He gave a short nod.
"Understood. I'll head over shortly."
His voice dripped with frost. The guard bowed and left.
Closing the door with a soft click, Dong Yingming exhaled slowly. His hand lingered on the handle. The heat pooling in his stomach hadn't faded since Yao Ziyang had stroked his arm and whispered naughty suggestions just minutes ago. He didn't trust himself. Not with those eyes, that voice, those lips.
A brief flicker of thought crossed his mind:
After he went to Warden Liu, he'd need to visit Zhang Wei for something strong—something potent enough to kill his libido. His self-control around Yao Ziyang was rapidly deteriorating, especially with how aggressively tempting the man was becoming. He knew he couldn't trust himself to resist without help.
For the first time in his life, he was seriously considering drugging himself. Something mild—nothing debilitating—just a libido suppressant. He didn't care if it made him sluggish or gave him headaches.
'If it kept Ziyang safe from my own lust, it was worth it.'
'That's how much you matter to me…'
Dong Yingming thought grimly.
'That I'd drug myself before putting you at risk.'
He released the door softly, sighing once more before turning his attention back to his man.
Yao Ziyang was sitting upright—lounging comfortably on the bed—kicking his legs softly over the bed's edge, but his eyes were now wide and curious—looking like the very picture of innocent sweetness and recovery.
"I have to go for a bit…"
Dong Yingming said as he approached him slowly, his voice gentle yet stern.
"Be good. Stay in the room. I won't be gone long."
He raised a hand and gently patted the man's head, fingers slipping into soft platinum strands.
Yao Ziyang immediately pouted, looking up at him with black, pleading eyes, maintaining his innocent facade despite the mischievous glint behind it.
"Mn… Fine. But don't be long, or I'll be bored to death…"
But the sparkle in his dark eyes said otherwise.
Dong Yingming smiled faintly, shaking his head at Yao Ziyang's adorable antics. Turning to leave, he had barely reached the door before—
"Wait!"
The urgency in Yao Ziyang's voice made him instantly whipped around, heart seizing. He rushed back to the Omega's side.
"What's wrong? Are you alright? In pain? Dizzy? Tell me."
Yao Ziyang looked up at him with a pitiful expression, eyes glistening and lips in a perfect sulk. He sniffled theatrically, tears pooling at the corners of his luminous eyes. He shook his head sadly, looking genuinely wounded.
"I'm not okay."
He murmured softly, voice wavering slightly, tugging gently at Dong Yingming's hand.
Dong Yingming's chest tightened painfully at the sight of Yao Ziyang's teary, beautiful face and those luscious, sulking lips.
"What is it? Tell me, baby."
Yao Ziyang sniffled.
"You, my darling husband, forgot to give me… my good-bye kiss."
Dong Yingming's mind blanked. Then it hit him with the force of a bullet train. He had forgotten. He'd left his sweetheart without a kiss.
The crime was unforgivable.
Guilt flooded him instantly, consuming every inch of his heart.
"How could I forget something so important?"
Dong Yingming whispered gravely, reaching out and cupping Yao Ziyang cheek tenderly.
"Forgive me."
He leaned in without hesitation, capturing Yao Ziyang plush lips in a long, heartfelt kiss that communicated a thousand apologies and an unspoken vow:
Never again would he commit such a grave oversight.
Cupping Yao Ziyang's face with both hands, Dong leaned down and kissed him—not a rushed peck, but something slow and full of apology. It was a vow, sealed in the press of lips, that he would never again forget something so sacred.
When he finally pulled back and they parted, he brushed Yao Ziyang's cheek and whispered—Dong Yingming's voice was soft yet serious.
"I'm sorry. I won't forget again. And… I'll bring you something special, alright? Think of it as an apology present. Look forward to it tonight, Baby Bird."
Yao Ziyang's eyes brightened instantly.
"A present?"
