WHEN THE PASTSTRIKES BACK

Chapter 6 – Admission

Ye Zhen sat silently on the sofa, his gaze sharp and dangerous. The intensity in his eyes made Mo Xiaoxi involuntarily shiver.

She didn’t dare speak. One wrong word could trigger another outburst—and she wasn’t sure she could handle it. She was still reeling from everything that had happened. Emotionally, mentally—she was at her limit.

Ye Zhen said nothing, his frosty stare cutting through the room like a blade. His aura was oppressive—arrogant, commanding, unshakable. She had to admit: he was striking. Not in the soft, elegant way Lan Sijing was, but with a wild and masculine edge that made him impossible to ignore.

And now that fierce presence was aimed directly at her.

She felt like a criminal on trial—and Ye Zhen, her unforgiving judge.

“Speak,” he finally said. His tone made it sound like an order more than an invitation.

“Speak about what?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

“Why did you hang up on me?” His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering within them. “Are you ashamed to be associated with me?”

“I slipped,” she replied bluntly.

What did he expect her to say? That she was eagerly awaiting his call? She’d have to be insane to pick up the phone from a man like him.

“So, you really are that uncomfortable being with me?”

“Yes,” she answered truthfully.

Ye Zhen’s expression darkened. Fury simmered behind his cold exterior.

“You’re unbelievable,” he growled. “What do you have to be so upset about? What makes you think I’m any worse than that other guy?”

Mo Xiaoxi forced a bitter smile, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “You’re right. Out of all the people I’ve met in this life, it’s truly a rare ‘honor’ to meet someone like you.”

Ye Zhen’s jaw tightened. His hand shot up as if to strike her—but in the end, he dropped it, letting it fall to his side.

His voice was low and furious. “You’re really asking for it. Keep talking, and I swear—one of us will walk out crying.”

“And I’m sure your talents are only useful when dealing with women,” she shot back, not bothering to hide her contempt.

Ye Zhen’s eyes glinted. But instead of exploding again, he suddenly stood and turned away. Without another word, he left the room.

Mo Xiaoxi blinked, stunned by the abrupt shift. She stared up at the ceiling, her heart heavy with shame and disgust—at him, at herself.

Mo Xiaoxi, you i***t. You let him get to you. Again.

Frustrated and exhausted, she gathered herself, threw on a shirt, and headed to the bathroom. There, under the shower’s stream, her tears finally came—quietly, wordlessly.

This man. What cosmic punishment had brought him into her life?

After changing into clean clothes, she quietly opened the door, intending to leave.

“Don’t move,” came Ye Zhen’s voice from upstairs, ice-cold and commanding. “You step outside, and we’ll see what happens.”

“I wasn’t leaving,” she called back, sarcasm clinging to her voice.

She stepped out into the courtyard and sank down onto the stone steps. Looking up at the night sky, she found little comfort. But it was at least calmer than her heart.

The breeze played with her hair, cooling her flushed cheeks. She hugged her knees to her chest and, without meaning to, dozed off.

She woke to a sharp kick against the bench.

Startled, she nearly tumbled off the edge. Ye Zhen stood over her, expression thunderous.

“Get up! Who said you could sleep here?” he barked.

Seriously? Was he really this petty?

Mo Xiaoxi slid down onto the grass and moved into the shadows beside a flower bed.

“I’ll stay here. No benches. Happy now?” she said wearily, looking up at him.

His scowl deepened, like a storm brewing just over the horizon.

She sighed and stood again. “Alright, fine. The bench is yours. The flowers are yours. The ground is yours. Everything here belongs to you. You tell me—where exactly am I allowed to exist? Want me to vanish?”

“You planning to run off to Lan Sijing?” he accused, the moonlight catching in his eyes and making his rage look even sharper.

Mo Xiaoxi was done.

She folded her arms and sat down again, hugging her knees. “You’re not making sense.”

“Hit a nerve?” he sneered.

She looked up at him, calm but resolute. “Let me make a few things clear, Mr. Ye. One: I have a home. Two: Lan Sijing is my superior at work. Yes, I have feelings for him—but it’s one-sided. He loves someone else. He’s risked his life for that person more than once.”

She narrowed her gaze. “So please, stop using your twisted ideas to judge others. Just because you live in a mess doesn’t mean the rest of us do. You’re welcome to wallow in it, but don’t drag us down with you. It’s shameful.”