Escaping from the Yandere Young Heiress - Chapter 23

The arm around her waist felt like a red-hot brand. Even with the cool ointment and constant pain, it burned so fiercely that Jian Anji’s very soul trembled.

This wasn’t comfort, nor intimacy. It was a silent confinement, a declaration of ownership far more brutal than any whipping.

It pinned her to this spot, to this bed, within the suffocating reach of Leng Tan’s presence. Even the slightest mental escape felt like a hopeless dream.

The darkness was thick and heavy, time viscous and slow. Jian Anji lay stiffly on her side, her back to Leng Tan, her eyes wide open but seeing nothing beyond the phantom spots dancing on her retinas, born of unbearable tension.

The whip marks on her back pulsed with icy stabs of pain, the ointment and her body heat amplifying the sensation. This cold fire echoed the cool touch of the hand at her waist, an internal and external torment.

Leng Tan’s breathing was steady and deep, the soft puffs brushing the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck, creating a faint tickle that only deepened her terror.

She lost track of time.

Perhaps minutes, perhaps hours. Her body’s crushing exhaustion and pain began to drag her consciousness toward the edge of oblivion.

But each time she was about to sink into unconsciousness, the slight pressure of the arm around her waist or the sudden, sharp pain from a scar on her back would yank her back to the hell of lucidity.

“Stay awake.”

The command was like a spell, etched into every nerve ending.

As she waged this hopeless tug-of-war with sleep, the rhythm of the breathing behind her seemed to shift ever so subtly.

Not waking, but more like an unconscious adjustment in his sleep.

The arm around her waist tightened almost imperceptibly, his fingertips curling inward and pressing more firmly against the skin of her side.

Then, a faint, nearly inaudible murmur drifted past her ear, lost in the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The voice was too soft, too indistinct to make out the words.

But the tone… Jian Anji’s heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t the cold command from daylight, nor the low, hoarse growl of his nighttime torment, nor even the occasional pensive calm.

This tone was steeped in a deep, nightmarish weariness, and even… a faint, tightly guarded hint of something akin to pain or struggle.

The murmured words were clearer and more chilling than the faint sound Jian Anji had heard outside Leng Tan’s study the night before.

This time, it was happening here, on this bed, at a moment when their bodies were pressed so close, when Jian Anji was completely unguarded.

It tore through Leng Tan’s flawless icy facade, revealing a deeper, darker undercurrent, a turbulent stream even its master couldn’t fully control in her sleep.

Jian Anji’s breath hitched. Her blood seemed to rush to her head, then freeze solid.

She dared not move, not even a twitch of her eyelashes, terrified of disturbing this inadvertently revealed secret.

The arm still circled her, the fingertips now slightly warmer, clinging with the unconscious dependence of a dream.

Leng Tan… what did she see in her dreams?

Was it “Tantan” on the swing, or something else that haunted her even in sleep?

Last night’s outing, the early morning cleansing, and now this pained murmur… were they connected?

Questions surged like a hidden river beneath the ice, churning wildly.

But stronger than the questions was a primal fear.

For the one being controlled, knowing the controller’s hidden vulnerabilities or pain was no blessing, but rather a more dangerous sword hanging over their head.

This secret itself became another invisible shackle she had to bear.

After that murmured word, Leng Tan’s breathing gradually returned to its usual steady rhythm.

The arms around Jian Anji loosened slightly, but remained in place.

Jian Anji, however, could no longer find peace.

That indistinct dream-murmur had fallen like a poisonous seed into her already chaotic heart. In the soil of pain, shame, and exhaustion, it quickly took root and sprouted thorns called “Knowledge,” wrapping around her tighter and piercing deeper.

Outside the window, the sky gradually shifted from its deepest, inky black to a dull, dark blue.

The darkest and coldest hour before dawn was about to pass.

But Jian Anji knew that for her, the true darkness might have only just begun.

That darkness wasn’t outside the window, but within the heart of the sleeping woman beside her, and in the depths of her own consciousness, now forever disturbed by this glimpse of a secret.

The arm around her waist remained, and the pain in her back was still vivid.

The words she had mumbled in her sleep echoed endlessly in Jian Anji’s mind, mingling with Tantan’s smile, the crack of the whip, the cool touch of the ointment, and the sunset that looked like blood. It all swirled into a suffocating, chaotic fog.

Dawn would eventually break.

But when the light finally came, would the world look the same to her?

Deep blue light, like diluted ink, slowly seeped through the gaps in the heavy curtains, turning the darkness in the bedroom into a hazy, ashen gray.

The arm around her waist remained heavy and warm, its presence undeniable even through the thin nightgown.

The whip marks on her back, soothed by the ointment and her body heat, had dulled from searing pain to a deep, aching fatigue that spread through her limbs.

The shock of that mumbled confession hadn’t faded with the dawn; instead, it crystallized into a more concrete unease as her vision sharpened.

Jian Anji lay stiffly, her senses acutely attuned to everything around her: the steady, even breathing, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, and… the unwavering grip around her waist, unyielding even in sleep.

Time ticked by, second by second.

