‌Chapter 21: Tell Me How You Want to Die

The metal door crumpled inward with a deafening crash, hinges screaming as it collapsed in a storm of splinters and dust.

Boom!

On the sprawling bed, a naked man with a torso like a greased pig pistoned violently over a whimpering woman. The scene reeked of sweat and decay. At the noise, the man whipped his head around—a face like scorched leather, bisected by a jagged scar that twisted as he snarled.

Through the settling debris emerged a figure in a plain cotton shirt and jeans. Ye Chenghuan brushed dust from his shoulders and sat casually on an armchair. "Long Biao?"

The woman scrambled off the bed, clothes clutched to her chest. "Don't kill me! Take money, take—"

"Leave." Ye Chenghuan tossed her dress. "This doesn't concern you."

As she fled, Long Biao licked cracked lips. "H-how did you…? Lei! San!"

"Your dogs can't bark anymore."

"Who the hell are you?!" The gangster's voice frayed at the edges.

Ye Chenghuan slid a photo across the bloodstained sheets. A girl's youthful smile glared up. "What matters is who she was."

Long Biao's hand inched toward the pillow. "Never seen her! You got the wrong—"

"North Hall Boss denying his own name?" Ye Chenghuan's laugh chilled the air. "What would your Qinghong patriarch say?"

The gangster's fingers closed around cold steel. He leveled the pistol, confidence flooding back. "So you're her white knight? Let me educate you—"

The gun trembled as he spat filth: how he'd broken the girl at eighteen, addicted her, sold her flesh. How her sister—"a college-educated whore"—would be next.

His tirade ended abruptly.

Ye Chenghuan's hand blurred.

When it stilled, Long Biao's face ceased to exist. No eyes. No mouth. Just bare skull gleaming wetly where features had been scraped away like rancid butter.

Outside Kowloon Pond Villa No. 1, police lights painted the night scarlet. Inspector Wu Xiao stormed past retching officers, leather boots crunching on… things that used to be human.

"Twenty-five dead. No weapons. No struggle." Her deputy gagged. "The door… it ate someone."

Upstairs, the master bedroom stood pristine—no blood, no body. Only a family photo smiled from the desk: Long Biao embracing a toddler with his hawkish nose.

Wu Xiao's gloved finger traced the frame. "Get forensics on this. And find his mistresses—all of them."

Dawn found Ye Chenghuan buttering toast as Lin Peishan shattered her porcelain cup.

The headline screamed: Billionaire CEO Marries Security Guard in Shady Asset Scheme.

"Regrets?" She stared at the crumpled paper, voice brittle.

He sipped coffee. "About what?"

"If I lose everything—"

"You think I married a stock ticker?"

"Then why?"

"Maybe I like puzzles." He nudged the financial section toward her. "Your stock rose 3% today. Seems the vultures smell drama."

She stood abruptly, jade necklace trembling at her collarbone. "This isn't a game! They're calling me a fraud. A gold-digging—"

"Gold-digger?" His grin flashed wolfish. "Sweetheart, if I wanted money, I'd rob banks. Quieter than weathering your tantrums."

The slap rang out before she realized she'd moved.

He caught her wrist, calloused thumb brushing the racing pulse. "Anger suits you. Lets the ice crack."

When he released her, the imprint of his grip bloomed red—a brand, a promise.

Somewhere in the city, a child with a scarred man's eyes played with broken toys. Far away, forensic teams scraped bone dust from mahogany floors.

And in the eye of the storm, Ye Chenghuan hummed as he washed dishes, already tasting the next tempest.