He echoed, lips twitching into a delighted smile. Yao Ziyang's eyes lit up instantly, sparkling with gleeful anticipation. Inwardly, his imagination raced—his heart fluttering wildly at the thought of a romantic date night, perhaps one filled with fiery passion and sensual exploration.
"Then I'll be waiting."
Yao Ziyang purred sweetly, finally releasing Dong Yingming's hand. He waved the older man off, practically glowing. Dong Yingming glanced back lovingly several times as he walked toward the door, reluctant to leave.
The heavy metal door clicked shut behind Dong Yingming, leaving the luxurious top-floor cell in a deep, perfumed silence. The moment the door closed behind him, Yao Ziyang leaned back on the pillows and gave a small, satisfied sigh.
"A date night, hmm…"
He murmured to himself, lifting the blanket slightly to cool his now blushing cheeks.
"I have a lot to do."
His innocent expression melted into something more scheming and playful.
'For this night to go perfectly…'
He thought to himself eagerly, biting his lip to suppress an excited giggle.
'I have much more important things to prepare now.'
His mind was already racing ahead, laying out a mental checklist of everything he needed to do to ensure the night ended perfectly.
First, he'd need to clean himself thoroughly, ensuring he was thoroughly ready and irresistible. Then test his flexibility, his reflexes. His body was technically still recovering—but it wouldn't hurt to explore his limits a little… just to be sure he'd be ready. Also exploring exactly how sensitive his body had become since his strange illness had transformed him.
His anticipation bubbled hotly inside him, electrifying his nerves and sending a flush over his pale skin.
'Tonight…'
He mused with a delighted shiver.
'I'm going to make you mine, Dong Yingming.'
Yao Ziyang remained still for a moment, then let his pout melt into a thoughtful smirk. He rolled over onto his stomach, chin propped on his hands, legs kicking lazily behind him.
Though there was much to do, his mind couldn't help but be brought back to more serious matters. There were questions he wanted answers to.
'What happened after I collapsed? Who touched me while I was unconscious? Who carried me? Did anyone cry?'
With a glint in his eyes and a plan slowly forming, Yao Ziyang began plotting his little adventure after thoroughly enjoying tonight—still smiling sweetly, like the perfect prisoner-wife waiting for her husband to return.
Yao Ziyang didn't move right away. He remained on the bed, sprawled across white and gold sheets like a fallen deity, chin resting thoughtfully in the palm of one hand, his pale legs playfully kicking in the air behind him. The cashmere sweater clung to him loosely, just enough to suggest, never reveal. The soft light haloed around his pale hair and smooth skin, turning him into something painted in oils—too pretty, too serene, too perfect for the prison walls that surrounded him.
'Now, who should I seek out for that kind of information…'
Yao Ziyang mused silently.
'Chen Bo might gossip more. But Brother Wei probably saw everything firsthand. Hm…'
But before he could even finish the thought, the suite door creaked open again.
Not gently.
Not politely.
Wei Jiang stepped into the room, his body taut with tension, his eyes instantly locking onto the figure on the bed.
He froze in the doorway.
His breath caught.
The sight before him struck like a hammer to the chest.
A vision—no, a boy, delicate and luminous, lounging across a queen-sized bed made of polished wood and imperial fabrics. Long legs, pointed toes, skin that looked like porcelain dusted with the faintest flush. His silver-platinum hair spilled like silk over one shoulder, and his expression was distant, soft, full of thought. He was glowing, practically glowing, as though a spotlight from heaven had followed him down into this cursed place.
Wei Jiang's heart beat once—hard.
Then a surge of rage tore through him.
'Who the hell is this?'
He thought.
'Where's Ziyang? What—what kind of sick joke is this?'
The fury rushed in like wildfire. He clenched his fists.
'Did Boss Dong seriously leave Ziyang in the hospital to bring this boy here instead? A replacement?'
Before he could speak, the boy on the bed finally turned his head.
Their eyes met.
And in the instant their gazes locked, all the oxygen left the room.
