her side.
Tian's hand suddenly clamped over hers. His palm was calloused and scorching. He didn't look at her with the polite, distant smile he gave the staff. His eyes were dark, predatory, and glazed over.
"You..." he rasped, his voice dropping so low it was almost lost to the hum of the tires. "Your hands were so cold when you touched my face earlier. Do it again."
He didn't wait for her permission. He pulled her hand down, forcing her palm flat against the rigid, pulsing heat of his thigh. Sayna gasped, the sound nearly escaping her lips before she bit it back, glancing frantically at the back of Chen's head.
"Tian, I... I'm just the makeup artist," she whispered, her fingers trembling against the expensive fabric of his trousers. The bulge beneath her palm was terrifyingly prominent, a testament to the fan's cruelty and the drug's efficiency.
"Then fix me," Tian breathed into her ear, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her toes curl. He shifted his weight, pressing himself into her hand, a low, broken hum vibrating in his chest. "I don't care who you are. Just... don't stop."
Under the seat level, hidden from Chen's view, Tian's fingers began to hike up the hem of her skirt, his touch desperate and uncoordinated. The contrast was dizzying: the professional silence of the car, the manager's mundane driving, and the raw, anonymous heat exploding between two people who were practically strangers.
Chen killed the headlights, the car rolling to a stop behind a row of rusted dumpsters. "I'm going to check the back entrance of the clinic to make sure the coast is clear," he muttered, his voice tight. "Stay put. Don't let him move."
The car door clicked shut, and suddenly, the silence in the backseat was deafening.
Tian didn't wait. The second the manager's silhouette vanished around the corner, he let out a low, pained snarl and lunged toward Sayna. He wasn't the polished star from the billboards anymore; he was a man unravelling. He crowded her against the door, his heavy weight pinning her into the leather.
"The cold..." he gasped, his forehead dropping onto her collarbone. "Your hands. Please."
Sayna's heart was a drum in her ears. She was a stranger, a girl he'd hired only days ago to powder his nose, and now her fingers were fumbling with the clasp of his belt. The metal clicked—a sharp, illicit sound in the dark.
"Tian, we shouldn't—"
"I don't care," he interrupted, his voice a raw, jagged edge. He grabbed her wrist, guiding her hand inside the opening of his trousers.
The heat was staggering. As her palm finally made contact with his bare skin, Tian's entire body buckled. He let out a choked, breathless sound, burying his face in the crook of her neck to muffle the noise. Sayna felt the rigid, pulsing length of him—the sheer physical reality of his need.
She began to move her hand, a tentative, rhythmic slide that made Tian's fingers dig into her hips, bruisingly tight. Every slide of her palm drew a jagged hitch from his chest. The friction was electric, the "spicy" tension of the drug meeting her own rising adrenaline.
"Faster," he pleaded, his breath scorching her skin.
She obeyed, her movements becoming more confident as she felt him peaking. Tian's head snapped back, his eyes rolling shut as a low, guttural groan vibrated through his entire frame. He stiffened, his muscles coiling like a spring, before he finally shuddered against her, his release a desperate, quiet explosion in the shadows of the car.
For a long moment, the only sound was the ticking of the cooling engine. Tian slumped against her, his forehead resting on her shoulder, his breathing slowly transitioning from frantic to exhausted. The haze in his eyes started to clear, replaced by a flickering realization of what had just happened—and who he was with.
"Sayna," he murmured, her name sounding heavy on his tongue. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression a mix of shame and intense, newfound curiosity.
A sharp knock on the window made them both jump. Chen was back.
"Clear," Chen called through the glass. "Let's go. Fast."
Sayna quickly helped Tian adjust his clothes, her hands trembling as she tucked the silk shirt back into his waistband. As they stepped out into the cool night air toward the clinic's side door, Tian paused. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her hand—not with the desperation of the drug, but with something far more deliberate.
"Don't leave yet," he whispered, before Chen ushered him through the heavy steel doors.
————-
——-
Chen paced the small room while the doctor—a middle-aged man with sharp eyes and a clinical, no-nonsense demeanor—began his examination
The doctor checked Tian's vitals, leaning in to look at the blown-out pupils and the lingering flush on his neck. He paused, his eyebrows knitting together as he pressed a hand to Tian's chest to monitor his heart rate.
"His heart is still racing, and the toxin is definitely in his system," the doctor muttered, looking over his clipboard. He turned to look at the bulge in Tian's trousers, then back up at his face. He paused for a beat too long, his eyes flicking toward Sayna, then to the slightly disheveled state of Tian's silk shirt.
"It's strange," the doctor said, his voice dropping into a suspicious, professional hum. "With the dosage of the aphrodisiac I'm seeing in the bloodwork, he should be in much more... acute physical distress. His pulse is stabilizing faster than expected, and the primary physical symptoms seem to have been... dampened."
Chen stopped pacing. "What does that mean? Is he okay?"
The doctor didn't answer Chen immediately. Instead, he looked directly at Sayna. "Did he have any sudden physical shocks or a release of adrenaline in the car? He's showing signs of a 'refractory period' drop. Usually, patients in this state are clawing at the walls."
Sayna felt the blood drain from her face. She gripped her makeup bag tighter, her knuckles turning white. "I... I just kept him upright like Chen said," she managed to say, her voice miraculously steady despite the pounding in her ears. "I used cold water wipes on his neck."
Tian, lying back on the exam bed with an IV drip being started in his arm, let out a soft, dry cough. He didn't look at the doctor. His gaze was fixed entirely on Sayna—intense, heavy, and filled with a secret that made the room feel small again.
The doctor looked between the two of them, his eyes narrowing. He was an expert in his field; he knew the difference between a cold compress and what had actually happened. But looking at Chen's panicked face and the high-profile nature of the patient, he simply cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.
"I see," the doctor said dryly, scribbling something forcefully on his pad. "Well, whatever 'first aid' she provided, it saved us from a much more complicated medical emergency. But don't think he's out of the woods. He needs to rest."