The Shadows (Underworld 4) JH

3: Deepest Darkest Secrets

Yulan stormed out of the house, her emotions a tangled mess of fury and fear. The news of Junhui's return to China had hit her like a ton of bricks. She had spent years building her empire, securing her position in the mafia world, and most importantly, distancing herself from the ghosts of her past. Junhui was one of those ghosts—one she had hoped never to see again.

Minghao had tried to calm her, but his words had only fanned the flames of her anger. He was clueless, completely unaware of the world she was entangled in, of the secrets she kept hidden from him. As she left him standing in their living room, confused and concerned, she felt a pang of guilt. But it was quickly overshadowed by the bitterness that coursed through her veins.

She drove aimlessly through the city, the neon lights blurring past her as she gripped the steering wheel tightly. Eventually, she found herself outside a familiar club, a place she had frequented often in recent months. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where she could lose herself in the music, the alcohol, and the fleeting company of someone who didn't care about her past or her present.

Inside, the club was alive with energy—people dancing, laughing, and drinking as if there were no worries in the world. But for Yulan, it was just noise, a backdrop to her turmoil. She made her way to the bar, ordering a drink that she downed quickly, hoping it would numb the storm inside her.

As she turned to scan the crowd, her eyes landed on him—a man she had been meeting here regularly. He was tall, with sharp features and an air of arrogance that had initially attracted her. But tonight, she didn't care about his charm or his wealth. All she wanted was to forget.

He noticed her almost immediately, a smirk playing on his lips as he approached. "You look like you've had one hell of a day," he said, his voice smooth and confident.

"You could say that," Yulan replied, her tone icy. She didn't want to talk, didn't want to explain. She just wanted to feel something other than this overwhelming sense of dread.

"Maybe I can help," he suggested, leaning in closer, his hand brushing against her arm.

Yulan didn't respond with words. Instead, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. It was rough, desperate, and devoid of any real emotion, but it served its purpose. For a few moments, it silenced the thoughts racing through her mind.

They made their way to a private room, their movements hurried and uncoordinated. Clothes were shed with little care, and soon they were entangled on the bed. But as he moved above her, Yulan felt nothing—no passion, no relief, just an empty void that refused to be filled.

She closed her eyes, trying to push away the image of Minghao's face, the concern in his eyes as she had left him. He didn't deserve this, she knew that. He was kind, caring, and completely in the dark about the double life she led. But at that moment, Yulan couldn't bring herself to care. She was too far gone, too consumed by her own demons.

When it was over, she lay beside him, staring up at the ceiling, feeling more alone than ever. The man beside her tried to pull her close, but she pushed him away, her mind already miles away from the room they were in.

"I need to go," she muttered, sitting up and reaching for her clothes.

"Stay a little longer," he coaxed, but there was no real desire in his voice. He knew, as she did, that this was nothing more than a temporary escape.

"No," Yulan replied sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument. She dressed quickly, not even sparing him a glance as she walked out of the room.