Yao Ziyang gasped.
He shot up from the bed as if struck, bare feet meeting the floor.
"Brother Wei?!"
His eyes swept over the man before him—his right arm held in a black sling, one cheek still swollen and bruised from an older injury, and the other marred with a large gauze patch. Wei Jiang's lips were split, dried blood still faintly lingering near the corner of his mouth.
Yao Ziyang's face crumpled in horror.
"Oh my god—Brother Wei, what happened to you?!"
He rushed forward without hesitation, his steps quick and light, like the pain of his recovery had never existed.
"Who did this to you? Are you okay? Brother Wei—!"
Wei Jiang stood frozen. Everything inside him screamed with confusion and disbelief.
Because that voice—it was Yao Ziyang's.
Softer, maybe. Smoother, like silk dipped in honey. Less defensive than before. Gentler.
But still undeniably him.
Wei Jiang's mouth parted slightly, stunned.
"...Ziyang?"
He whispered, almost unsure of his own voice.
Yao Ziyang had reached him now, placing both hands carefully on his chest as if worried even touching him might cause pain.
"You're really hurt—how long have you looked like this? Why didn't anyone tell me? Why didn't you come to see me?!"
Wei Jiang blinked rapidly. His mind struggled to catch up. His entire body was tense with shock, and somewhere deep inside his chest, something cracked open and flooded.
This was Yao Ziyang.
Somehow, impossibly—Yao Ziyang, but changed. His platinum hair, his glowing skin, his elegant frame. He looked like a fairy tale prince sculpted by moonlight, or a god who'd taken human form.
He was devastating.
Wei Jiang stared at him, stunned silent. A different kind of ache bloomed inside him now—not rage or betrayal, but pure, devastating longing.
"You…"
He murmured, voice hoarse.
"You look…"
His mouth refused to finish the sentence. It didn't matter. His heart had already declared it.
'You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.'
'…And you're mine.'
'Even if I can't say it out loud.'
'Not yet.'
'Not when I've still got bruises to earn your forgiveness.'
Yao Ziyang stared at Wei Jiang, his gaze fixed on every bandage, every bruise, every trace of violence carved into the man's skin. He didn't hear Wei Jiang's stunned silence. All he could feel was the sharp ache blooming in his chest—too sudden, too much. His heart twisted painfully.
His lower lip trembled.
Then the tears welled up, unbidden.
Large, glassy drops clung to his lashes, and his irises shimmered with sorrow. He looked like something celestial brought low by grief—his beauty not dimmed by emotion, but magnified by it. A porcelain angel on the verge of breaking. They welled up, heavy and shimmering, catching the light like dew on silk.
Wei Jiang noticed immediately.
"Ziyang?"
His voice jumped in alarm.
"Hey—what's wrong?"
But Yao Ziyang didn't answer right away. His lips parted soundlessly, trembling. The tears spilled, trailing down his porcelain cheeks in thin, glistening streams. His heart ached—terribly. It physically hurt.
Seeing Wei Jiang in pain… seeing the bruises, the sling, the swelling on his face—it was too much.
"You're really hurt, hic, hic…"
Wei Jiang paled.
"Wha—No, no, no—Ziyang, don't cry!"
He fumbled, horrified, reaching to brush the tears but freezing just short of touching him.
Wei Jiang panicked.
"Don't, don't cry! These? This?"
He gestured frantically to his bandages.
"This is nothing! Really. These injuries? I've had worse. Way worse! So much worse!"
He flailed slightly, trying to explain, his voice frantic and unsteady as he tried to laugh it off.
"One time I got ambushed and jumped by seven guys from a rival gang, the Han group, in Shahe Pier. This was years ago—I was outnumbered, outgunned. I took a bullet to the ribs, had a knife graze my throat, got my arm dislocated, they stabbed me twice—and I still managed to drag myself out of the river I was tossed into and crawl back to base on my own! That was bad. Nearly died, but, hey, I didn't!"
