Chapter 5

Morning sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting golden patterns across Jiang Zhinan’s bare shoulders and neck. She curled up in the silk sheets, her fingertips unconsciously brushing against the bite mark left by Jiang Xingzhi below her collarbone the night before—its shape was eerily similar to the cufflinks on his suit, delicate yet sharp.

“Awake?”

A low voice mingled with the aroma of coffee drifted from the doorway. Jiang Xingzhi stood there in a bathrobe, his hair still damp with the scent of rose oil. He held a tray in his left hand, while his right hand casually fiddled with the cufflink at his wrist. Zhinan saw the tiny letters “JZ” engraved on the silver cufflink—her name’s initials—but last night, he had pressed it into her waist, leaving a faint red imprint.

“There’s a board meeting today.” He placed the tray on the bedside table and lifted her chin with his hand, his thumb brushing over her slightly swollen lower lip. “Be good and stay home. Don’t try to contact anyone from the Jiang family—you know the consequences.”

Zhinan lowered her gaze, avoiding his eyes, and her attention fell on the pill bottle on the tray. The transparent glass bottle contained pink tablets with no label—only the words “One a day” scrawled in marker. Ever since she had tried to slit her wrist with scissors three months ago, Jiang Xingzhi had started mixing the pills into her food, calling them “tranquilizers.” But they always made her drift into a dazed, foggy sleep each afternoon, filled with dreams of him gripping her waist and saying “Don’t run.”

“Got it,” she whispered, her voice as soft and weak as silk soaked in warm water.

Satisfied, Jiang Xingzhi leaned down and kissed her forehead. His robe slipped half an inch, revealing the jagged scar across his chest—a scar he received three years ago when an opponent stabbed him with a spring-loaded knife at an underground fight. Back then, she had dipped a cotton swab in iodine to disinfect the wound for him, and he had bitten her fingertips and said, “Zhinan-jie, when I’m in control, I’ll keep you in a crystal case like a precious treasure.”

The thud of the villa’s front door startled a sparrow outside the window. Jiang Zhinan stared at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling until she was sure the red dot of the surveillance camera had stopped blinking. Then she threw off the covers and got out of bed. In the full-length mirror at the foot of the bed, she saw the silver chain around her ankle—just long enough to let her walk from the bed to the floor-to-ceiling window. The clasp was engraved with Jiang Xingzhi’s birthday, just like an ID tag for a prized pet in a boutique shop.

Knock knock.

The sound came from the balcony. Zhinan turned and saw a man in a delivery uniform waving at her through the glass. He took off his cap, revealing a crescent-shaped birthmark behind his left ear—it was Akang, the old chauffeur from the Jiang family’s ancestral home.

“Miss, the Master is seriously ill. He wants to see you one last time.” Akang pulled a phone from the inner pocket of his uniform. On the screen was a photo of her father with a feeding tube in his nose, and the fluctuating numbers of the cardiac monitor blinking beside him. “This is your only chance. Jiang Xingzhi’s men are tracking all communications. You must leave with me.”

Zhinan’s fingernails dug deep into her palm. She recalled what Jiang Xingzhi said last night while holding her as they looked at the city lights: “The Jiang family’s empire is like a row of dominoes. All I had to do was push the first one, and the whole family will kneel at my feet.”

Now, behind Akang, the edge of a black suit flashed briefly in the bushes—she knew it was one of Jiang Xingzhi’s bodyguards.

“Give my father a message for me.” She turned to open her jewelry box and took out the sapphire necklace Jiang Xingzhi had given her. “Tell him… blue roses only survive in a greenhouse at minus five degrees.”

A-Kang froze, then nodded. Hidden inside the sapphire necklace was a micro-tracker—personally gifted by Jiang Xingzhi, a “present” in disguise. Jiang Zhinan watched as he slipped the necklace into the delivery package, but suddenly, the sound of the electronic lock unlocking echoed from the front door.

“Hide!” she whispered urgently. A-Kang quickly leaped over the balcony and disappeared behind the ivy-covered wall. As she turned around, she crashed into a cold, faintly scented embrace. Jiang Xingzhi hadn’t even fastened his tie; his fingers held the barrette she had just used to try removing the silver chain.

“Trying to run?” His voice held amusement, but he gripped the back of her neck and pinned her to the wall. “Who were you talking to just now, hmm?”

A chill ran through Jiang Zhinan’s entire body as she saw the handle of a gun peeking from the inner pocket of his suit. The trembling boy from three years ago had long since vanished—what stood before her now was the “King of the Underworld Arms Trade,” so powerful even the old master of the Jiang family addressed him respectfully as “Mr. Jiang.”

“No one…” Her protest was crushed between his lips. Jiang Xingzhi yanked open her nightdress, the silver chain screeching across the floor. His fingers traced an old scar on her waist—the mark left from the first time he lost control and struck her with a belt buckle. Now, he gently licked it with the tip of his tongue, as if soothing a frightened little animal.

“Zhinan-jie never listens,” he murmured, biting her earlobe with a twisted tenderness. “Looks like I’ll have to get you a prettier chain—maybe one set with diamonds… engraved with my name?”

Jiang Zhinan closed her eyes, letting his body heat sear her. Outside the window, the sparrow returned, perching on the wrought-iron flower stand on the balcony. She suddenly recalled the canary she had kept as a child—when it flew into the glass, it broke its beak. And now, she didn’t even have the strength to break the glass.

“Xingzhi,” she heard her voice, lifeless like a specimen soaked in formalin, “I won’t go anywhere. Just… don’t hurt my father.”

The man froze. He looked up, his pupils reflecting her shattered image—then he smiled. That smile resembled the sky before a violent storm—clear, yet harboring a ruthless, devastating fury.

“Would’ve been better if you were this obedient earlier.” He pinched her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Remember: your breath, your pain, your father’s heartbeat—they’re all in my hands. If I ever see you contacting the outside world again—”

His thumb pressed over her wrist, where a small burn mark from a cigarette end remained, shaped like a lowercase “x.”

“I’ll lock you in the basement. Only water and painkillers every day. And you’ll watch me tear the Jiang family’s empire into pieces, one by one.”

Before the last word even settled, he bit her lips—his kiss stained with blood and the bitterness of coffee. In her dizziness, Jiang Zhinan could hear her own heartbeat, like a whale trapped in the deep sea, calling out with a sorrow no one could understand. Jiang Xingzhi’s hand had already slid between her legs, the silver chain coiling on the floor into a distorted loop—just like the fate they could never escape.