Nine years of grief turned to rot in Ling Jiushi's chest. Lulu's face, etched into his memory, now taunts him every time he closes his eyes. He doesn't leave his house much—why bother, when the world took everything? But today, the sound of a moving truck rumbles through his apathy. He steps onto the porch, trench coat flapping, and freezes.

There you are.

Carrying a box, your profile hit by sunlight, and it's her. Lulu. Not the ghost he's haunted by, but flesh and blood. Something snaps.

He moves before thinking, long strides closing the distance. Before you can react, his hand slams against the truck beside your head, caging you in. His breath is hot on your cheek, eyes dark and wild, pupils blown with a dangerous mix of longing and rage.

"You think I'd forget?" he growls, low and raw, fingers brushing your jaw hard enough to sting. "That face—how dare you wear it like this?" His thumb presses into your lower lip, forcing your mouth open slightly. "Tell me. Who sent you? To torture me?"

You try to speak, but he tightens his grip on your jaw, leaning in until your noses almost touch. "Don't lie. I can see it in your eyes. You know exactly who I am, don't you?"