"You're my property," Bai Qi whispered, his voice cold as ice even as his body burned with a feverish, ugly heat. "Every inch of this skin, every sob, every secret... it belongs to the Rothenberg name. I will mark you so deeply that even he won't recognize you."
Shu Yao's voice finally failed him. The pleas for mercy became soft, rhythmic gasps of pure exhaustion. He looked up at the ceiling, the ornate moldings blurring through the veil of his tears. He had wanted love. He had wanted to be seen by Bai Qi, to be held by the man who occupied every page of his hidden journal.
But as he felt the Monarch's cold eyes watching him while he was unmade, Shu Yao realized that the Bai Qi he loved was a ghost. The man currently crushing the life out of him was a stranger—a beautiful, terrifying monster who didn't want a partner, but a prisoner.
The office was silent again, save for the heavy, rhythmic breathing of the predator and the faint, broken whimpers of the prey. Bai Qi stayed there for a moment, his forehead pressed against the back of Shu Yao's neck, the ruined silk shirt still lying nearby like a discarded skin.
He didn't feel the triumph he expected. He felt a hollow, aching void in his chest that no amount of violence could fill. He had broken the shu Yao spirit, but in doing so, he had become the very thing he claimed to despise.
He continued with a punishing, relentless rhythm until he felt the final, jagged surge of his own rage. He filled Shu Yao with the seeds of his resentment, a final, visceral brand of ownership
Shu Yao let out a shameless, broken sound—a cry that was neither a plea nor a moan, but the noise of a soul finally snapping.
He lay there as the world tilted, his face a ruined landscape where salt-laden tears and cold sweat mingled.
He turned his head away, desperately trying to hide his features behind the strands of his hair, as if he could disappear into the very mahogany of the floorboards.
Bai Qi stood up abruptly. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't offer a glance. He stood over the boy, his chest heaving as he adjusted his clothing with hands that still trembled from the adrenaline of his mania. He looked down at the wreckage he had made, his obsidian eyes devoid of warmth.
"Congratulations," Bai Qi barked, his voice a low, serrated edge. "You've successfully broken the last bit of trust I ever had in you."
The words hit Shu Yao harder than the physical violation. He let out a wet, rattling cough, his body shivering as the cold air of the office rushed back in to fill the space where Bai Qi had been.
Shu Yao began to move with the agonizing slowness of a wounded animal. He gathered the remains of his dignity, his fingers fumbling with the fabric of his torn shirt—one ruined by a viper, the other shredded by the man he loved. He pulled his trousers back up, his movements robotic and stiff.
A sharp, jagged hiccup escaped Shu Yao's throat. He forced himself to his feet, swaying dangerously. His spirit had been torn apart in the hospital, and today, Bai Qi had gathered the pieces only to grind them into dust.
He looked at Bai Qi's back, at the sharp line of the Monarch's suit. A small, ghostly smile touched Shu Yao's lips—a masterpiece of pure, unadulterated heartbreak.
"Are... are you happy now?" Shu Yao whispered.
The question hung in the air like a guillotine. Bai Qi turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of that smile. It was a look of such profound, hollow forgiveness that it made his own throat tighten with a sudden, unwanted bile. He could say nothing.
The arrogance that usually fueled him had turned into a leaden weight in his gut. He had wanted to reclaim his property; instead, he had only succeeded in destroying the only person who had ever looked at him with sincerity.
Shu Yao didn't wait for an answer. He knew the silence of the Rothenbergs was its own kind of sentence. He reached for his long coat, clutching it tightly around his frame to hide the evidence of Bai Qi's wrath—the bruises on his hips, the shredded silk, the stains of a King's insecurity.
Shu Yao reached the grand mahogany door. He leaned against it for a moment, his hand on the lock. He felt the weight of the office behind him, the silence of the man in the chair, and the echoing void of his own life.
He turned the handle and stepped out into the hallway.
He stood there for a heartbeat, waiting. He was waiting for a call back. He was waiting for an apology, a command, or even a final insult. But the door remained shut. The silence from Bai Qi's office was absolute, a cold vacuum that told Shu Yao he was now truly alone.
His mind went numb. He walked away, his footsteps silent on the marble, a "Saint" who had finally learned that even the brightest light can be extinguished by a shadow.
Inside the office, the air was still. Bai Qi stood by his desk for a long time, The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a cold, stinging clarity.
He sank back into his high-backed leather chair, the same throne from which his father had ruled this empire. He didn't look at the reports. He didn't look at the door.
He dropped his head into his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp as he hid his face from the empty room. The silence of the office began to scream.
Outside the door Shu Yao, Felt like the site of a fresh massacre. He leaned against the cool glass of a partition, catching his reflection. The sight made him recoil. He was a ruined beauty, a masterpiece defaced by the very man who claimed to own him.
"Disgusting," he whispered, his voice a ghost of a sound. "If someone sees me... if they see what I really am..."
With trembling fingers, he pinned back his soft brown hair and buttoned his coat to the chin, hiding the marks of Bai Qi's possessive wrath. But the fabric of the ruined silk shirt, still clutched in his hand, felt like lead. A massive, choking sob broke from his throat, a sound of absolute defeat.
"I am worthless," he murmured, the tears spilling over. "I should have stopped him. If I had been stronger with Shen... Bai Qi wouldn't have had to do this. I made him become a monster. It's my fault... it's all my fault."