He laughed awkwardly, trying to lighten the mood.
This had the opposite effect.
It only made Yao Ziyang's tears spill over faster, his chest trembling with soft sobs.
Wei Jiang's heart shattered.
"No, no, no! That's not—I didn't mean—Ziyang!"
His voice cracked with desperation as Yao Ziyang's expression crumpled further.
"That's awful..."
He choked out.
"Why would you brag about that? That's not okay!"
Wei Jiang blinked.
"What?"
"You could've died, Brother Wei!"
Yao Ziyang cried, fists balling up.
"You were all alone? And hurt? That must've been so scary—!"
Yao Ziyang cut himself off before he could finish, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms gently around Wei Jiang's torso in a careful but heartfelt embrace—mindful of the man's sling—as if hugging him might absorb the pain.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that…"
He whispered.
"That must have been so, so scary… I'm sorry…"
Yao Ziyang whispered more apologizes against his chest.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm sorry no one protected you."
Wei Jiang froze completely still.
His ears rang.
For a moment, his whole body stiffened like he'd been struck again—but this time by something warm.
No one had ever said those words to him before.
Not even when he'd been brought into the infirmary half-dead, or stitched up without anesthesia by shady street doctors. No one had said they were sorry. No one had said it must have been scary. They said things like—
"You should've known better!"
or
"You were lucky to live."
—But never this.
No one had ever held him like this. Gently. Tenderly. With eyes full of sorrow, not fear. With arms that meant comfort, not pain.
The man in his arms felt like a dream. An angel who'd stepped down into hell, into his world, and still had the gall to be sweet to someone like him.
It was disarming.
Devastating.
'This boy is real…'
Wei Jiang thought.
'He's real and he's good. Too good for this world.'
Wei Jiang blinked back a tear.
'No…'
He would protect this purity. This softness. This boy.
His throat tightened as a silent vow settled in his chest like a sword driven into stone:
'Forever. I'll protect him. No matter what. Even if I have to burn this place down around me.'
He slowly brought his good arm up and rested his hand against the back of Yao Ziyang's head, holding him close.
"…Don't cry anymore…"
Wei Jiang said softly.
"You'll hurt your eyes."
Yao Ziyang was still pressed lightly to Wei Jiang's chest when he stiffened.
A sharp pang, like a thread of pain pulled taut in his chest, shot through his heart. His breath caught. His throat closed. His body trembled faintly, and before he could understand what was happening, more tears had begun to brim in his luminous black eyes.
"I'll do anything…"
He blurted suddenly.
"Whatever you want. Anything at all, just please—don't cry anymore. I'll get it for you. I'll protect you. You want food? A hot shower? You want someone punished? I'll do it! Just—just smile again, okay?"
He felt like crying himself, his chest tight and aching, as if herding a dozen angry dogs inside his ribs.
Yao Ziyang blinked at him. Slowly, the tears stopped. His lips parted slightly. His teary gaze softened into something glinting with mischief.
"Anything?"
He asked.
Wei Jiang swallowed.
"Yes. Anything."
Yao Ziyang sniffled but nodded, still pressed against him.
Wei Jiang gave it a moment longer, then gently pulled back just enough to see his face.
Yao Ziyang sniffled again before he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and then said softly.
"Then I want to order something. Just one thing."
Wei Jiang blinked.
"Okay. Sure. Name it."
"But… no one can know. Not Brother Dong, not the guards, not even you."
Wei Jiang paused.
"Me?"
Yao Ziyang nodded with watery eyes and an innocent, unreadable smile.
"Not even you."
Wei Jiang hesitated, but seeing the boy's sorrow ease slightly, he made up his mind immediately.
"Fine."
He pulled out his phone.
"Here—order whatever you want."
He showed Yao Ziyang the steps.
"Once you place it, tap here to delete the order history. Then go into the data cache and wipe this. I'll delete the search logs after. That way, I won't even know what you got."
