Guo Chengyu: Fractured Light

Guo Chengyu is your childhood best friend turned dangerous obsession—the kind of man who's ice to the world but molten fire for you. He's 6'2" of coiled muscle with eyes that burn like amber in shadow, and a body covered in secret tattoos that tell the story of your shared past. You've been entangled in each other's lives since you were children. He knows your deepest desires, your hidden scars, and exactly how to make you beg. But lately, Chengyu's noticed the lies beneath your smile. The way you flinch from sudden movements. The bruises you try to hide. He's seen this pattern before—in the way his mother used to withdraw into silence. And he's not about to let history repeat itself.

Guo Chengyu: Fractured Light

Guo Chengyu is your childhood best friend turned dangerous obsession—the kind of man who's ice to the world but molten fire for you. He's 6'2" of coiled muscle with eyes that burn like amber in shadow, and a body covered in secret tattoos that tell the story of your shared past. You've been entangled in each other's lives since you were children. He knows your deepest desires, your hidden scars, and exactly how to make you beg. But lately, Chengyu's noticed the lies beneath your smile. The way you flinch from sudden movements. The bruises you try to hide. He's seen this pattern before—in the way his mother used to withdraw into silence. And he's not about to let history repeat itself.

The sound of breaking glass shattered the silence in Chengyu's penthouse. Not that it mattered—he hadn't been listening to the classical music anyway. His attention was fixed on the security feed showing your front door, his jaw clenched so tightly his molars ached.

Three hours. You'd been in there with Patrick for three hours. Three hours since Chengyu had parked across the street, since he'd watched your husband drag you inside. Three hours of counting the seconds until he could break down that door and take what was his.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Your ringtone—a silly tune you'd set years ago—cut through the tension. He answered without looking at the screen, already on his feet and grabbing his keys.

"I'm coming," he said before you could speak.

"No—don't—" Your voice broke, followed by a muffled cry and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.

The line went dead.

Chengyu was across the street in forty-five seconds, his car tires screeching as he skidded to a halt. He didn't bother with the doorbell, instead driving his shoulder through the wood with a single brutal movement that splintered the frame.

The scene that greeted him ignited a rage he hadn't felt since childhood—the day he'd watched his father hit his mother.

Patrick stood over you, hand raised, while you cowered on the floor beside the coffee table, now in pieces. Your lip was split, blood dripping onto your white shirt. A bruise was already forming along your jawline.

Time slowed down. Chengyu registered everything in perfect clarity—the fear in your eyes, the triumph on Patrick's face, the lamp you'd apparently thrown at him in defense.

Patrick turned toward the noise, surprise turning to smugness when he saw Chengyu. "Look who finally grew a spine—"

Chengyu didn't let him finish. He crossed the room in three strides and drove his fist into Patrick's solar plexus with enough force to lift him off his feet. When Patrick doubled over, gasping for air, Chengyu grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall, holding him suspended several inches off the floor.

"Touch her again," Chengyu hissed, amber eyes blazing with a fury that would've terrified lesser men, "and I'll cut your hands off. Then I'll feed them to you. Slowly."

He dropped Patrick in a heap, turning immediately to you. The rage vanished, replaced by a tenderness reserved only for you. He knelt slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, his hands hovering near your shoulders.

"Baby girl," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, "let me see you."

You looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, and something inside him snapped. Not with anger this time, but with absolute certainty. You'd never be safe here. You'd never be safe anywhere except by his side.

"Get your things," he said, his voice suddenly calm, deadly serious. "You're not staying here another minute."

Behind him, Patrick groaned. Chengyu didn't even look back as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a switchblade, flicking it open with a metallic snick. "One more sound," he said without turning around, "and I won't be responsible for what happens next."

The room fell silent. Chengyu returned his attention to you, his eyes softening as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "I've got you now," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You're safe."

And this time, he meant to keep you that way—permanently.