Escaping from the Yandere Young Heiress - Chapter 20

Sunlight glared off the spotless glass, flooding the living room with an almost unreal brightness.

Jian Anji mechanically wiped the last windowpane, the dry chamois cloth gliding over the smooth surface, leaving it flawlessly clear.

The ache in her back had numbed from the constant work, but the bruises beneath her skin stubbornly reminded her of their presence with every small movement, and of the rules of the night they represented.

With the last window cleaned, she gathered the cleaning supplies and returned them to the storage cabinet in the study.

The faint scent of artificial lemon cleaner lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth of sun-baked air, trying to mask the unsettling, lingering trace of disinfectant from the early morning.

The door to the secondary study remained closed all morning. Occasionally, the sound of typing or rustling papers drifted out, measured and restrained, like the mask Leng Tan wore during the day.

*****

Lunchtime arrived.

As usual, the meal was delivered. As usual, two portions of exquisite food were silently placed in the dining room.

Jian Anji took her usual seat and waited.

A few minutes later, the door to the secondary study opened, and Leng Tan emerged.

She had changed out of her morning cashmere dress into a smoke-gray silk blouse and black trousers. Her hair was neatly pulled back, and she had touched up her makeup, concealing the faint bluish shadows beneath her eyes.

She looked completely calm and in control, her gaze sweeping indifferently across the dining table before settling into the seat opposite Jian Anji.

The meal proceeded in silence, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware.

Leng Tan ate sparingly, her movements graceful, her gaze mostly fixed on her plate or drifting out the window.

There was no conversation, and even eye contact was rare.

The insignificant damp stain on the window frame from earlier that morning seemed to have been completely forgotten, or perhaps relegated to something unworthy of attention.

Yet Jian Anji couldn’t relax. Her body had begun to sense danger even before her mind could process it.

Because today was one of those unnervingly calm days between the day’s end and the night’s arrival, and because beneath Leng Tan’s excessively composed facade, there lurked a nearly imperceptible, icy glint deep within her eyes.

It wasn’t anger, but something coiled up, waiting to be released.

Jian Anji knew this warning sign all too well. When Leng Tan was in a foul mood or needed to vent some unspoken pressure, the night’s “game” would often start earlier, last longer, or… become more intense.

Sure enough, after lunch, Leng Tan didn’t immediately return to her study or the living room as usual.

She dabbed her lips with a napkin, her gaze lingering on Jian Anji’s face for a few seconds.

The look was scrutinizing, almost… assessing.

“This afternoon,” she said, her voice low but sharp as ice beads falling onto a plate, “change all the sheets and bedding in the guest room. There are spares in the closet.”

Another household chore, but this one pointed directly to their nighttime sanctuary.

“…Yes,” Jian Anji replied softly.

“And then,” Leng Tan continued, her tone even and flat, “take a bath. Tonight…” She paused, her fingertip tapping lightly on the smooth tabletop with a faint tap, “I need you to stay awake.”

“I need you to stay awake.”

The words struck Jian Anji like a silent thunderclap, shattering her carefully maintained composure.

This wasn’t a warning about time; it was an order about her state of mind, a direct reference to the coming night, to the pain, confinement, and forced submission that awaited her.

It meant tonight might not end easily, that there might be more than one “game,” or perhaps a long, drawn-out ordeal lasting the entire night.

Jian Anji’s fingertips turned icy, almost losing her grip on the silverware.

She lowered her gaze, avoiding Leng Tan’s eyes, her throat tightening. She could only squeeze out a low response through clenched teeth: “…Yes, Master.”

Leng Tan seemed pleased by her subtle reaction, or perhaps she simply didn’t care.

She rose from the table and left the dining room, her figure disappearing down the corridor leading to the master bedroom.

Jian Anji sat alone at the table, the food before her long since cold.

Sunlight streamed through the window, reflecting off the silver cutlery in a blinding, icy glare.

She slowly, laboriously swallowed the last few bites of her meal, tasting nothing.

The afternoon’s tasks felt unusually heavy.

As she changed the bedsheets, her fingers trembled slightly from inner tension.

The soft cotton fabric brushing against her skin only reminded her of other textures: leather, metal, silk restraints.

In the bathroom, hot water cascaded over her body, yet it couldn’t dispel the chill that seemed to seep from her very bones.

She washed with meticulous care, as if she could wash away something looming, though she knew deep down it was futile.

Nightfall, inevitable, finally descended.

The living room lights dimmed, leaving only a few wall lamps casting a hazy, amber glow.

The citrus scent of the daytime cleaner had long dissipated, replaced by a familiar stillness—a silence tinged with Leng Tan’s cold fragrance and an invisible pressure.

Jian Anji changed into an outfit Leng Tan had prepared: not pajamas, but a thin, nearly transparent black silk slip that barely reached mid-thigh, offering neither warmth nor modesty.

Barefoot, she stood in the center of the thick living room carpet, head bowed slightly, waiting.

The master bedroom door opened, and Leng Tan emerged. She had changed into a black silk robe, its belt loosely tied. Her long hair cascaded down, accentuating the marble-like pallor of her face in the dim light, giving her an air of cold detachment.