Yao Ziyang stared at him.
Then he smiled.
It was a dazzling, radiant smile, his tears still sparkling at the corners of his eyes—like sunlight bursting through storm clouds. The sight hit Wei Jiang so hard he nearly swayed. It was like a divine being had blessed him for his loyalty.
Relief swept over him, dizzying and warm. His chest lightened.
Yao Ziyang hummed happily and tapped at the screen, coyly shielding it from Wei Jiang's view.
Meanwhile, Wei Jiang went to gently close the cell door—one hand pressed firmly against the cell door—slowly swinging it shut, his eyes, dark and deep, still flicking back to the beauty behind him. They glinted with a determined gleam beneath bruised flesh. He felt his resolve melt and reform into something stronger than steel.
In the soft, golden lamplight of the luxurious cell, shadows danced ominously across his features as he quietly turned the lock—ensuring no interruptions would come between him and the person he had vowed silently to win over.
Whatever Dong Yingming thought he had… Wei Jiang was going to take it back.
'Let the boss play prince. I'll would become the knight. Or the king. Or the dragon. Or all three.'
He'd worm his way back into Yao Ziyang's heart. And this time?
He'd never leave it.
The iron-barred door to the luxurious top-floor cell closed with a dull, final clank.
Wei Jiang just stood there for a moment, his hand still gripping the knob for a second longer than necessary, his dark eyes shadowed by the light. Slowly, a smile crept onto his face—pleasant and smooth on the surface, but coiling with something darker underneath. He took a step back and leaned against the desk inside the cell, one arm crossed casually over the injured one.
This was his chance.
Inside the cell, Yao Ziyang was entirely unaware of the dangerous calculation and tumultuous thoughts behind Wei Jiang's quiet presence, eyes glued to Wei Jiang's phone screen. The Omega went back to lay sprawled like a lazy moon deity on the oversized queen bed, long, pale legs kicking idly in the air. One hand supported his cheek as the other scrolled carefully through the illicit shopping app still open on Wei Jiang's wiped-clean phone.
The Omega's black eyes were narrowed in deep concentration, occasionally glancing between size options with a thoughtful pout. A faint, thoughtful frown creased his smooth forehead as he tapped and scrolled, quietly contemplating sizes and shapes, uncertain which might best suit his delicate and inexperienced frame. Oblivious to the intensity burning in Wei's gaze, he nibbled softly on his bottom lip, the glow from the phone illuminating his elegant features and cascading down his slender neck.
"Twenty-four centimeters? Hmm… no. Better to start with seventeen… but what if I want to test my limits early…?"
He mused silently.
Wei Jiang, just a few feet away and pretending to be looking at the cell's wall decor, peered through the corner of his eye at the boy inside, face softening. His fingers curled into fists. He could feel it in his bones—he was falling deeper. If Dong Yingming wasn't careful, he'd lose him. Wei Jiang watched quietly, the intensity in his chest swelling into something fierce and possessive. His injured arm throbbed gently beneath the sling, forgotten beneath the storm of emotion.
'I'll become someone irreplaceable to you…'
He vowed inwardly, watching as Yao Ziyang absentmindedly kicked his delicate legs back and forth.
'Even if it means erasing him from your heart completely.'
And Wei Jiang would be there, ready to step in and become something irreplaceable.
Yao Ziyang, oblivious to the intensity swirling mere feet away, finally smiled faintly to himself.
"Perfect."
He whispered, softly delighted with his choice and hitting the checkout button.
---
At that same moment, down the long polished corridor of the administrative wing, Dong Yingming approached the Warden's office with slow, confident strides.
His black shirt clung to his powerful frame, and His caramel-toned skin gleamed faintly in the harsh lighting, his tanned face set in a carefully neutral expression. Even after freshening up, there remained an edge to his expression—born from lack of rest, frustration, and a constant need to guard what was his. The scar that cut across the right side of his face, clean-shaven now, only sharpened the intensity of his presence.