The sound of footsteps made Shu Yao flinch so violently that he nearly collapsed. The physical pain from the office was a sharp, burning reminder of his shame, but he forced himself to stand.
George rounded the corner, tucking his phone away. When he saw the small, trembling figure by the glass, his heart skipped a terrifying beat. Shu Yao look so hollow—so utterly extinguished.
"Shu Yao?" George hurried forward, his hand reaching out.
Shu Yao recoiled, backing away until his spine hit the cold glass. His eyes were wide, filled with a primal terror that made George freeze in his tracks.
"What happened?" George's voice was urgent, laced with a growing fury. "Why are you like this? Did that brat... did he lose his mind again?"
Shu Yao offered a smile—a thin, wavering line of pure tragedy. "He must be happy now," he whispered. "He did what he had to do. He had to clean me. He had to reclaim me."
George's blood didn't just run cold; it turned to ice. The words "He had to clean me" vibrated in the hallway like a death knell. He looked toward the heavy mahogany doors of the executive office, his vision tunneling into a red haze of murderous intent.
Shu Yao saw the shift. Terror flared in his hollow eyes. He stood up, swaying, his hand reaching out in a futile gesture.
"Don't," Shu Yao whispered. "Don't hurt him."
George's hands snapped into white-knuckled fists. "How?" he barked, his voice cracking with a jagged, uncontrolled fury. "How did that bastard—how the hell did he just—"
Shu Yao flinched at the volume. The reaction was instinctive, a violent recoil that made George instantly choke back his rage. George turned his head away, unable to look at the boy's disintegration. He was the protector, the silent guardian, and he had failed. The monster inside that office had won.
"I don't want someone to be the cause of his pain," Shu Yao said. His voice was ripping apart, a dry, agonizing sound.
He sobbed, a single, violent tremor that rattled his entire frame. George's expression shifted from wrath to a profound, aching sorrow. He stepped forward, reaching out a hand.
"Shu Yao, look at me."
"Don't come closer!" Shu Yao cried, stepping back. His heels hit the glass partition. "I don't deserve kindness. I don't deserve anything."
Before George could react, Shu Yao turned. His mind was miles ahead of his broken body. He bolted toward the terrace staircase, his movements fueled by a frantic, terminal energy.
"Shu Yao! Wait!" George lunged after him, but the boy had vanished into the stairwell.
The air on the terrace was a physical blow. The wind whipped across the high-rise, freezing the tears on Shu Yao's face. He winced as the cold bit into his skin, but a small, twisted smile followed. Pain was an old friend. It was the only thing that had never abandoned him.
He walked toward the edge, the city lights below blurring into a sea of indifferent neon.
"Shu Yao!" George burst through the heavy door, gasping for air. He stopped ten feet away, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"What are you doing? Step back."
Shu Yao turned his head. The look in his eyes made George's stomach drop. It was the look of someone who had already left.
"I don't deserve to live, Mr. George," Shu Yao said softly. The wind carried the words, making them sound like a ghost's confession. "I am a mistake that the world needs to erase."
"No," George said, his voice steadying despite his panic. "You are not a mistake."
"My father died all because of me," Shu Yao countered, his voice rising. "My sister was shot in front of my eyes while I just stood there! I was a coward then, and I am a coward now!"
He shook his head, more tears spilling over. "I made him a monster. The boy I loved... the innocent one... he's gone. I destroyed him."
George felt a visceral pang of heartbreak. He saw the logic of a broken mind—the way Shu Yao had internalized Bai Qi's cruelty as his own fault. George took a tentative step forward. Shu Yao immediately mirrored him, stepping back toward the ledge.
George froze. One more step and the boy would fall.
"Shu Yao, stop being stupid," George said, trying to ground him with a firm tone. "I will make him understand. I will make Bai Qi realize what he's done. He won't dare touch you like that again. I promise you."
Shu Yao trembled, a jagged hiccup escaping his throat. "I won't be able to meet his eyes. I can't see him. If I see his face, I'll remember..."
He broke down again, his hands covering his face as he wailed into the wind.
George saw his opening.
He didn't hesitate. He launched himself forward, closing the distance in a blur of motion. He didn't grab for a hand; he threw his entire weight into a crushing embrace, yanking Shu Yao away from the ledge and pinning him against his chest.
Shu Yao gasped. Panic and shame collided in his chest, leaving him breathless. He struggled weakly, his hands pushing against George's heavy coat.
"Let go! Let go of me!" Shu Yao choked out. "Mr. George, please... I'm dirty. Don't touch me."
George didn't loosen his grip. His expression was a mask of sorrowful resolve as he pulled the boy tighter, shielding him from the wind and the drop.
"No, Shu Yao," George rumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't let you go. I'm afraid if I let go, I'll never find you again."
Shu Yao stopped fighting. The fight had drained out of him, replaced by a crushing, hollow weight. He sagged into George's arms, his forehead dropping onto the man's shoulder. He began to cry—not the quiet, polite tears of a servant, but the raw, ugly wails of a child who had lost everything.
"Okay," George whispered, his large hand cupping the back of Shu Yao's head. "Okay. Cry as much as you want. Just breathe. I'm here. I won't let anyone touch you again. I promise."