81: Forced Love Boss 6

Li Jin's muscles instantly stiffened, and he even held his breath.

He was as if under a petrification spell, only his eyeballs slowly, with an incredulous panic, turned little by little towards his left shoulder.

At the edge of his vision, first appeared a strand of loose, soft black hair, gleaming with a silken luster under the dim light of the wall lamp.

Next, there was her smooth, full forehead, gently resting against the fabric of his shoulder.

Further down, there were her closed, long and thick eyelashes, casting a small, soft shadow beneath her eyes.

Wen Ci's small nose almost touched the side of his neck, her lips slightly pursed, carrying a trace of unguarded tranquility.

She was asleep.

She was lying on her side, curled up on the edge of the wide leather chair in a not-so-comfortable, even somewhat cautious posture.

Her head rested on his shoulder, her body slightly tilted, as if she might slip off at any moment, yet maintaining a fragile balance by leaning against him.

One of her hands was still unconsciously resting near his arm, her fingertips slightly curled.

Li Jin's heart, after a momentary stop, began to beat with an unprecedented, deafening frenzy, fiercely pounding against his chest.

The sound of blood rushing roared, almost drowning out everything around him.

She didn't leave!

She actually… was really here?!

The immense shock left his mind blank; all his self-loathing, despair, and icy emptiness were shattered by this incredible reality at this moment.

He was like a dying man in the desert who suddenly discovers a spring; his first reaction was not ecstasy, but extreme doubt and a fear of touching, afraid that everything before his eyes was just a mirage that would dissipate with a gentle touch.

He watched her sleeping face, resting on his shoulder, almost greedily, holding his breath.

Her breathing was even and shallow, her warm breath subtly brushing against the skin of his neck, bringing a faint, heart-stopping tingle.

That real warmth and weight, like a warm current, slowly and steadily poured into his cold, dead heart, dispelling all the dark ice.

The frantic heartbeat was gradually replaced by an indescribable sense of peace he had never experienced before.

It was as if a long-wandering solitary boat had finally found a harbor to dock.

Her mere presence, just this quiet leaning, was enough to soothe all the anxiety and unease deep within his soul.

He stiffly, extremely slowly, turned his head, his gaze finally moving from her face to survey the room.

Then, he froze again.

The mess in his memory, like a hurricane had passed through—overturned pen holders, scattered documents, stationery rolling everywhere—had all disappeared.

The study was restored to tidiness, even more orderly than he remembered it ever being.

Documents were neatly stacked in a corner of the desk, the pen holder stood upright beside them, holding clean fountain pens and pencils.

The carpet was spotless, not even a speck of paper could be seen. The curtains were still drawn, but the murky air, born of pain and violence, had been replaced by a clear, subtle, faint fragrance.

She had tidied it up.

After he had fallen into a coma, she had quietly, little by little, erased all traces of his losing control, reorganizing this chaotic space until it was spotless.

A deeper, scorching emotion surged into his throat, making his eyes sting.

His gaze subconsciously fell back to his hand.

The injury left on his right hand when he had slammed his fist onto the desk… was gone.

On his knuckles, a small, clean white gauze was covered, neatly trimmed at the edges, carefully secured with breathable medical tape.

The bandaging technique wasn't particularly professional, but it was exceptionally gentle; clearly, the person who bandaged it had been extremely careful, afraid of hurting him.

The skin beneath the gauze still seemed to retain the cool touch of her fingertips, and that inexpressible, cautious tenderness.

Medicine… water… a hug… a comforting pat… a gentle caress… tidying the room… bandaging the wound… and now, her sleeping peacefully on his shoulder…

Scene after scene flashed through Li Jin's mind, finally converging into a surging warm current that instantly broke down all the hard barriers in his heart.

She treated him… truly too well.

So well that it exceeded the limits of his meager imagination.

In his most ferocious, most out-of-control, most unsightly moments, moments he himself detested, she did not flee, did not feel disgust, did not judge.

She simply quietly accepted all his disarray, using the simplest yet most powerful methods—companionship, care, silent comfort—to tell him that he was not falling into the abyss alone.

No one… no one had ever treated him like this.

It wasn't flattery born of fear of his power, nor sycophancy coveting his wealth, and certainly not charity mixed with pity. It was pure, unconditional… gentleness and protection.

The impact of this realization was so immense that Li Jin's tall body trembled uncontrollably.

A strong sourness rushed to his nose and eyes, and his vision instantly blurred.

He bit down hard on the inside of his lower lip, using all his strength to force back the hot liquid that was almost spilling out.

He dared not move, not even an inch.

He was afraid that any slight movement would wake the one sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, breaking this beautiful moment, fragile as a crystal dream.

He could only maintain his stiff posture, greedily feeling the warm weight on his shoulder, feeling her shallow breath brush against his skin, feeling the tranquility brought by the tidy space she had carefully arranged, feeling the unspoken care conveyed by the small gauze on his knuckles.

In the center of his chest, that barren land, frozen and shrouded in darkness for years, felt as if a small, warm sun had been cast into it.

Its light was enough to dispel all coldness and gloom, and an unprecedented, solid and stable warmth was slowly spreading from there to his limbs and bones.

So… this is what it feels like to be treated with such gentleness.

Li Jin slightly turned his head, his chin almost touching the soft crown of her head.

And so, in the dim light, he gazed deeply, almost reverently, at Wen Ci's sleeping profile, as if to engrave this moment, along with all the warmth and salvation she had given him, into the deepest part of his soul.