I burned my SATs. Doesn't matter.
Real hell started later.
Los Angeles. Storm tearing the sky apart. Night before graduation.
The rain wasn't falling. It was screaming.
I stood outside The Emerald Heights. Iron gates. A zip code where a key means nothing—you need a pedigree. My cheap summer dress clung to my skin. Wet. Cold. No umbrella. No pride. Just a ghost of a girl shaking in the dark.
A security guard poked his head out of his booth. Squinted at me.
"Who you looking for, kid?"
My eyes felt like glass. I forced my cracked lips to move. "Professor Lu."
The guard snorted. Hitched up his belt. "Professor? Nobody on a teacher's salary lives here, sweetheart. Try downtown."
He wasn't wrong. This place is a fortress. Old money. Blood money. A scholarship kid like me shouldn't even breathe this air.
Rain poured off my forehead. I couldn't tell if I was crying or just drowning. My voice came out ragged.
"Then… tell Lu Zhouyue I'm here."
The guard froze. His face flipped from annoyed to suspicious. He grabbed his radio. Muttered something. Then looked at me different.
"Building A. 16th floor."
I didn't say thanks. Didn't have the breath. Between the miles I'd walked in the rain and the cheap vodka burning my gut, I was already a corpse.
The elevator was a cage. Mirrors. Cold light. I leaned against the glass and stared at the pathetic girl staring back. A bitter laugh crawled out of my throat.
16th floor. Doors slid open. I stumbled toward the massive oak entrance. Before my knuckles touched the wood, the door clicked open.
He was waiting.
The penthouse was a cathedral. Glass. Cold luxury. In the middle of the room stood a man who looked less like a teacher and more like a predator. Lu Zhouyue. Dark silk robe. Chest bare. Still wet from a shower. Hands in his pockets, watching me like a scientist watches a dying insect.
I leaned against the doorframe. My vision swayed. I forced a smile—pure, innocent, terrifyingly fake.
"Sorry to drop by so late, Professor." The alcohol finally hit my brain. "But I have questions. Was hoping for a… private lesson."
He didn't move. Sat down on the leather sofa. Crossed his legs with the lethal elegance of a leopard.
"Ask." His voice was a low vibration. Made my skin crawl.
"I heard a rumor, Professor." My voice trembled. "They say a man like you—a man who owns half the skyline—only bothered to teach at our school… because of me?"
His dark eyes were bottomless. No guilt. No hesitation.
"Yes."
My heart shattered again. "And… my breakup with Chris? That wasn't an accident? You threatened to liquidate his family's company unless he walked."
He leaned back. Narrowed his eyes as he took me in—every wet inch of me.
"Yes."
That word hit like a bullet. He didn't even try to lie. He'd destroyed my life. And he was proud of it.
"Professor… one more thing." I clutched the doorframe as my knees buckled. The alcohol roared in my ears, but the pain in my chest was razor-sharp. "I heard that you… love me?"
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
I didn't wait for him to speak. The tears just came. My first love. My dreams. My whole world—all strangled by this man's cold, calculated obsession.
"Yes," he said.
Always the same. Confident. Indifferent. Absolute.
He sat there like a king on a throne while I bled out in front of him. My hands curled into fists. Knuckles white. I hated him. Hated how calm he looked while I fell apart.
"Heh…" A jagged, hysterical laugh broke from my lips. I kicked off my soaked shoes. Stumbled toward him with reckless, drunken grace. "Then, Professor… if you love me this much, how should I thank you?"
I stopped right in front of him. His dark brows knitted together. His eyes tracked my every move. I smirked—cold, mocking—and reached for the zipper of my wet dress. Let the fabric slide down my skin. Pool at my feet.
I stood there. Naked. Raw. A nineteen-year-old sacrifice in his high-rise temple.
Raindrops rolled down my cheeks. Traced slow paths over my collarbone. Disappeared into the curves of my chest. His gaze turned molten. His throat moved in a hard swallow.
I leaned down. My face inches from his. My smile a blade. "Oh, look at you, Professor. You shy? Isn't this what you wanted? All the schemes, all the threats… wasn't it all just for this body? Fine. Take it. It's your payment. Just… let me go after this, okay?"