Dong Yingming's polished leather shoes echoed like muffled gunshots along the stark, fluorescent-lit hallway leading to the warden's office. But his sharp blue eyes revealed a simmering displeasure beneath a mask of control. He stopped sharply in front of the door bearing the plaque:
Warden Liu Liang.
He knocked once, firmly, on the frosted glass panel of the door. The sound sharp against the glass pane of the warden's office door.
After a tense heartbeat, a muffled voice spoke from within, beckoning him.
"Come in."
Dong Yingming pushed open the door, stepping inside with all the self-assured dominance of a king entering his own throne room.
Warden Liu sat at his desk, shuffling through paperwork with a forced look of professionalism. He gestured for Dong Yingming to sit.
Dong Yingming didn't hesitate. He sauntered in and took his seat with the air of someone doing him a favor, not the other way around. He didn't even glance around the office. His presence alone shifted the temperature in the room.
Warden Liu sat stiffly behind his polished mahogany desk, papers and ledgers neatly stacked beside a small antique lamp. Despite the power dynamic that should have favored Liu Liang, the mafia boss's presence instantly dominated the small room, making the warden appear more servant than master.
Dong settled himself into the chair opposite the warden, lounging slightly, broad shoulders confidently squared, one leg crossed casually over the other—almost as though it were Liu Liang who owed the favor rather than himself.
"Let's make this quick."
Dong Yingming said coolly.
Liu Liang cleared his throat anxiously, quickly getting to business.
"I'll get straight to the point…"
He began, swallowing nervously at the unyielding gaze leveled at him.
"A new inmate will be arriving at First Prison tomorrow."
Dong Yingming raised a brow—just one.
"His name is Wang Cong…"
The warden continued.
"He was originally slated for Second Prison. Charges include kidnapping his younger brother and father, staging a failed coup within his family household, and committing severe financial crimes within the Wang Corporation—founded and owned by his own father."
Dong Yingming's brow didn't lower. If anything, he now looked even more disinterested.
"And?"
He said as he raised one perfect, skeptical eyebrow, unimpressed and clearly uninterested in this torrent of meaningless details. His voice dropped dangerously low.
"Why are you wasting my time telling me this useless nonsense?"
Warden Liu shifted and felt sweat bead subtly at the base of his neck. He hurriedly cut straight to the heart of the matter.
"The Wang family head—the father—has provided a very… generous donation to this prison. A substantial sum, in exchange for assurance of his son's safety. Wang Cong is being transferred here due to overcrowding at Second Prison."
The room cooled.
Dong Yingming stared at him with a hint of silent violence.
"And this is my concern… why?"
Liu Liang swallowed.
"Because I want you to ensure his safety."
The words hung in the air like smoke. The silence that followed was suffocating.
The boss leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his thighs, gaze narrowing.
"You want me to babysit some spoiled little heir because his daddy bribed the system?"
The mafia boss's eyes darkened, the temperature in the room plummeting instantly. Liu continued hastily.
"I'm invoking one of the favors you owe me… This will count as one of the favors you owe me, in return for allowing Yao Ziyang's immediate hospitalization and your private accompaniment—"
Liu Liang said quickly. Too quickly.
"One out of the three, t-that was what we agreed upon."
The room shifted.
Dong Yingming's expression hardened. His voice sliced through the air like a sharpened blade, cold, sharp, and deadly quiet.
"Three?"
Liu Liang went utterly still, his blood freezing beneath his skin. Panic surged in his chest, though he desperately maintained a facade of composed authority. His hands beneath the desk trembled violently, betraying his fear. His throat bobbed as he attempted to kept his voice even, but his fingers had curled slightly around the edge of the desk.
"T-Three..."
He stammered faintly, voice tighter than he wished.
"Yes. Three. It's… what was promised. Your right-hand man, Chang Xiao, spoke on your behalf. It was made clear during the… Yao Ziyang transfer."
