Summary: When walls shatter and buried fears collide, Chen Yao and Lu Sicheng are forced to confront the raw, unrelenting truth between them. This time, there are no shields to hide behind—only the choice to fight for each other, or lose everything they never stopped wanting.
Chapter Seven
The door creaked open slowly.
Just a few inches at first.
Yao appeared behind it, barefoot in worn sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that nearly swallowed her whole, her hair a tousled mess around her face, eyes blinking blearily like she hadn't slept properly in days. Her hand was still on the chain lock, fingers fumbling, automatic, and then… She saw him. She froze. The sleepiness drained from her face in an instant, replaced by confusion. Shock. Hurt. So much hurt, raw and splintered across her features before she could hide it, before the walls she had so carefully rebuilt slammed back into place. She stared at him like he wasn't real. Like he was a ghost she had conjured out of her own worst, most desperate dreams. "Lu Sicheng?" she breathed, voice hoarse and low, full of disbelief, pain, hope, everything tangled together so tightly it was impossible to separate.
His name fell from her lips like a prayer. Or a curse. He didn't give her a chance to say anything more. He didn't give himself a chance to think. The moment she unlatched the chain, he shoved the door wider, crowding into the small space, moving before she could back away, before she could slam that fragile shield between them.
One step.
Two.
He moved into her apartment without hesitation, his body forcing hers backward instinctively, step by step, until her back hit the nearest wall with a soft thud. The door swung shut behind him with a heavy slam that echoed in the small, cluttered living room, the lock clicking automatically into place. And then he was on her. His hands found her waist with a bruising grip, yanking her toward him with a desperate, raw force that broke whatever distance had been left. He crushed his mouth against hers without warning, without asking. It wasn't careful. It wasn't sweet. It was rough. It was wild. It was everything he had buried and strangled down inside himself for too long, everything he had been too much of a coward to give her when she needed it most.
She gasped against his mouth, fists instinctively curling into the front of his jacket as he pressed her harder against the wall, holding her like he was afraid she would vanish if he let go. He kissed her like he was drowning. Like she was the only thing keeping him alive. And she… God, she kissed him back. At first with shock, stiff and uncertain, and then—then with all the fury, all the broken, bleeding hope that had been festering inside her since the moment she saw that damned photo.
Her fingers fisted tight in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down, anchoring herself to him with a desperate, angry strength that made his chest ache. He groaned low in his throat, one hand sliding up into her messy hair, tugging her head back just enough so he could kiss her deeper, harder, devouring every tiny, trembling sound she made against him. He tasted the salt of her tears before he felt them. She was crying. Silent, furious tears sliding down her cheeks even as she kissed him like she hated him for making her feel this much.
He broke the kiss only long enough to rasp against her lips, voice rough and low, every word trembling with the force he could barely contain: "You're mine. You hear me? You've always been mine." She shook her head once, hard, a broken sob escaping her, but he didn't let her pull away. He framed her face with both hands, thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks, forcing her to meet his eyes. "No more running," he whispered, his forehead pressing against hers. "No more lies. No more distance."
She trembled under his hands, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood, her chest heaving as she fought to breathe, to speak. "You—you had—" she choked, the words jagged and torn, "someone else. The picture—"
His hands tightened against her jaw, fierce and aching. "Never," he growled. "It was a setup. A lie. You're the only one, Yao. You've always been the only one."
She blinked up at him, eyes wide, drowning, struggling to believe it. He kissed her again before she could answer. Softer this time. Slower. More careful. As if sealing the promise against her mouth. As if daring her to fight it.
When he finally pulled back, breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers, his thumbs still brushing her cheeks. "I'm here," he whispered. "And I'm not leaving without you."
Yao closed her eyes, a broken, shuddering sound escaping her throat as she clung to him like he was the last solid thing left in the world. And for the first time since she had slammed the door shut on the life she thought she could never have. She let herself believe him. She let herself fall. Right back into him. Where she had always belonged.
They stayed like that for a long moment.
Neither speaking. Neither moving beyond the slow, trembling rhythm of shared breath and pounding hearts. The apartment around them was still and silent, the misty gray morning barely seeping through the closed curtains, casting a dim light across the battered coffee table, the scattered textbooks, the abandoned cup of cold coffee.
