Breaking the Taboo (1v2, Blood Uncle and Nephew) - Chapter 23

The female doctor gave Han Yezhen some medicine—some to take, some to apply—all for moving the bl00d and dispersing bruises.

When Han Yezhen came over with the medicine, Li Mohan straightened her spine like a student answering roll call, a fine sheen of sweat beading on her forehead.

He passed by her without a word, and she rose in tacit understanding, obediently following behind him.

Like a mild, harmless little animal padding after its master.

They made their way to the parking garage. The silence was suffocating. Li Mohan’s heart climbed into her throat. Just as they neared his car, Han Yezhen halted and suddenly turned around.

Eyes lowered, she stared at the floor and didn’t notice he’d stopped; caught off guard, she ran right into his broad, solid back.

His build was tough as a mountain—he didn’t budge an inch.

She rubbed her nose where it had smarted from the bump, quickly stepped back a few paces, and said softly, “Sorry.”

Han Yezhen was quiet for a beat, then said, “We’re getting food.”

He’d always been forceful by nature, yet he had more patience with Li Mohan than with anyone else. He knew she hadn’t eaten; he didn’t need to ask, he simply took her to eat.

It was already past nine—closer to ten—and many places had closed, but if Han Yezhen wanted dinner, he would find somewhere.

He ordered a table’s worth of dishes, a balance of vegetables and meat. Li Mohan ate slowly; Han Yezhen sat and waited for her to finish.

After they ate, he took her straight home.

She’d wanted to ask questions, but the whole way back, Han Yezhen had barely spoken, a silence unlike his usual—a silence that felt like the stillness before a storm.

Heavy. Motionless.

On the surface, nothing stirred, yet an undercurrent seethed underneath.

When he spoke, she was afraid; when he was silent, she was afraid too.

Though he didn’t show it on his face, she could clearly sense he was angry. And not just a little.

She had no idea what for.

They stepped into the elevator. The moment the doors shut, Han Yezhen finally spoke. “When you got hit today, why didn’t you call me?”

Li Mohan moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “There wasn’t time.”

His voice, cold by nature with that low, magnetic edge, dropped. “I told you, if something happens, call me.”

I feel like every lie I’ll ever tell in this life is being used up on him tonight.

She hung her head, saying nothing, like a child who’d done something wrong.

Her hair was beautiful—silky, glossy—framing her forehead with a little halo of playful baby hairs.

With her head lowered like that, those strands fell forward to veil her profile, making her look aggrieved and pitiful.

Han Yezhen didn’t soften. Irritation prickled under his skin. He tugged at his tie, his expression cutting cold, his tone even more stifled.

“You’re very afraid of me? So you don’t dare reach out?”

Her heart gave a disobedient little tremor.

Asked like that, it was as if he’d always known exactly what she feared.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but she felt that, to some extent, he remembered what had happened that night.

She kept staring at the tips of her shoes. After a pause, she stammered, “I was just too nervous. All I could think about was getting away, so I—didn’t manage.”

“Was it that you couldn’t, or that you didn’t even think of me?”

That “didn’t even think of me?”—whether intentional or not—landed in her ears steeped with layered meaning.

Her nerves drew taut like strings. She pressed her lips together. “I couldn’t.”

“What are you afraid of when it comes to me?”

The question drove her straight to the edge of a cliff.

Forcing her to recall the memories she’d been struggling to forget.

The elevator feels especially slow today. Her mind churned like a muddled autumn river, waves rising and falling, struggling to cobble together an excuse.

Just then, the elevator jolted to a stop—thunk—and the lights snapped off!

In an instant, everything was pitch black—so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.

Li Mohan let out a small gasp, but Han Yezhen’s hand closed around her slender wrist, sudden and firm, pinning her back against the wall.

The moment her spine met the cold metal, a deluge of kisses came crashing down.

He bit hard at her lips; his tongue forced open her clenched teeth and captured the tip of her tongue, sucking with unyielding strength.

Heat—wet and searing—of mouth and tongue, and the thick, masculine breath of him, wove into a tight, suffocating net, enfolding her completely.