The heavy silence of the night was broken when the grand bedroom door creaked open. Warm yellow light from the hallway spilled across the polished floor, and a petite girl slipped inside on tiptoe. She moved like a little thief—slow breaths, quick glances, bare feet barely touching the carpet.
The moment she crossed the threshold, a thick wave of alcohol hit her nose.
The room smelled like a whole bar had exploded inside it. Someone was definitely drunk… and from the faint, lazy breathing coming from the bed, she already knew who it was. Song Yue wrinkled her nose, half annoyed and half worried, staring at the tall figure sprawled across the huge bed.
Nei Rougang lay there without a hint of defense, his broad shoulders rising softly with each breath. Even in sleep, his body looked powerful—muscles outlined under the thin sheet, long legs bent carelessly as though the bed wasn't big enough for him. His toes peeked out, clean and well-shaped, absurdly perfect for a man who always pretended not to care.
She swallowed. He really was drunk.
"Nei Rougang… don't be scared," she whispered, even though he wasn't the one trembling. She was. Sneaking into his bedroom at night—if there was a road straight to hell, this was probably it. But she couldn't stop herself.
The closer she got, the more she felt that dizzying pressure he always carried. His sharp brows, deep eye sockets, and firm jawline made him look like a sculpture—not cold, but dangerous. Someone who could ruin your whole world with one sigh. Someone who had already ruined hers without meaning to.
She leaned down and gently pressed her lips to his. "Uncle… wake up." Her voice trembled with mischief and nerves. "Hahaha… wake up!"
Nei Rougang jerked awake, eyes snapping open in confusion. For a moment he looked lost, then recognition hit him like ice water. Her. In his room. Again.
His thoughts slammed back into place. He had sent people to escort her to her grandfather's house—carefully, secretly, making sure she couldn't sneak back. The bodyguards even reported she had turned off her lights and slept like a well-behaved child. Clearly, they were blind.
Eighteen years of trouble. Eighteen years of chasing, scolding, protecting. He should feel relieved she was gone, but instead the house had felt painfully quiet. Empty. He had drunk almost an entire bottle of vodka just to sleep, and yet he still dreamt of her… which only made him more irritable.
"Yue'er!" His voice cut through the room as he grabbed her wrist.
She cried out, wincing. "Ah—uncle! It hurts!"
That snapped the last haze of alcohol from his mind. Rage, worry, helplessness—all tangled together. In one rough motion, he pushed her off the bed, sending her stumbling onto the carpet.
"You promised me you wouldn't sneak back!" His voice was sharp, heavy with frustration, he didn't know how to control. Before she could get up, he lifted her by the waist and marched her toward the door.
"Uncle—wait—!"
He didn't. He threw her out and slammed the door shut so hard it shook. But the sound felt less like shutting her out…and more like trapping himself inside.
Song Yue stared at the closed door, her fists clenched. "I'm not leaving! I'm not leaving!" she shouted, pounding on the wood. But the door didn't budge.
Fine. If he wanted her to leave so badly, she'd make sure he regretted ever saying it. She thought about starting a fire, blowing up the house, or smashing the door—but she had none of the tools for any of those. Her wild ideas faded as fast as they came.
"Why did God even make doors?" she muttered angrily. "Why can't I walk through them whenever I want?"
She stomped to the corridor window and flung it open. The night wind almost slapped her in the face, but she didn't hesitate. She climbed onto the rough stone sill, gripping the drainpipe with both hands. Her toes searched desperately for the windowsill of his bedroom.
The paint scratched her feet, and the metal pipe was freezing against her palms, but she kept climbing. When both feet finally landed on his windowsill, she pushed herself tight against the glass.
Then she smirked.
She raised her hand and used the little diamond ring he gave her—her favorite treasure—to scratch a line across his window. Petty revenge? Absolutely. Worth it? Definitely.
But the moment she dragged the diamond too hard, the metal ring bent. The setting twisted, the stone popped out, and she stared at her now-empty ring in horror.
"F—! Why is platinum so soft?!"
Before she could panic properly, a strong gust of wind slammed against her back. The sky flashed white—lightning splitting the darkness—and thunder cracked so loudly that her fingers slipped from the glass.
Her body tipped backward. The night swallowed her balance.
"Aaaahhhhh—!" Her scream tore through the storm.
She didn't want to die. Not like this. Not tonight.
Just as Song Yue's balance gave way and her scream tore through the night, a strong hand shot out of the darkness.
Fingers clamped around her wrist and yanked her upward with a force that nearly ripped the breath from her lungs. In the next heartbeat, she was pulled straight through the open window, the cold wind slapping against her cheeks like icy knives.