Yao's fingers clung to the front of Sicheng's jacket, her face buried against his chest, her body trembling not from fear, but from the simple, unbearable relief of it all—of him really being here. Of him not letting go. Slowly, hesitantly, she pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her hands fisted tighter in his jacket, grounding herself. Her voice was rough, cracked from tears and silence and everything she had been trying to hold together. "Why?" she whispered, barely able to force the word out. "Why would you—" She shook her head once, quick and broken, unable to find the shape of what she wanted to ask.
Why would you leave?
Why would you come for me?
Why would you give up everything for someone like me?
Sicheng's hands, still cupping her face, never wavered. His dark eyes burned into hers—steady, raw, full of something she had never dared dream she would see looking back at her. He didn't hesitate. He didn't fumble. He just spoke. Plain. Quiet. True. "Because nothing there matters if you're not in it." The words landed between them like a thunderclap—soft, devastating, shaking loose every cracked and broken thing still clinging to the walls she had built around her heart. He pressed his forehead lightly to hers again, closing his eyes as if it hurt to even say it aloud. "I can have the money. The name. The titles. All of it," he murmured. "It means nothing if you're not there to come home to."
Yao squeezed her eyes shut, her throat burning.
"No one else matters," he said, voice rough and low, almost breaking. "Not my family. Not the League. Not anyone." Only you. The words hung there, unspoken but so heavy she could barely breathe under them.
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks again, but she didn't pull away this time. She didn't hide them. Because for the first time, she wasn't crying from fear. She was crying because she believed him. Slowly, shakily, she lifted her hands, sliding them up from his jacket to cup his face in her palms.
Sicheng leaned into her touch instinctively, his arms wrapping tighter around her waist like he could anchor her to him if he just held on hard enough.
"I thought—" she whispered, her voice cracking, "—I thought I wasn't good enough."
His hands dropped from her face to frame her waist again, holding her steady. "You're more than enough," he said fiercely. "You're the only thing that ever made any of it worth it."
A broken, gasping sound escaped her lips—half sob, half laugh—and before she could think, before she could lose her nerve, she surged up onto her toes and kissed him. Desperate. Messy. Real. He caught her immediately, arms tightening around her until she could barely breathe, kissing her back with everything he had held in, everything he had buried, everything he had almost lost. And in that tiny, battered apartment, surrounded by broken dreams and second chances. She finally let herself believe. Finally let herself choose him. Just as he had chosen her.
Eventually, they pulled apart, just enough to breathe. But neither of them let go.
Sicheng kept his arms wrapped tight around her waist, anchoring her to him as he lowered them both onto the battered, overstuffed couch like the world outside didn't exist anymore.
Yao curled against him instinctively, tucking herself into the hollow of his body, her head resting just under his chin, her fingers curling loosely into the soft fabric of his jacket.
For a while, they didn't speak. The only sounds were the slow, shaky exhales of breath slowly evening out, the faint hum of the radiator kicking on, the distant whisper of rain tapping against the windowpanes. It would have been easy to stay like that forever. Safe. Sheltered. Pretending the outside world could not touch them here. But it wasn't real unless everything was said.
Unless the parts she was still afraid to say out loud were answered—not with pretty lies, not with empty promises, but with the truth. And she needed that now. Needed it like air. Her voice was small, hesitant, breaking the quiet between them. "What about..." she paused, swallowing thickly against the weight of it, "...when your family finds out?" The words slipped out like poison, soft but heavy, filling the space between them with all the ugly fears she had carried alone for too long. She felt him stiffen slightly against her. But only for a heartbeat.
Then his hand slid up her back in slow, steady strokes, grounding, solid, constant. He tipped his head down, his mouth brushing lightly against the crown of her head before he spoke, his voice low, unwavering. "They already know." he said.
Yao froze, pulling back just enough to tilt her head up, searching his face, her heart slamming hard against her ribs.
He met her gaze without hesitation. Without fear. Without apology. "My mother tried," he said, his mouth curling into something sharp and grim. "One last time. She arranged that blind date behind my back. Lied about it. Hoped to shove me into a life I never asked for." He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth with a touch so careful it made her throat burn. "I told her," he said, voice rough, "that if she tried to control me again, I would cut her out of my life completely. Business. Family. All of it."
