Chapter 15 After the Storm
I groaned from the pain, teeth clenched. “Did you really think I was that idiot? Everyone around him got hurt or killed, and he still believed no one would betray him.”
The original Huo Chichen was pathetic—abandoned by his real parents, used by his foster ones. But he brought it on himself. Arrogant. Blind. Convinced loyalty was guaranteed.
In the story, the main couple lived happily. The foster parents got shipped overseas, lives intact.
But the innocent people?
They never got justice.
The foster father raised the gun again. Lin Qi surged up, sweeping his leg out and knocking the man down.
Then the police stormed in. “Police! Drop your weapons!”
It was over.
I sagged against Lin Qi, breathing in the thick scent of blood mixed with his familiar shower gel.
In the distance, the foster father screamed curses as he was dragged away.
Right then, my whole world was just Lin Qi and the tears clinging to his lashes.
“Does it hurt?” His thumb gently brushed the cut on my lip.
I started to shake my head, but he kissed me before I could, swallowing every word.
The kiss tasted like blood and salt—hotter than any promise.
“Home,” he whispered against my forehead.
The last thing I felt was him carrying me out of the warehouse, his heartbeat thundering in my ears, his arms steady.
When I woke again, the sharp smell of antiseptic burned my nose.
I forced my eyes open. The hospital lights were harsh white.
Lin Qi sat beside the bed, head down, fingers twisted in the sheet until his knuckles were pale.
His wounds were roughly bandaged—gauze on his forehead spotted with blood, bruises on his mouth, his right leg wrapped messily.
Clearly done by himself.
My throat was sandpaper. I tried to call him, but only a rasp came out.
His head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot.
“Huo Chichen?” His voice shook.
His fingers hovered near my cheek, then pulled back.
I wanted to touch him, but my arm wouldn’t move. I managed to twitch my fingers.
He understood instantly, leaning down to press his face into my palm. His lashes trembled against my skin, breath warm.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, words muffled against my hand. “I thought you wouldn’t admit we were together because you were ashamed of me. I didn’t realize you were protecting me. I was so stupid.”
I gently pinched his cheek, tried to smile, but the cut on my lip stung. I hissed.
“Silly boy,” I croaked, voice rough but soft. “I messed up too.”
He lifted his head. His eyes were red, ready to spill.
My chest ached watching him.
“Come here,” I whispered.
He hesitated, then leaned closer.
“Closer. I can’t reach.”
He bent down. I kissed him.
His lips were cold at first, then burned the second they touched mine.
His breath caught. Then he couldn’t hold back anymore—hands braced on either side of me, deepening the kiss.
It hurt my split lip, but I didn’t push him away. His tongue pushed in, desperate, like he was pouring out every second of fear and anger and relief.
When I couldn’t breathe, he finally pulled back, forehead against mine, chest heaving.