"UNCLE! I was so scared— I thought I was going to die!" she sobbed, clinging to Nei Rougang like a terrified little animal.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs locked around his waist, and her face buried against the warm crook of his neck. She trembled so hard her grip tightened involuntarily.
But even as her tears soaked into his shirt, her eyes flashed downward—sharp, cunning, sly.
A fox pretending to be a kitten.
She couldn't do much, but this trick… ah, this was one of her masterpieces. And it worked. She was in his arms again, inside his room again, wrapped against his chest where he couldn't push her away.
"Don't cry, don't shake. I've got you," he murmured, his voice low and helpless in spite of his anger. He held her like she was made of glass, his hand stroking down her back. He didn't dare loosen his hold even for a second.
When he had stepped out of the bathroom earlier, the last thing he expected was to see her standing on a third-floor windowsill, trembling in her thin pajamas.
Fear blasted through him so violently his heart nearly stopped. How could she even think of climbing up there? What madness had taken over her?
He should be scolding her, yelling until the whole villa shook. But her small body was still trembling, her breath hitching in his shoulder, and the sight of her tear-stained cheeks crushed every ounce of anger he had built up.
"Uncle… my ring…" she whimpered, lifting her hand pitifully. The empty, bent ring glinted under the light. "My poor ring…"
"I'll buy you ten tomorrow," he said instantly. He pressed a soft kiss onto her forehead, as if he could smooth away every fear she had felt.
"Uncle… my feet hurt…" she whispered, suddenly sounding small and real, and not at all like she was scheming.
He carried her to the sofa and placed her down carefully. The moment he looked at her feet, his breath twisted. The soles were scratched and grazed, streaks of red lining the delicate skin.
Without hesitation, he fetched the first-aid kit. Kneeling in front of her, he lifted her foot onto his knee and dabbed disinfectant onto the wounds. Every tiny wince she made stabbed his heart.
"So stupid," he muttered, though his voice held more worry than anger. "Why did you climb onto the windowsill? You could have fallen. You could have—" His voice cut off, as if the words were too painful to finish.
She glared at him through her tears. "Why did you slam the door in my face? You locked it!"
"I didn't lock anything! And I told you to go home!" He exhaled sharply, struggling to stay calm. What he wanted was to push her out again, take a freezing shower, and forget this whole emotional mess.
But she sat there with her red-rimmed eyes and trembling legs, and his resolve dissolved again.
She hadn't even checked the handle. Typical.
She had no idea—none—that his so-called decisiveness always broke when it came to her. She was his weakness, his soft spot, his constant headache.
Her voice softened to a sweet, dangerous whisper. "Uncle… my wound still hurts. Blow on it for me?"
He couldn't even refuse. Like a fool, he leaned down and gently blew across the cuts. "Okay. There. Now get up. I'll take you back to your grandfather's."
But Song Yue was faster. She leaped off the sofa, darted across the room, and threw herself onto his bed.
Rolling into his blanket like a fluffy dumpling, she lifted her head with a stubborn sparkle. "I'm not leaving. I'm used to sleeping on this bed. I can't sleep anywhere else!"
"You can sleep in the spare room," he said, though his voice already sounded defeated.
"But I'm used to sleeping with you."
Nei Rougang's expression darkened like a storm cloud. "You can have anything except me."
"I don't want anything except you." She hugged the blanket like it was a shield.
"Song Yue!" His voice dropped low, cold enough to bite. "Are you this spoiled because of me? You dare disobey me?"
For the first time, she shivered. Everyone in the household feared him. She never had. But right now… she felt a tremble of real fear crawl up her spine.
Still, she lifted her chin. "Then tell me why you chased me away. Tell me the truth."
Nei Rougang exhaled slowly. "You're too old to live with me now."
Her lips twitched in disbelief. Eighteen years she slept beside him like a clingy little shadow, and now suddenly he decided she was too old? Now?
"You're lying! Don't think I'm stupid. The real reason is that my aunt wants to marry you!"
"Enough nonsense. She's my sister. And you're my niece." Even saying it seemed to sharpen the air around him. That wasn't the real reason—he would never send her away because of his sister. But he also couldn't have her near him anymore. Not when he was losing control.
"But you're not my blood uncle," Song Yue shot back. "You were adopted by my grandfather."
His jaw tightened. "He's still my father. And your grandfather. Now get up." He pulled at the blanket.
Song Yue immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, using his tug to pull herself into him instead. Her warmth pressed against him like a wave, overwhelming, impossible to ignore.
"It's raining outside," she murmured, yawning into his collar. "My wound can't get wet… and your smell always helps me fall asleep."
Her words, her closeness, her soft breath—every part of her tugged at him like gravity.
And he knew… he was losing the battle again.