Yao blinked up at him, stunned, the weight of his words crashing over her in slow, rolling waves.
"I made it clear," he continued, softer now, "that my life— my future —isn't hers to dictate anymore." His thumb stroked along her jaw, so tender it made her ache. "And if that means losing her favor? Losing the name she thinks defines me?" He shook his head once, slow and sure. "Then so be it."
The tears filled her eyes before she could stop them, thick and hot and blinding. Because she had believed—deep down where it hurt the most—that when it came to a choice between her and his family's expectations, she would lose. She would always lose.
But he wasn't giving her a choice to fear anymore. He had already made his. "I'm not losing you too," he said, his voice cracking just slightly, just enough for her to hear the truth shaking underneath it.
Yao let out a shaky, broken laugh that tasted like salt and sunlight all tangled together. "You're an idiot," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his.
"Yeah," he breathed against her mouth. "But I'm your idiot." Another tear slid down her cheek, and he kissed it away before it could fall. Slow. Certain. Final. In that tiny Cambridge apartment, half a world away from everything that had once seemed so impossible— Lu Sicheng chose her. And this time, Yao chose him back. Without fear. Without doubt. Without looking back.
The quiet wrapped around them like a blanket, thick and warm, sheltering them from the world beyond the walls of that tiny apartment. Neither of them made any move to break it.
Sicheng shifted slightly, adjusting so that Yao could fit even closer against him, her head tucked under his chin, his arms locked around her like he had no intention of ever letting go. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging without realizing it, like some part of her still couldn't believe he was really there. That he had come. That he had stayed. For a long time, there was only the sound of rain tapping lightly against the windows and the slow, steady beat of his heart under her ear.
But eventually—
Inevitably—
She spoke.
Her voice was quiet, raw in a way that made him tighten his arms around her without thinking. "I was scared," she whispered into the soft cotton of his shirt, the words muffled but clear. "That no matter what I did... no matter how close I got... it was never going to be enough." He closed his eyes briefly, the ache in his chest sharp and heavy. Yao drew in a trembling breath, her hands fisting tighter against him. "I thought..." she faltered, then forced it out, "I thought it would be easier to leave before you realized it too."
Sicheng let the silence settle between them for a breath. Two. Then he shifted, tilting her chin up gently with his fingers until she had no choice but to meet his eyes. And when he spoke, his voice was low and steady, carrying a weight that could not be shaken. "You've always been enough," he said, each word slow, deliberate, unshakable. "Long before you even realized it yourself."
Her eyes blurred again, but she didn't look away.
And neither did he.
"You never had to prove anything," he whispered, brushing his thumb along the delicate line of her jaw. "Not to me. Not to them. Not to anyone."
The tears slipped free before she could stop them, trailing hotly down her cheeks, but this time, she didn't try to hide them. This time, he kissed them away without hesitation, pressing his lips against her skin with a reverence that made her heart shatter and heal all at once. She buried her face in his chest again, breathing him in, letting herself believe it.
Letting herself feel it.
Sicheng rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, his hands stroking up and down her back in slow, grounding motions. They could have stayed like that forever. Would have, if the vibrating buzz of his phone hadn't rattled against the coffee table beside them. He didn't move to answer it. Didn't even look. But after a moment, he chuckled low against her hair, the sound rumbling through his chest. "You might want to text the idiots," he muttered, voice dry but amused. "Before Pang convinces Lu Yue to steal an airplane or—" he huffed a short laugh, "before your brother gets harassed into lending them the Chen Jet."
Yao groaned softly against him, her lips brushing the fabric of his shirt. "God," she mumbled. "They would too."
"They're your fan club now," he said lazily, brushing his nose lightly against her hair. "You made this mess. Own it."
She laughed, soft and broken and beautiful, her fingers tightening against his chest for just a second before she reluctantly shifted to grab her phone. The screen lit up instantly. Missed calls. Texts.
The Salt and Chaos group chat had exploded into absolute, unfiltered panic.
ZGDX_Pang: I'm learning how to hotwire planes right now don't test me!!!
ZGDX_Lv: Google says it's a federal crime. Worth it.
