The Scalling Truth

The shower was a fucking obsidian cage. The water hit the black marble floor with a sound like a goddamn machine gun, and the steam was rising so thick it felt like breathing in hot, liquid lead. Hua Yong didn't even bother to strip Wenlang of his silk robe—he just shoved the Alpha under the spray, clothes and all.

The cold water turned hot in a fucking heartbeat, scalding and brutal. Wenlang let out a jagged, sweary cry as the wet silk clung to his skin like a fucking second layer of bruised flesh. He slumped against the wall, his hands clawing at the tile for a grip he couldn't find, while Hua Yong stood over him like a goddamn vengeful shadow.

"Look at me," Hua Yong growled, his voice vibrating through the roar of the water.

Wenlang shook his head, his brown hair plastered to his face in a shitty, dripping mess. "Fuck you... just leave me the fuck alone..."

"I tried that!" Hua Yong roared, stepping directly into the spray. He grabbed Wenlang's face, his fingers digging into his jaw with a pressure that was fucking agonizing. He forced Wenlang's head up until their eyes locked. "I tried to leave you alone for four goddamn hours and you nearly fried your fucking nervous system! You want to talk about 'hate'? I hate that I can still feel your shitty heart rhythm in the back of my own goddamn throat!"

Hua Yong's eyes were a swirling, chaotic violet, but there was something else in there now—a raw, jagged terror that he couldn't hide behind a sweary insult. He looked at Wenlang's pale, shivering face, and for a split second, the "Chairman" mask fucking shattered. He wasn't looking at a tool or a toy; he was looking at the only thing in his shitty, violent life that actually mattered.

The realization hit Hua Yong like a fucking freight train to the chest. It was terrifying. It was a goddamn weakness he never wanted, a soft spot in his armor that felt like a fucking open wound. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to crush Wenlang, to break him completely just so he wouldn't have to feel this agonizing pull.

But instead, his hand moved. His thumb grazed Wenlang's bottom lip, a slow, shaking motion that was so goddamn out of character it made Wenlang's breath hitch in his shitty, water-logged lungs.

"You're a goddamn curse," Hua Yong whispered, his forehead dropping to rest against Wenlang's. The water was pouring over them both, a hot, suffocating curtain. "I should have let you rot on that sidewalk. I should have walked away and let some other prick mark you."

"Then why didn't you?" Wenlang rasped, his eyes narrowing into a glare that was half-hate and half-hunger. He reached up, his hand tangling in the wet fabric of Hua Yong's shirt, pulling him closer until their hearts were hammering a frantic, shitty duet. "Why the fuck did you come back today? You could have let me die. You could have taken the company and walked the fuck away."

"Because I can't breathe without the goddamn scent of you!" Hua Yong roared, finally losing his shitty grip on his control. He slammed his mouth onto Wenlang's, but it wasn't the brutal, predatory kiss from the office. It was something fucking deeper—a desperate, fucking search for anchorage in a shitty storm.

Wenlang let out a muffled moan, his body finally giving up the fight. He wrapped his arms around Hua Yong's neck, his fingers digging into the Enigma's shoulders as the hot water washed away the sweat and the fear. He hated the man. He hated the mark. He hated the way his own soul was being hollowed out to make room for this monster.

But as Hua Yong held him—really fucking held him, like he was the only thing keeping the Enigma from spinning off into the goddamn void—Wenlang realized the most terrifying truth of all.

Hua Yong pulled back, his breath coming in jagged, shitty gasps. He looked at Wenlang, his thumb tracing the line of the violet mark, and for the first time, his touch didn't feel like an insult. It felt like a fucking anchor.

"I'm going to kill you for this," Hua Yong whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm going to kill you for making me feel this fucking weak."

"Try it, you prick," Wenlang rasped, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips even as his eyes filled with a dark, weary heat. "But you'll have to survive me first."

They stood there in the steam, two broken, sweary Alphas finally admitting that the bond wasn't just shitty biology anymore. It was a goddamn infection of the heart, and neither of them knew how to fucking survive the cure.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hua Yong didn't just pull Wenlang out of the shower; he fucking dragged him. The wet silk robe was a heavy, cold weight, slapping against Wenlang's legs as he was hauled across the bathroom floor. His head was fucking spinning like a shitty top on a tilted table, the steam still clinging to his skin like a layer of hot, oily grease.

Hua Yong shoved him down onto the vanity stool, his movements jagged and fucking frantic. The Enigma ripped open a first-aid kit with a sound of tearing plastic that set Wenlang's fucking raw nerves on fire.

"Don't... don't touch me," Wenlang rasped, his teeth still chattering together like goddamn marbles in a fucking jar.

"Shut the fuck up," Hua Yong spat, his own shirt soaked through and clinging to his chest. He grabbed a handheld diagnostic scanner and slammed it against the side of Wenlang's neck, right over the fucking mark. "You spiked your own goddamn biology to the redline. If your brain is bleeding out into your skull, I need to know before you turn into a fucking vegetable on my watch."

