My angel will judge me.

part 31

After half an hour a quiet like a held breath settled over the room.

Wang Ji finally broke the silence. His voice was small, raw. "I’ll need some time. Please… give me time."

"I know I'm forcing you. I'm being very selfish, take your time but accept my brother from your heart."

Yanli’s fingers tightened around his. Relief and gratitude flooded her face, but the effort left her pale and shaken. Zixuan, watching her wobble, stepped forward with fatherly briskness.

"That’s enough conversation for now," he said. "Come. It’s time for your medicine. We should get you home—your health matters more than anything."

Yanli nodded weakly. She let Zixuan lead her away. Before they reached the door, Sean rose.

he said quietly. "You wait in the car. I'll talk to Uncle."

They moved out into the warm light and the line of bodyguards opened the doors for them. The hallway emptied; the apartment seemed suddenly too large.

Sean lingered. For a long moment he just stood—still as a statue—watching Wang Ji, who looked worn and hollow-eyed. "You can go upstairs" Wang Ji managed finally. "He's in his room"
He knows sean is standing here waiting to meet his son.

Sean bowed his head and moved up the stairs.

.

.

Yibo's room

Yibo sat on the edge of his bed, cheeks raw with crying. Xuan handed him a tissue with an exasperated, gentle patience.

"Half an hour straight," Xuan scolded, thumb rubbing the wetness from Yibo’s nose. "Enough now. Your  father and deda —this will get fixed. Don’t drown yourself."

Yibo blew out a breath and forced a small, broken smile. "I’m not crying because I’m happy," he muttered. "I’m crying because seeing Dada cry—seeing him… it hurts. He cried for that man. That tears me apart."

Xuan pulled him into a quick hug. "Stop being cute," he said into Yibo’s hair.

"I’m not cute," Yibo replied, muffled. "I’m handsome."

Xuan laughed, and for a second Yibo laughed too. Then a cold presence at the door snapped the silliness away. Someone moved into the doorway—Sean, composed and still as winter.

Xuan straightened immediately, eyes widening. He held up his hands in a nervous little surrender. "I did nothing," he said quickly.

Sean’s voice came low and without warmth. "Think twice before you touch him again," he said. The words were quiet, but they carried a steel edge that made the room feel smaller. Then he walked straight to where Yibo sat and, in one fluid motion, took Yibo into a fierce, possessive kiss.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was claiming—urgent and absolute. Yibo squirmed, pushed, tried to pull away, but Sean’s hold was heavy with intent. When he finally released him he was still very close, breath warm at Yibo’s ear.

"From now on," Sean whispered, voice husky and dangerous, "stop the games. You’re mine. If I ever see you with someone else—if you flirt with someone, laugh with someone—I won’t warn twice."

Yibo’s protest died in his throat. He was dizzy—angry, embarrassed, afraid, and—confusingly—strangely calmed by the heat of Sean’s presence. He looked up at Sean, wide-eyed.

Sean’s gaze tracked Xuan for a heartbeat, then returned to Yibo. "You belong to me," he repeated, softer now but every bit as absolute. "Understand?"

Yibo swallowed. He nodded once, small and stubborn.