ZGDX_K: If you idiots land on no-fly lists, I'm not bailing you out.
ZGDX_Mao: I already packed snacks for the rescue mission.
ZGDX_Ming: You have until sunset. Then we move.
And one, quieter message, pinned at the very top.
ZGDX_Rui: Just tell us you're okay.
Her chest tightened painfully at the sheer, ridiculous loyalty bleeding from every line.
Fingers trembling slightly, she typed a quick reply into the group chat:
ZGDX_SaltMaiden: Alive. Safe. Stay grounded. No international incidents, please.
The response was instantaneous.
A chorus of relieved cheers, gifs, and a hundred variations of WE KNEW YOU'D SURVIVE.
Yao laughed again, helplessly, the sound thick with affection.
Sicheng watched her, his mouth curving into something so soft it barely looked like a smile—something raw, real, completely unguarded. And as she tossed the phone aside and curled back against him, letting herself sink fully into his warmth, he tightened his arms around her once more. They had lost time. Made mistakes. Hurt each other without meaning to. But now? Now there was no distance left between them. No walls. No lies. Only this. Only them. And this time? They were never letting go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The peace didn't last long. Barely ten minutes after she dropped the message into the Salt and Chaos group chat, her phone started ringing.
Not buzzing.
Ringing.
Loud.
Persistent.
Obnoxious.
Yao groaned against Sicheng's chest, already knowing she had no chance of ignoring it without facing worse later.
Sicheng just snorted low against her hair, one hand lazily rubbing circles against the small of her back. "You made this bed, Salt Maiden," he murmured, sounding far too amused for someone who had nearly had to fly across the world to drag her back. "Now lie in it."
Muttering curses under her breath, Yao untangled herself just enough to grab the phone off the couch cushion. It was a video call. From all of them. All of them.
Pang.
Yue.
Lao Mao.
Lao K.
Ming.
Rui.
The whole damn squad.
She reluctantly swiped to accept, and their faces exploded across the screen in a chaotic collage of yelling and overlapping voices.
"—You absolute menace!" Pang howled the second her face appeared. "Do you have any idea how close we were to grand theft aircraft?!"
"Two more hours and we would have been in the air!" Yue added proudly, as if that were somehow a point in his favor.
"You scared the hell out of us, you little brat," Lao Mao said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably, his voice thick with barely-contained relief.
Lao K folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head slowly. "You owe me, Chen Yao, a spa day. I had to listen to these idiots make a flight plan."
"You better never do that again," Ming said, voice flat and deadly calm in the way that made Yao instinctively wince. "Or next time? I'm coming to haul you back by your ear."
"And don't think Rui wouldn't help," Lao Mao added with a sharp grin.
Rui, perched off to the side in the frame, simply nodded once, his glasses catching the light, his expression grim. "Paperwork has already been drafted for emergency extraction protocols."
Pang leaned so close to his camera that only the top of his head was visible. "We were gonna crash the Chen family reunion and drag you back if we had to!"
"And possibly get adopted by your grandfather," Yue piped up brightly. "He seemed cooler than we expected."
Yao pressed her hand to her face, half-laughing, half-horrified as the noise rolled over her in waves. "I'm fine." she protested weakly through her fingers.
"Not the point!" Pang yelled.
"You scared us, Salt Maiden," Lao Mao said, voice serious now, cutting through the noise. "You went dark. No warnings. No goodbyes. No fighting back. Nothing."
The room fell briefly, heavily quiet. Their faces softened, no less fierce, but weighed down now with something deeper.
"You don't get to disappear on us," Ming said, firm. "Not anymore."
"We're your idiots now," Pang said, a little too brightly, like he was trying to mask the crack in his voice. "You're stuck with us."
"Whether you like it or not," Lu Yue said, grinning wide and wild.
Rui, ever the calm center of their chaos, added quietly, "We meant it when we said you're family."
Yao blinked hard against the sudden sting behind her eyes. Her throat tightened. She wanted to say something. Anything. But the lump in her throat was too thick, her heart too full. Beside her, still curled against her side like he had no intention of moving ever again, Sicheng slid his hand down to squeeze her thigh lightly, grounding her. Telling her without words that she didn't have to fight this alone. That she never would again. She cleared her throat once, twice, blinking furiously at the screen before managing to rasp out, "I'm sorry." That was all she could get out. It wasn't enough. It never would be. But it was all she had right now. And somehow—somehow—it was enough.
