A STRANGER'S TOUCH

Kui fu's POV

Light came first—gentle and sly. It filtered through thick curtains and crept across the floorboards, spilling over the edge of the bar. I blinked, slow and heavy. My head swam, limbs aching like they'd been wrung dry. Every breath scraped against my ribs. Every nerve hummed with the memory of last night.

The stranger had taken me—utterly, completely. Used me like a thing. No care, no hesitation. He didn't even ask if I wanted it. He just… did. And I let him, not by choice, but because I couldn't stop him.

It was my first time.

Deflowered—stripped of something I wasn't even sure I had left to give. My body trembled, stretched too far, like silk threads pulled past their limit. I turned my head. He lay behind me, sound asleep, his chest rising with the peace of babies and monsters alike. Porcelain skin, delicate features—handsome, even now. And yet, I'd never hated anyone more.

I didn't cry. Not because it didn't hurt, but because it was useless. The tears had dried somewhere between the first forceful thrust and the last gasping breath. My body wasn't mine anymore. It was shame wrapped in skin. I drew the sheets around me, curling inwards like I could fold myself out of existence. I wanted to scrub it off—strip away flesh, erase the night, silence his breath still echoing in my ears.

The scent clung to me. Him. Sweat and musk and that damn wine. I saw the bottle on the table—half empty. Two glasses. One untouched. The other nearly drained. My stomach turned. He'd been drugged.

I'd learnt about aphrodisiacs in Fujian—some strong enough to steal reason. My pulse quickened. The wine. It was the wine. I hadn't touched mine. He had. And after that, everything changed.

I pushed the sheets away, wincing. My thighs throbbed. My chest burned. My voice was hoarse from screaming. When I looked down between my legs, I saw it—blood, raw and damning. I reached to touch it but flinched. Even that was too much.

Dragging myself off the bed, I crept to the bathroom. Silent. Careful. I couldn't let him wake. Not yet. I wiped the blood from my thighs with a trembling hand, tissues sticking to skin. The girl in the mirror didn't look like me. Hollow eyes. Cracked lips. Bruised neck. Not hickeys. Bites—deep, angry ones.

Disgust rolled through me. I got dressed with stiff fingers, not caring if my shirt was on backwards or if my trousers stuck to bloodied thighs. I looked at him once more, sprawled on the bed. Sleeping like nothing had happened.

I left.

I didn't wait for Sheng Wuang's driver. I refused her sinister hospitality. She had sent me to that room. She knew what would happen. I returned to the villa on my own, sore and splintered. No one said a word when I arrived. They didn't need to. They knew.

I climbed into bed, every movement raw, every thought drowned. I heard Ye Shu's voice, shrill with excitement, "It worked, Mother!"

"She's walking like the duck she is," Lin Ruan sneered.

Their laughter echoed in the hallway. I didn't react. Couldn't. I just lay there, clutching a pillow to my nose to block his scent. Breathing through my mouth. Pretending I was anywhere but here.

Xichian's POV

I stirred awake in the hotel room, breath shallow, muscles tense. Light leaked in through the edge of the blackout curtains, slicing across the sheets. My head pounded — not from drink, but something else. Heavier. Sharper.

My body felt used. Spent.

I blinked, trying to piece it together. The night came back in broken flashes — the wine, the heat crawling under my skin, her mouth, the way I couldn't stop. Couldn't think. Like I'd been set on fire from the inside out.

Then I saw it.

Blood on the sheets. Stark, red, accusing.

I froze.

She was gone, but the imprint of her body was still there — in the sheets, in the air, in the pit of my stomach. Whoever she was… I'd taken her virginity.

A girl I didn't even remember clearly.

My jaw clenched. My breath hissed out between my teeth.

This wasn't how I moved. I didn't lose control. Ever.

I ran a hand over my face, forcing myself to think. I remembered fragments — soft skin, dark eyes, the scent of wine laced with something wrong. Not alcohol. Something else.

Drugged.

That thought settled like lead in my chest.

My hand shot out, reaching for my phone on the bedside table. I called my assistant.

"Find Lin Ruan," I said, voice low, dangerous. "First daughter of the Fu family. I want her location within the hour."

A pause. "Yes, sir."

I hung up before he finished.

My knuckles were white around the phone. Lin Ruan. It had to be her. She was supposed to meet me. That was the plan arranged by Grandfather — a political courtesy dressed up as romance. She hadn't wanted to come. I'd known that. Her reputation preceded her — proud, cold, unbending.

So why had she?

And why couldn't I remember her face?

I looked back at the blood on the sheets. Something twisted in my gut — not guilt. Something else. Something colder. A violation of my control.

No one used me.

If this was a setup, someone was going to pay.

Kui's POV,

Meanwhile, I moved through the villa like a ghost. My body functioned, but my soul had left. Sheng Wuang's punishments didn't stop—but I no longer flinched. Pain didn't scare me anymore. It just proved I was still alive.

I needed answers. Who was that man? Why me, and not Lin Ruan? But every time I got close, Sheng Wuang's shadow fell over everything. No one dared speak. The house buzzed only with empty threats and stifled laughter.

Lin ruan's POV

The villa glittered like a palace. Chandeliers blazed. Gold threaded every drape. A string quartet played something soft and sweet in the corner. The guests were like ravens in silks and suits—vultures dressed for a feast.

