Lou Yan drove like a man caught in a waking dream, the city blurring around him as if reality had slowed to let his heart catch up. The streets were cleared of snow, but winter still clung to the air, biting and sharp. His mind echoed with Syra's message, and the closer he got to her, the more everything else fell away. There was only her. Only Syra.
When he pulled up in front of her parents' home, his gaze was immediately drawn to the front door. And there she was.
Syra stood outside with her mother, bundled up for a quick errand. The cold painted a flush across her cheeks, and her breath puffed out in little clouds. She looked small and utterly adorable, like something out of a dream he hadn't dared have. Her light pink wool cap hugged her head snugly, the matching scarf puffed around her neck like a soft cloud. Her mittens were the same shade, clumsy and oversized, and she wore a white coat that flared slightly at the hem, making her look like a snow bunny just shy of spring.
When her eyes landed on the black sedan, they widened. Her heart thudded hard, wild and disbelieving. Without thinking, without caring, she bolted.
"Syra!" Nasreen called after her, startled.
But Syra didn't stop. Her arms flailed a little. Her boots clomped awkwardly against the pavement. She ran like she always did—chaotically, endearingly, like a cartoon character in a snowstorm. People had always teased her about her run, but right now, she didn't care. She was running to him.
Lou barely had time to undo his seatbelt. He threw the door open just as she collided into him at full speed. His arms went around her instinctively, strong and sure, lifting her slightly off the ground as if he was afraid she might disappear if he didn't hold her close.
His heart was pounding. Lou Yan, who meditated through pain and negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking, was trembling.
He didn't want to let go. Ever.
But eventually, he eased his hold, only enough to look at her. And when he did, something inside him fractured. Her big eyes were glassy, lashes catching the light. Her cheeks were flushed from cold and emotion, and her lips—those soft, cherry-pink lips—were slightly parted as she caught her breath.
How had he gone more than two weeks without this?
His rational mind tried to form a thought, a sentence, anything.
But all he could see was her lips.
Slowly, hypnotically, he began to lean in.
Syra felt her knees wobble. She closed her eyes, breath shaky, a single tear slipping down her cheek. The world fell away. Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear the wind. She tilted her face up, ready for the kiss she'd been aching for.
Then—
"Ahem."
Li Wei's deep voice cut through the silence like a sword through silk.
Lou froze.
Syra blinked and jolted backward, hands braced against his chest as she tried to pretend she hadn't just been seconds from kissing him into oblivion.
"Dad," she said, awkwardly little too loudly, adjusting her scarf and wiping at her face in the same motion.
Lou Yan released her immediately, stepping back with the flustered composure of a soldier caught sneaking sweets during meditation.
Li Wei stood at the top of the steps, arms crossed behind his back like a general surveying a battlefield. His expression was stern, but his eyes twitched with amusement.
"Don't leave our guest outside to freeze," he said in a slow, deliberate tone.
Nasreen, behind him, burst into laughter.
Lou Yan, still trying to calm the roar in his chest, bowed slightly. "Apologies, sir. I lost track of the temperature."
Syra, pink-faced and radiant, tugged on Lou's sleeve. "Come in before he starts assigning you chores."
And just like that, the storm passed. But the warmth it left behind lingered like fire under the skin.
Lou Yan followed Syra and her mother into the house like a man waking from a fever dream. The scent of cardamom and rose lingered faintly in the entryway, and the distant clink of kitchenware grounded him, but just barely. His palms still tingled from holding her. His chest still ached from the imprint of her body against his.
He had held her before. Countless times. In silence. In restraint. But never like that—never with the reckless urgency of a man who thought he might never get another chance. He hadn't planned to touch her. He had driven to her street with no coherent thought beyond seeing her. And when she had run with those clumsy, flailing steps, her coat flapping like wings, that ridiculous pink wool hat—something in him had broken. Something sacred and ancient, something he had spent years perfecting, collapsed under the weight of that one moment.
He had not known that desire could feel holy.
She had looked up at him, breathless, beautiful, innocent, vulnerable. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted in that soft way she had when she forgot the world. And for the first time in weeks, he had wanted. Not in the abstract. Not in the disciplined, patient ache of a monk who waits for fate. But with heat. With hunger.
He had bent toward her like a man starving.
And then—Li Wei. That voice. That damn voice.
Lou exhaled slowly now, sitting rigidly on the edge of the living room couch, his body tense with leftover electricity. His fingers curled against his knees. He could still feel her in his arms. That warmth. That scent. That pulse beneath his palms.
He'd nearly lost control.
Not because he lacked discipline. But because being near Syra was unlike anything he had ever prepared for. She undid him with kindness, with clumsy affection, with the casual devastation of being exactly who she was. And he knew, deeply, that he would never have the upper hand where she was concerned. That if he stayed in her orbit too long, he would eventually surrender everything.
And maybe he already had.
Lou looked toward the hallway where she had disappeared moments ago, likely to change out of her coat. He imagined her fingers fumbling with the buttons, cheeks still pink, mouth still parted. He had memorized her in flashes. And now, it took everything in him not to go after her, not to finish what that frozen moment had started.
He needed to gather himself. This wasn't just affection. This was tectonic. Lou Yan closed his eyes, drawing a breath deep into his lungs. He had conquered rooms full of tycoons. Delivered keynote addresses before governments. Disarmed technological sabotage with a single glance. But none of that had prepared him for Syra running toward him like he was the only safe thing in her world.
And none of that had prepared him for the unbearable sweetness of wanting her back with every breath he took.