Pang sniffed dramatically. "We forgive you. But you owe us snacks."
"Lots of snacks," Yue agreed.
"And coffee and a spa day for me." Lao K added, deadpan.
"And maybe matching team jackets that say Salt Cult on the back," Lao Mao said, as if it were a perfectly reasonable demand.
Ming sighed long and hard like a man whose life choices had betrayed him.
Rui just muttered, "You idiots are getting docked pay if you make unauthorized merchandise again."
Yao laughed then—truly laughed—her head tipping back against Sicheng's shoulder, the sound bright and wet and cracked around the edges, but real.
Sicheng kissed the side of her head once, lazily, like he couldn't help himself. The boys erupted into new arguments about jacket designs and slogans, their chaos rolling through the phone like a living, breathing thing. Home. They had dragged her back to it. Kicking and screaming if necessary. Because she belonged. Not because she was perfect. Not because she was untouchable. But because she was theirs. And they weren't letting her forget it again. Not ever.
The video call finally ended with a chaotic flurry of threats, terrible design sketches for Salt Cult jackets, and Rui's flat promise that if they didn't behave, there would be new mandatory training sessions at dawn.
Yao dropped her phone onto the coffee table with a soft thud, sinking back against the couch, breathing in the heavy, exhausted peace that finally settled around them. For a few moments, she just sat there, pressed against Sicheng's side, listening to the steady, solid rhythm of his breathing. But somewhere under the relief, under the laughter and the teasing and the overwhelming love that had pulled her back from the edge, the question still lingered. Gnawing quietly at the corners of her heart. The one she hadn't dared ask. The one part of her that still whispered that maybe this was a beautiful dream she was going to wake up from, any second. Slowly, she tilted her head back to look up at him.
Sicheng immediately caught the shift in her, his dark eyes sharpening as they met hers, his hand tightening slightly on her hip like he could feel the unspoken fear vibrating just beneath her skin.
Her voice was small when it finally broke free. "Are you really sure you want this?" she whispered. "Me?" The words hung there, trembling, raw, exposed.
Sicheng didn't answer with words. Not right away. Instead, he shifted fluidly, his hands sliding under her thighs and back, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
Yao gasped softly, startled, but he only tightened his hold, cradling her against his chest like she was something precious he refused to let slip through his fingers.
"Idiot," he muttered against her hair, the word rough with too much feeling. He carried her through the apartment without rushing, nudging open the door to her bedroom with his foot.
The room was a small, lived-in space—books stacked messily on the nightstand, a soft oversized comforter draped across a large bed that looked far too big for one person.
Sicheng crossed the threshold and gently set her down, lowering her onto the mattress with a tenderness that made her heart twist painfully. He didn't give her the chance to pull away. Didn't give her the space to fall back into her doubts. Instead, he stretched out beside her, pulling her firmly into his chest, tucking her head under his chin as he wrapped both arms tight around her, locking her against him. Caging her in. Holding her close. His mouth brushed against her hair once, soft and lingering, before he shifted just enough to press a second kiss against her temple—fierce, grounding, full of a devotion so intense it left her breathless. "You're the only thing I'm sure of," he murmured into her hair, voice low and steady. "Always have been."
Yao squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, clinging.
"You're mine, Yao," he whispered, his lips moving against her skin. "No one else. Nothing else. Just you."
She shivered, not from fear, but from the overwhelming weight of it, the way his words wrapped around her like a shield, like a vow. Slowly, she shifted just enough to curl fully into him, burying her face in his chest, breathing him in until she could feel the steady thud of his heart against her cheek. He held her tighter in response, his hands stroking slow, soothing circles against her back.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the tight, aching knot inside her chest began to unravel, one fragile thread at a time. Because here, in the safety of his arms, in the soft darkness of a tiny Cambridge bedroom. There was no fear. No distance. No doubt. Only them. Only the steady, unshakable truth of it. Lu Sicheng had come for her. And he wasn't letting her go. Not now. Not ever.