That night, I did so many things.
After every move, I'd stop to look at her, to watch for her reaction.
She didn't fight back.
She didn't push me away.
She didn't even tense up.
She just stared at me with that dazed, foggy look in her eyes.
Sometimes she'd let out a soft sound, quiet as a cat's mew.
That sound hooked me.
I was addicted.
I couldn't name what I was feeling.
It wasn't the thrill of revenge.
Revenge doesn't make your heart race.
It doesn't make your fingertips tingle.
It doesn't make you stare at someone's face all night in the dark, just to make sure they're really asleep.
After that night, I was well and truly hooked.
I started making up all kinds of excuses.
A lollipop. A bar of chocolate. A soft "You were so good today, Niannian."
After a while, I didn't even need the excuses anymore.
All it took was a look, and she understood.
She'd put down whatever she was holding, walk over to me slowly.
She'd stand in front of me, head down, waiting for my next order.
Like a tamed animal.
I told myself this was revenge.
To make her mine, completely mine.
Body and soul.
Wasn't this why I'd been reborn?
To take everything from her, leave her with nothing.
Leave her with no one to rely on but me.
But then—
Why did my heart race every time she leaned into me on her own?
Why did my chest tighten when I saw that dazed, fragile look on her face?
Tight enough that I had to take deep breaths to calm down.
Why did I start to feel scared?
Scared that one day she'd stop being stupid.
Scared she'd look at me with those clear, cold eyes again.
Scared that she'd… leave.
One night, I went too far.
I knew it, even as I did it. But I couldn't stop.
Her reaction was— I couldn't put it into words.
Her back arched off the bed, her fingers fisting the sheets until her knuckles turned white.
A sound spilled from her lips…
It wasn't a sound of pain.
I knew what pain sounded like.
In my last life, that was the sound I made when she stepped on my fingers.
Sharp, tearing, the kind of sound that makes your skin crawl.
This wasn't that.
This was soft.
Warm, damp, like something melting slowly in warm water.
I froze.
In the dark, I stared at her.
Her eyes were half-lidded, her pupils glistening with the faint moonlight seeping through the window.
Wet, shiny.
Like two glass beads washed clean with water.
Her lips were slightly parted, her breath shallow and fast, her chest rising and falling hard.
"Niannian," I heard my own voice, rough, unrecognizable even to me. "Do you like it?"
I already knew the answer when I asked.
But I needed to hear it from her lips.
Not because I needed confirmation.
Because I needed to know I wasn't alone in this.
In this thing I'd thought was one-sided revenge.
"I like it."
She said it.
Her voice was so soft, like a feather landing on still water.
Barely a ripple.
But in that quiet room, where the only sound was our breathing, those two words were as clear as a lightning strike.
They split open every last one of my masks.
Revenge?
Who was I even taking revenge on?
A fool?
A fool who didn't even know what taking her clothes off meant?
A fool I'd used like a doll over and over, who'd never fought back once?
A fool who'd whispered "I like it" in the dark, in that soft, warm voice?
Or was it… that I'd been taking revenge on myself this whole time?
In my last life, Shen Nian owed me.
In this life, I'd tried to take it back this way.
But somewhere along the way, I realized I didn't hate her anymore.
No, that wasn't right.
Maybe I'd never hated her, not really.
Maybe from that first night, the moment she'd taken her clothes off in front of me, unguarded.
The moment she'd whispered "Cold" and I'd pulled her close without thinking.
Maybe I'd stopped hating her then.
I just didn't know any other way to get close to her.
I leaned down, my forehead pressed to hers, the tip of my nose brushing hers.
Her breath fanned over my lips, warm, with a faint sweetness of orange candy.
"Niannian," my voice was shaking. I could feel it, but I couldn't stop it. "Say it again."
She didn't say it again.
Instead, she reached out in the dark, fumbling until she found my hand.
She laced her fingers through mine, palm to palm.
Just like I'd done to her that first night.
My fingers tightened around hers, so tight my knuckles turned white.
I could feel her pulse through our palms, fast, unnaturally fast.
A fool's heart wouldn't beat that fast.
A fool's pupils wouldn't blow wide when someone touched them.
A fool wouldn't look at you like—
Wait.
I lifted my head slowly, staring at her face in the dark.
Her eyes were closed, her lashes fluttering slightly, like a butterfly's wings.
Her breathing was even, her face calm.
She looked like anyone else, fast asleep.
But the fingers I was holding?
She squeezed back, just barely.
So faint, I would have missed it if I hadn't been on edge, hyper-aware of every little thing.
That wasn't something a fool would do.
That was the move of someone awake.
Someone conscious, choosing to respond.
My heart skipped a beat.
And then…
Everything clicked into place.
The car crash was fake.
The stupidity was an act.
The slow reactions, the clumsy movements, the dazed look when she bumped into a doorframe.
All of it. A performance.
She'd been lying to me from the very start.
She'd tricked me this whole time.
My first reaction was rage.
All-consuming, chest-splitting rage.
She'd tricked me again.
In this life, just like the last.
I'd been played for a fool.
No, I was worse than a fool.
I'd started to feel sorry for her.
To care for her.
To…
And then I remembered something.
She'd said "I like it."
Those words hadn't come from a fool.
They'd come from someone awake, someone conscious, someone who knew exactly what she was saying.
She'd known who I was.
Known what I was doing to her.
Known what it all meant.
And she'd said she liked it anyway.
My rage deflated like a popped balloon.
Gone, in an instant.
In its place was something I had no idea how to deal with.
It sat heavy in my chest, stuck, making the corners of my eyes burn.
She hadn't run.
She hadn't run away before I figured it out.
She'd stayed.
Stayed to let me hold her, kiss her, do all the things she had every right to refuse.
She'd even said she liked it.
I leaned down, burying my face in the crook of her neck.
Her shoulders twitched, probably ticklish, but she didn't pull away.
Her fingers were still laced through mine, her palm warm, her pulse steady.
I closed my eyes.
Fuck it.
Let her lie.
Fake stupid, real stupid.
Reborn, not reborn.
The things from the last life, the things from this one.
Who owed who, who lied to who.
None of it mattered anymore.
What mattered was that she was in my arms right now.
Her hand in mine.
Her heartbeat against mine.
What mattered was that she'd said she liked it.
And I—
I buried my face deeper, my lips pressed to her collarbone, my voice muffled, so quiet I could barely hear it myself:
"…Me too."
Her fingers squeezed mine, just a little tighter.
The moonlight through the window was quiet.
I didn't lift my head to see the look on her face.
I didn't dare.
(The End)
Author's note: Who was the prey, and who was the hunter?
Maybe from the very start, no one was ever really hunting at all.