Her gaze was calm, almost distant, but Jian Anji could sense the turbulent undercurrents beneath that placid surface.

Leng Tan carried no whip or any obvious tools.

Only a long, supple black silk ribbon, which she unconsciously twirled and released between her fingers.

She walked up to Jian Anji and stopped.

Her gaze slowly swept down Jian Anji’s nearly naked body, lingering briefly on the fading bruises before lifting to meet her downcast eyes.

“Turn around,” Leng Tan’s voice was deeper than usual, carrying a night-tinged, husky magnetism.

Jian Anji obeyed, turning her back to Leng Tan.

Her heart pounded heavily in her chest.

The icy silk ribbon gently brushed against her wrist.

The moment the cold silk touched her wrist, Jian Anji’s body trembled almost imperceptibly.

The sensation was too familiar, a harbinger of an established, inescapable ritual.

The silk was soft, yet it felt more terrifying than any iron shackles, because it represented Leng Tan’s personal, unquestionable control.

The restraints were skillfully wrapped and knotted, neither too tight nor too loose, but enough to deprive Jian Anji of the use of her hands.

The smooth fabric brushed against her skin, creating a strange sensation that felt both soothing and imprisoning.

Then, another restraint was wrapped around her ankles, using the same technique, the same confinement.

She was fixed in place, forced to stand with her feet slightly apart, vulnerable and helpless.

Leng Tan circled around to face her.

Her gaze fell on Jian Anji’s upturned face, her eyes deep and cold, like bottomless icy pools.

Leng Tan’s fingertips traced Jian Anji’s jawline, then slid down her slender neck, pausing above the fading bruise on her collarbone, where she pressed down lightly.

The pain made Jian Anji gasp.

“Does it hurt?” Leng Tan asked, her voice barely a whisper, yet filled with a cruel curiosity.

“…Yes,” Jian Anji replied, her voice dry and strained, unable to lie.

“Remember this pain.” Leng Tan’s fingers continued their descent, gliding over the curves beneath the thin silk slip, finally stopping at her waist. “Remember why you’re hurting.”

This wasn’t the start of her punishment, but the prelude. Leng Tan seemed in no hurry to use her more violent tools today.

She simply bound Jian Anji with restraints and began another kind of “game”, a slow, deliberate closeness filled with scrutiny and control.

Stepping back, she picked up a black velvet box from a nearby low table.

Inside lay a leather collar that shimmered with a dark luster under the dim light, along with several small, matching leather restraint rings.

There were no metal buckles, only delicate clasps and adjustable straps.

Returning, she first fastened the collar around Jian Anji’s neck.

The leather’s inner side was lined with soft cashmere, but the outer layer was cold and rigid, molding to the curve of her throat. The clasp clicked softly as it closed.

Next, the silk restraints on her wrists were untied and replaced with tighter, inescapable leather wristbands. The same was done for her ankles.

Leng Tan performed each step with meticulous focus and deliberate slowness, as if conducting a sacred ritual.

Her fingertips occasionally brushed Jian Anji’s skin, cold and steady.

Jian Anji kept her eyes closed, enduring the process of being gradually equipped and marked as property.

The scent of leather mingled with Leng Tan’s icy fragrance, filling her nostrils.

With all the restraints in place, Leng Tan stepped back, her gaze sweeping over her “creation” like a scanner, scrutinizing it from head to toe.

The black leather contrasted sharply with Jian Anji’s pale skin, creating a striking, almost sinister contrast under the dim yellow light.

The purplish bruises peeking out from beneath the hem of the petticoat and through the gaps in the restraints only enhanced the perverse beauty of her torment.

“Good,” Leng Tan murmured, her tone ambiguous. Was she assessing the suitability of the restraints or Jian Anji’s current state?

She moved closer again, this time holding a slender, forked-tipped whip made of soft leather.

This isn’t the whip that left such clear marks last night, she thought. This one is lighter and more flexible. When it strikes, it will only leave a red welt and a burning sting, without causing serious bruising.

The whip’s tip lifted gently, then fell softly onto Jian Anji’s familiar shoulder. It slid down slowly and menacingly along her collarbone, across the front of her chest, bypassed her waist, and finally gently touched the softest skin on the inner side of her thigh.

“Tell me,” Leng Tan’s voice pressed against her outer city wall, her breath warm against Jian Anji’s skin, yet her words were icy. “Do you want to run now?”

The faint sting and icy touch of the whip’s tip mingled with the sense of bondage from the leather collar and wrist restraints, and the suffocating presence of Leng Tan so close at hand, forming an impenetrable web.

Jian Anji’s body tensed, trembling slightly. The collar pressed against her throat, making it hard to breathe.

“…No, Master,” she heard her own hoarse voice reply, tinged with a resigned despair and a hint of submissiveness born of extreme fear, a trait she despised even in herself.

Leng Tan seemed to chuckle softly, the sound so low it was almost inaudible.

“Then prove it to me.”

The whip left her skin, but Jian Anji knew the night had only just begun.

The command to “stay awake” meant this long, agonizing game might truly last until dawn.

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