The scanner let out a series of high-pitched, shitty beeps. Hua Yong's eyes narrowed as he read the display, his jaw tightening so fucking hard it looked like it was going to fucking snap.

"Your cortisol levels are through the fucking roof, and your neuro-transmitters look like a goddamn car crash," Hua Yong hissed, throwing the scanner onto the counter with a clatter. He grabbed a sedative injector—the heavy-duty kind used for Alphas in a violent Rut. "You've done real fucking damage to the neural pathways. The link nearly fried your shitty heart."

"Maybe... maybe I wanted it to," Wenlang muttered, his eyes flickering shut. The heat from the shower was fading, replaced by a cold, bone-deep shiver that made his skin feel like it was being pricked by a thousand goddamn needles.

Hua Yong fucking froze, the injector inches from Wenlang's arm. He looked at the Alpha—really fucking looked at the pale, exhausted wreck he'd created—and a flash of something gut-wrenching and terrifying crossed his face. It wasn't pity. It was a dark, fucking possessive horror at the thought of Wenlang actually being fucking gone.

"You don't get to die, Wenlang," Hua Yong whispered, his voice a low, sweary growl. "You don't get to escape this mess by checking out. I didn't spend my whole goddamn life fighting my father's shadow just to let you kill yourself in a fucking bathroom."

He fucking slammed the injector into Wenlang's shoulder. Not I a soft way, not in a "I care about you way," it was harsh.

"Fuck!" Wenlang barked, his eyes snapping open. He tried to swing at Hua Yong, but his arm felt like it was made of fucking lead. The sedative hit his system like a wave of cold, fucking heavy mercury, instantly dulling the jagged edges of the shitty withdrawal.

Hua Yong didn't pull away. He grabbed Wenlang's hands, holding them steady, his thumb tracing the white-knuckle grip Wenlang had on the edge of the vanity. For a long, silent minute, the only sound in the room was the drip of the shower and their heavy, shitty breathing.

"I hate you," Wenlang whispered, his head dropping against Hua Yong's chest as the drugs started to pull him under. "I fucking... hate you so much it hurts."

"I know," Hua Yong murmured, his hand sliding up to the back of Wenlang's wet head, his fingers tangling in the brown hair. He didn't say it back. He couldn't. The words felt like a goddamn death sentence. Instead, he just held him tighter, his own heart fucking hammering against Wenlang's ear like a frantic, sweary confession. "But you're still here. And I'm not fucking letting you go."

Hua Yong picked him up, his movements uncharacteristically careful, and carried the sleeping Alpha back toward the bed. He looked down at the man in his arms—the man who had turned his cold, calculated world into a fucking inferno—and felt a terrifying surge of something that wasn't just biology. It was a slow, agonizing rot of the heart, and he knew he was already too far gone to stop it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bathroom was a goddamn graveyard of wet silk and shattered plastic. Hua Yong stood there in the center of the mess, his bespoke suit ruined and clinging to his frame like a fucking shroud, watching the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Wenlang's chest as the sedative finally took hold.

He didn't just carry Wenlang to the bed; he laid him down like the man was a fucking bomb that would go off if he hit the mattress too hard. The sheets were cool and crisp, a sharp, shitty contrast to the feverish heat still radiating off Wenlang's skin. Hua Yong stood at the edge of the bed for a long, agonizing minute, his shadow stretching across the silk like a goddamn dark omen.

He should have walked out. He should have gone to the kitchen, poured a triple shot of goddamn cyanide-strength scotch, and figured out how to fix the PR nightmare his shitty sister had started. But he couldn't fucking move. His boots felt like they were bolted to the floorboards.

He pulled a chair over—a heavy, velvet thing that cost more than a goddamn middle-class house—and sat down in the dark. He watched Wenlang sleep. He watched the way the Alpha's brow furrowed even in the middle of a drug-induced coma, as if his shitty brain was still fighting a war even when it was shut down.

The silence in the penthouse was a fucking predator. It clawed at Hua Yong's ears, forcing him to listen to the frantic, jagged thoughts he'd been trying to bury since that accidental brush on the goddamn sidewalk. He looked at Wenlang's hand, resting limp on the duvet, and felt a surge of something so fucking terrifying it made his blood run cold.

It wasn't just the bond. It wasn't just the biological pull of a marked Alpha. It was a raw, agonizing obsession that felt like a fucking parasite under his ribs. He realized, with a punch of pure, unadulterated horror, that he didn't just want Wenlang's company or his signature; he wanted the man to look at him without that jagged, sweary hate in his eyes.

"You've fucking ruined me," Hua Yong whispered to the shadows, his voice a low, gravelly wreck.

He stayed there all night, a silent, terrifying ghost in the corner of the room. He didn't sleep. He didn't blink. He just watched the only thing in the world that made his shitty, violent heart beat with anything other than malice. The sun began to bleed through the curtains, a weak, shitty grey light that signaled the start of a new day of carnage, but Hua Yong didn't move. He just sat there, drowning in the terrifying realization that he was falling for the man he had intended to destroy.