And I, draped in red chiffon and diamonds, bathed in their stares. This wasn't celebration—it was a performance. Every laugh was measured. Every glance, a blade I chose to wield.

I stood at the edge of the room, tray in hand. Invisible.

Then he arrived.

Joon-Su.

Late twenties. Broad shoulders. A face like carved marble. His smile could ruin nations.

He bowed, polite. "Miss Fu, happy birthday."

Gasps rippled.

I froze. My eyes widened for just a breath. Joon-Su—my ex-lover. The one who left my heart in ruins.

"What are you doing here?" i asked,my voice all sugar and sharp edges.

"I missed you," he said simply. "I never stopped loving you."

He took my hand and led me outside, no hesitation. Just bold, careless grace.

I followed, unnoticed, passing through whispers and perfume.

We paused in the garden, under moonlight and roses. He leaned close. "I want us back."

"I—" i faltered, tried to speak, but the weight in my chest was heavier than my voice.

"I still love you."

My words blurred. "You betrayed me." "You left." "I didn't forget."

I noticed Kui Fu then.

She looked at us—disgust carved into every line of her face.

She didn't stay. Didn't speak. Just turned and left.I knew she didn't care for things like this—boys, girls, messy affections.

To her, it all looked like pressure pretending to be passion.And honestly? She couldn't care less.

But we didn't stop.Something in me gave in—heat pooling low as he dragged me in.

Desire bloomed fast, reckless. I was already aching.

We still didn't stop, not when he pulled her inside a guest room. Not when the door shut behind them.

I don't know why It lingered. But It did.

He kissed me like he was claiming a war prize. I melted into him. My Scarlet chiffon fell like a whisper. He undressed me with reverence, hunger, regret. Our bodies found each other again in the dark.

We were all tension and trembling skin, like a song caught between notes. His mouth on mine was slow, hungry, a silent promise carved between parted lips. Hands explored with reverence, fingers ghosting over my curves as if I might vanish.

The zip gave way with a soft breath of sound, and suddenly I was open beneath him — not just naked, but seen.

He paused. Just a moment. Just long enough to look at me like I was the only thing in the world he wanted to remember.

My fingers curled into his hair as he pressed his forehead to mine, his breath warm, uneven. "Are you sure?" he asked, voice rough with restraint.

I nodded — not because I was brave, but because I wanted to belong to something that didn't hurt.

And then there was only heat — skin on skin, breath tangled with breath, the quiet hum of something beautiful unfolding between us.

He entered me slowly, like a prayer whispered in the dark. No fireworks. No noise. Just the aching honesty of being held, being claimed, being chosen.

And then I broke apart in his arms.

Kui's POV,

At the break of dawn, a sleek black Maybach S680 rolled into the villa's courtyard, its engine purring like a caged beast. I stood far off in the garden, unnoticed, pruning rose branches that didn't need pruning. I saw the car door open, and a tall figure stepped out. From where I stood, his face was a blur, shadowed by the early light. He didn't pause. Just walked straight to the entrance like he owned every tile he stepped on.

The butler rushed out as if he'd been rehearsing for this very moment, bowing slightly and ushering the man in with both hands. It seemed like the visitor had been expected. Sheng Wuang had planned for him. After all, he was meant to go out with Lin Ruan today.

I watched her from a distance as she glided down the stairs, her lips stretched into a tight smile. There was a lightness to her steps, a desperate attempt at charm.

She laughed, awkwardly. "Don't you have anything else to do?"

He didn't laugh back.

His words came slow and flat. "You disturb me."

The air shifted. Her smile cracked.

The sentence hit her like a slap. Her fingers fumbled with her robe's hem, eyes glued to the floor. For the first time, I saw Sheng Wuang look… small. Embarrassed. The kind of shame that slips under the skin and stays there. It wasn't even what he said—but how he said it. With that kind of indifference that cuts deeper than cruelty.

"I'll go call Ruan," she mumbled, the pride in her voice already crumbling.

She slipped away, shoulders drawn.

The butler appeared at my side like a ghost, shoving a tray into my hands.

"Black coffee. No sugar."

I didn't speak. Just took it and made my way to the parlour, the rich scent of roasted beans curling around me. I tried to steady my steps, my fingers already aching from earlier chores.

He was there.

Balanced on the couch like he was born in it, one leg crossed over the other, eyes unreadable. The room seemed smaller with him in it, heavier somehow.

Just as I crossed the threshold, Ye Shu brushed past me. Not hard, not enough to be called a push—but just enough. Her shoulder clipped mine, and I staggered.

I didn't understand why. Not at first. But something told me it wasn't by accident.

The tray tipped forward. "Tch!" I hissed.

The cup spilled. Scalding coffee splashed across my hands. Pain burst through my fingers, raw and immediate. My brown skin flushed a deep, angry red. I bit down a cry, lips trembling.

Then I felt it.

A gaze. Cold and piercing. Like ice slicing through fog.

I looked up instinctively.

My breath caught.

That face.

The chiseled jawline. The sharp eyes. The scar near his brow.

Familiar.

I'd seen it before.

No.

I knew that face.

The man from the hotel.

The one who—

My knees buckled slightly. The room tilted.

It was him.

He was here.