The world spun.
His hand shot out. Grabbed my waist. Hauled me into his arms like I weighed nothing. I tried to fight. Claw at him. But the whiskey and exhaustion turned my muscles to water.
He marched toward the master suite. Predatory stride. Kicked open the bathroom door. Threw me—no gentleness at all—into the massive steaming marble tub.
The water was hot. He'd prepared it for me. A silent act of care I'd just spat on.
He shed his robe in one fluid motion. Stepped into the water. His powerful frame pinned me against the cold marble. He leaned into my ear. His breath a scorching warning.
"Liulian… I accept your gift."
Steam rose around us. But his eyes were ice. He'd heard the venom in my voice. The pure hatred in my "thank you." And it had snapped his patience.
His touch scorched my skin. Fingers trailed fire down my ribs. "Let me make one thing clear." His voice vibrated against my neck. "I want a hell of a lot more than just your body."
He'd planned to wait. Planned to let me grow up. Let me come to him. But seeing me stand there, offering myself like a transaction just to get away? It broke something inside him.
"If it were any other man standing here tonight." His grip tightened. "Would you have stripped for him too?"
I saw the hunger in his eyes. The kind that doesn't just want to eat. It wants to consume. And for the first time that night, the alcohol cleared. I realized I hadn't just walked into his house.
I'd walked into a trap about to snap shut.
The thought of her offering herself to anyone else set fire to his veins. No rain could put it out. He surged forward. His hand tangled in her wet hair. Crushed his lips against hers.
It wasn't a kiss. It was war.
Salt. Iron. Expensive whiskey. He didn't care about the water splashing over marble or the way she feebly clawed at his shoulders. He pinned her against the edge of the tub. His tongue invading. Punishing. Reclaiming.
He'd craved the taste of her for years. Now that he had it? He was starving.
Gradually, the fight drained out of her. She went limp. A broken doll in a rising tide. But even as her body gave up, her eyes stayed wide. Burning with cold, lethal hatred. She stared at him through the steam. Her gaze a silent curse. She refused to find a single second of pleasure in his touch.
Her indifference was the ultimate trigger. In a world where everyone bowed to him, only Xu Liulian knew exactly how to make the monster roar.
Red-eyed and feral, he hauled them both out of the water. Grabbed a towel. Roughly swiped at their soaked skin. Dragged her toward the bedroom.
"Let me go! You selfish, pathetic bastard!" Her voice was hoarse from the cold. "Don't touch me! Lu Zhouyue, I loathe you—"
His face turned bruised dark. Jaw locked tight. One brutal movement—he slung her over his shoulder like a prize of war. Marched toward the bed. Threw her onto the silk sheets. Followed her down before she could even scream again.
Too late for fear.
He didn't give her an inch. Used every dark, whispered art he knew to force her body to respond. To ignite a fire she didn't want to feel. Then the pain came. A sharp, jagged cry tore from her throat as he claimed what he believed was rightfully his.
"I hate you! I hate you!"
Her nails raked across his sculpted chest. Left bloody crescents on his shoulders and back. She bit into his neck. Teeth seeking bone. Drawing blood. He welcomed the pain. Let her break his skin as he broke her spirit. Drove into her with a desperate, heavy rhythm until she had no strength left to curse him.
It lasted until grey dawn bled through the curtains. By the end, screams turned to broken whimpers. Hatred blurred into feverish, drug-like exhaustion. He'd never lost himself like this. Never let a woman drain the marrow from his bones.
*Maybe this is what they call love,* he thought, drifting into a shallow sleep. *Slow, mutual destruction.*
But when the sun finally rose, the bed was cold.
The only thing left on the pillow was a note. Shaky, mocking handwriting:
*"Thank you, Professor, for making me a woman."*
He stared at the words. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped his lips. He was used to her venom. Used to being the villain in her story.
She disappeared that day. Vanished into the city like a ghost.
He didn't panic. He wasn't a fool. Did she really think her tiny wings could carry her out of his reach? He owned the skyline she walked under.
He'd let her run. Let her grow up in the "real world." Let her think she was free. He'd wait—the patience of a spider.
And when she finally thought she was safe…
He'd pull the web tight again.