As the first birds began to chirp outside the window, and the faint hum of the city awakening drifted in, Leng Tan’s breathing pattern shifted ever so slightly.

It wasn’t a sign of waking, but rather a transition between sleep stages, from deep slumber to a lighter, more easily disturbed phase.

The arm around Jian Anji’s waist seemed to respond to this change, tightening almost imperceptibly, her fingertips unconsciously tracing a light line across the skin of Jian Anji’s side.

Jian Anji held her breath, every muscle tensed.

She didn’t know if Leng Tan would wake immediately, or how she would react to finding them sleeping in this embrace (if it could even be called that), and to everything that had happened the night before.

Another eternity seemed to pass.

In the pale morning light, Leng Tan’s eyelashes fluttered almost imperceptibly.

Then again.

Jian Anji immediately closed her eyes, feigning deep sleep.

But her heart pounded like a drum, its frantic rhythm echoing in her ears. She feared the sound would betray her pretense.

Finally, the arm around her waist moved.

Not withdrawing immediately, but first loosening slightly. Her fingertips seemed to hesitate for a moment before slowly, with the sluggishness of someone just waking, sliding away from her side.

A slight dip in the mattress beside her and a rustling sound told Jian Anji that Leng Tan was sitting up.

Jian Anji kept her breathing steady, or at least she hoped it was. She didn’t dare move her eyes beneath her closed lids.

She could feel Leng Tan’s gaze settle on her.

The look was still a little hazy from sleep, but it quickly sharpened, returning to its usual sharp, assessing quality.

It swept over her bare shoulders and arms, which were exposed beyond the slip, over her tangled hair spread across the pillow, over her tightly closed eyelids and slightly furrowed brow—perhaps from back pain, perhaps from nerves.

The gaze lingered for quite a while.

Jian Anji could feel the weight of that gaze, as if it were a tangible thing, scraping across her skin.

She silently counted in her head: one, two, three… until she reached twenty-something before the gaze finally shifted away.

Next came the soft sound of bare feet padding across the carpet.

Leng Tan had gotten out of bed.

Footsteps moved toward the bathroom. A moment later, the door closed, followed by the faint sound of running water.

Jian Anji remained still, her eyes still closed.

Only when the sound of water started up again, presumably the shower. Did she very slowly, bit by bit, lift her eyelids.

She was alone in the room.

The morning light had grown brighter, revealing the cold, hard lines of the furniture and the tangled wrinkles on the dark sheets.

The space beside her was empty, leaving only a slight indentation and lingering warmth.

The air carried Leng Tan’s distinctive cool fragrance, mingled with a faint, intimate scent of sleep and body heat, and the refreshing aroma of medicinal ointment.

Slowly, gritting her teeth against the aches and stiffness in her body, she tried to sit up.

This simple movement now felt excruciatingly difficult. The whip marks on her back and legs stretched painfully with each motion, forcing her to gasp sharply and causing black spots to dance before her eyes.

She braced herself on the mattress with her elbows, panting heavily, before finally managing to sit upright.

She glanced down at herself.

Her black silk slip was a crumpled mess, the neckline askew, exposing a wide expanse of collarbone and chest. Scattered across her skin were red marks and bruises of varying shades, remnants of the previous night.

The whip marks on her arms and thighs looked even more horrifying in the morning light. The swelling hadn’t subsided, and in some places, tiny droplets of blood had seeped out and dried on her skin.

On her side, where Leng Tan’s arm had encircled her moments ago, her skin still seemed to retain the memory of that restrained, slightly cool touch, creating a bizarre contrast with the surrounding whip marks.

The sound of the shower stopped.

Jian Anji immediately composed herself, lying back down, pulling the blanket up to cover her battered body, closing her eyes, and resuming her pretense of sleep.

But her racing heart and stiff posture would likely betray her.

Footsteps echoed again, emerging from the bathroom.

Leng Tan didn’t immediately approach the bed, pausing briefly at the vanity.

Then, the footsteps turned toward the bed.

Jian Anji felt a shadow fall over her. Leng Tan stood at the bedside.

Silence.

Only that gaze, heavy and intense, settled once more on her feigned slumber.

After a few seconds, a calm, emotionless voice, betraying no trace of the previous night, spoke. It wasn’t directed at her, more like a routine morning announcement:

“I’m going to the office. Someone will deliver your medicine this morning.”

The footsteps receded, the master bedroom door opened and closed. Then came the sound of the outer apartment door opening and locking.

Finally, she was alone in the apartment.

True, complete solitude.

Jian Anji still didn’t open her eyes right away.

She lay there in the silence for a few more minutes, until she was sure there wasn’t a sound outside. Then, slowly, as if it took all her strength, she opened her eyes again.

The morning light streamed in, blindingly bright, stinging her eyes.

The pain that throbbed through her body, the anxiety that coiled in her heart, the secret she had mumbled in her sleep, and Leng Tan’s casual words before leaving all lay exposed in the harsh light.

A new day had begun.

She carried wounds she couldn’t hide and a secret even heavier than before.

And what would the person bringing her medicine bring with them?

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