The paper tasted like defeat and poor life choices, but Mei Xing clenched her jaw tighter anyway. Her logical brain was screaming at her to just spit it out, apologize, and flee to another continent. Preferably one without handsome, dangerous men who seemed determined to unravel her sanity one deliberate touch at a time.
But something deeper—something that felt ancient and unchangeable—refused to surrender.
Even as every nerve ending in her body was acutely aware of Lu Jianjun's weight pinning her to the mattress like some sort of devastatingly attractive anchor pulling her toward a shore she couldn't name.
This is insane, her mind chanted. Completely, utterly insane. But her soul was humming a different tune entirely, one that whispered home and finally and where have you been?
The contradiction was maddening. She'd never felt this way about anyone—not even Zhang Han, her supposed great love. This intensity was foreign yet familiar, like déjà vu wrapped in electricity and need.