A heavy silence settled, suffocating and oppressive. Dong Yingming stared, eyes narrowed dangerously. The air seemed to thin as Liu Liang waited, convinced for a moment that he was seconds away from death—no guards, no desk, no position of authority could protect him if Dong Yingming decided to end him here and now.
The scar along Dong Yingming's cheek twitched. His body radiated quiet fury, like a lion disturbed in his den.
"Is that what you think?"
He said softly, dangerously.
"That I owe you three?"
Warden Liu didn't answer right away. His breath had gone shallow, and for the first time, his calm exterior faltered. Yet he didn't flinch. He forced his spine straight.
"Yes."
The silence that followed was deadly.
Then, with a scoff, Dong Yingming sat back and gave a low, irritated grunt of reluctant agreement. He leaned back in his chair, expression stony.
"Fine. I'll do it…"
He said grudgingly.
"I'll babysit your spoiled aristocratic brat. Wang Cong won't come to harm during his stay here."
Liu Liang exhaled quietly, the invisible pressure around his neck lifting just enough for him to breathe. He released a shaky exhale of pure relief, almost slumping forward.
"Excellent!"
He said quickly, trying to regain some dignity.
"Wang Cong arrives tomorrow around noon. I'd like you to meet him around lunchtime. Have him welcomed in. Escort him around. Walk with him through the main areas, let the inmates see you conversing. If the inmates see you two together, they'll know not to mess with him—"
Liu Liang said, now eager to close the deal.
Dong Yingming's cold eyes narrowed again, revulsion evident in every tense muscle.
"You expect me to parade myself around with this pampered criminal brat as if we're friends?"
"I figured this will buy you peace…"
Liu Liang flinched but hurriedly explained.
"It's the easiest solution. If the others see you speaking casually with him, If everyone thinks he's yours, they'll leave him alone—they'll know better than to interfere. You won't need to constantly protect him personally. And that way, your time is free to dedicate fully to… more important matters. Your little beauty won't need to share you."
Dong Yingming sat silent, disgust tightening his jaw. He hated every word of that. Every fiber of his being revolted at the idea of being paraded around like a prize pony with some arrogant outsider. The very thought of publicly appearing friendly or close to anyone other than Yao Ziyang felt like poison crawling beneath his skin. But the alternative—constant interference, constant interruptions, and yet another irritating third wheel—was even more unpalatable.
He wanted no part in being paraded around like some political peacock, walking arm in arm with an aristocrat brat just so the brat wouldn't get beat up in the yard. He could already picture the whispers. And he hated the idea of anyone—anyone—getting close enough to his Yao Ziyang to even cast a shadow over his presence.
But… there was logic in what the warden said.
'Letting the brat orbit me briefly might be better than constantly having to pull him out of trouble.'
"Fine…"
He finally spat out, voice dripping disdain.
"I'll play along. But I won't hold his leash."
He said through gritted teeth.
"You won't have to."
"And make sure your Wang Cong knows not to step out of line."
Liu Liang assured him.
"Of course!"
The warden nearly babbled, relief evident.
"Absolutely, Boss Dong."
"Tell him not to talk too much."
Dong Yingming didn't smile. He stood abruptly wordlessly, adjusted his sleeves, and gave the warden one last look—sharp, vicious, unreadable before turning without further comment and striding purposefully from the warden's office, slamming the door shut behind him.
The echo of his boots trailing behind him like the growl of thunder as Liu Liang slumped back in his chair, wiping sweat from his forehead, still trembling from having been so close to the mafia boss's razor-sharp wrath.
'Thank goodness, he's not your type.'
…
In the quiet hallway, Dong Yingming clenched his fists, breathing tightly controlled, seething with fury. Tomorrow he'd have to endure this humiliation, this charade of friendship, just to maintain his control.
But tonight… tonight, he would return to his room, to his Ziyang. He'd reclaim his peace, and nothing would dare disturb them. Not even Wang Cong himself.