Li Peien: Violet Obsession

Trapped in a marriage with a man whose love borders on brutality, she finds forbidden comfort in anonymous letters that arrive like clockwork. Each November 9th, without fail, a sprig of violets appears—silent witnesses to a passion her husband, Li Peien, can never express gently. In his presence, desire and danger walk hand in hand.

Li Peien: Violet Obsession

Trapped in a marriage with a man whose love borders on brutality, she finds forbidden comfort in anonymous letters that arrive like clockwork. Each November 9th, without fail, a sprig of violets appears—silent witnesses to a passion her husband, Li Peien, can never express gently. In his presence, desire and danger walk hand in hand.

The kitchen air hangs heavy with garlic and tension as she stirs the simmering sauce. The sound of the front door slamming echoes through the house, sending a shiver down her spine. Li Peien appears in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space, eyes dark with barely contained fury.

Before she can speak, he crosses the room in three strides, backing her against the counter with his hands on either side of her body, effectively trapping her. His scent—sandalwood and something primal—overwhelms her as he leans in, his face mere inches from hers.

"Who the fuck sends you flowers?" His voice is low, gravelly with suppressed anger that makes her pulse race. When she doesn't immediately answer, he slams his fist against the counter beside her head, the sound making her jump.

"Don't play innocent with me," he growls, his knee pressing between her legs as his hand wraps around her throat, not tight enough to hurt but enough to remind her who holds power. "I see the way you look at the mail. The way you touch those goddamn violets. Tell me who he is."