Go To Your Death Chapter 1

Prologue

A warm yellow desk lamp cast a soft glow in the dim bedroom.

The light slanted onto the distant wall, enlarging and stretching the two illusory silhouettes from the bed.

A man lay prostrate on the bed with his back arched, his wrists pinned firmly by the person behind him. He tried to struggle, but his body was completely immobilized.

Only his chest heaved violently with suppressed breaths, his arms like a pair of butterflies with pinned wings, unable to flutter.

Fine beads of sweat rolled from his forehead down the groove of his spine, disappearing into the shadows below his waist.

His torso trembled amidst broken whimpers and heavy, ragged gasps.

The waves surged and crashed in rapid succession, relentlessly battering the stone platform on the shore, splashing into white foam that trickled away.

It was as if a contest were underway to see which would prevail: the persistence of dripping water wearing through stone, or the futility of an egg striking a rock.

At the very moment the taut string was about to snap—

The tide turned.

The torrent receded, and the previous storm vanished in an instant. Gentle ripples shivered across the surface like water stirred by a breeze. It felt as though the entire world had plummeted from a violent upheaval into a weightless drift, until finally, only stillness remained.

Suddenly freed from his restraints, the man collapsed onto the bed as if losing all weight. His arms hung limply over the edge, his gaze dazed and unfocused.

The man behind him lit a cigar and reached for a silk sheet, draping it over him.

This time, you got your wish, the man behind him said, his voice brimming with satisfaction and good humor.

The man sprawled on the bed trembled slightly, his eyelashes fluttering. He bit his lip so hard it nearly bled. After a long moment, he tried to shift his body and turn around, but he failed.

Thank you… Mr. Mu.

It was only for a day. Don’t think of me as being so heartless.

The man tried to push himself up again. After several attempts, he finally managed to roll over. Under the lamplight, the other man’s face—charged with an intense, raw magnetism—filled him with a mixture of hatred and fear.

But when the man he both hated and feared leaned back over him, reclaiming that warmth, he finally lost his composure. Caught between the impossible, the forbidden, and the inevitable, he ultimately chose to yield.

A-Yao really is a clever one, the man murmured, stubbing out his cigar before looming over him once more.

Once again, the man was swept away by the hurricane, tossed about in the surging, giant waves.