I'm sorry, but your fiancé loves me.

Yun Muqian planned to take a shower and then go to sleep.

The sound of water splashing on the tiled floor filled the air. She stood under the showerhead, tilting her head back to let the water run over her cheeks. She closed her eyes, running her fingers through her wet hair to lather up the shampoo.

The only sounds in the bathroom were the water and her own breathing. She rinsed the soap off her head and reached for a towel on the shelf next to her.

However, just as her fingertips touched the edge of the cotton fabric, the door behind her was suddenly flung open.

The door slammed against the wall with a dull thud, startling her so much that she flinched and whirled around. In the mist, Qin Qihan stood against the light from outside, his shirt collar undone, two buttons undone, revealing a small patch of skin below his collarbone damp with moisture.

His hair was a little messy, and his breathing was rapid and heavy.

Yun Muqian subconsciously took a step back, her back pressed against the cold tiles, one hand covering her chest, the other still clutching the edge of the bath towel.

Her first reaction was to yell at him, but before she could even utter a sound, he had already strode over to her.

She overestimated Qin Qihan and didn't expect him to be so despicable, so she didn't lock the door.

However, he is a man who is nearly 1.9 meters tall. If he wants to come in, even if she locks the door, it won't help.

The shower water poured over him, soaking his light-colored shirt. The fabric clung to his skin, revealing the contours of his muscles. He reached out and pulled her towards him, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

She was forced to press herself against him, her wet skin and soaked shirt offering no barrier, and she could even feel the rapid, heavy beating of his heart in his chest.

"Qin Qihan, are you crazy—" She struggled to push his shoulder with her hands, her fingers sinking into the soaked fabric of his shirt. Water dripped from his chin onto her collarbone, warm and indistinguishable from the water droplets on her own body.

He raised his other hand, placed his palm against the back of her head, and ran his fingers through her wet hair, gently tilting her head back.

"What do I need to achieve?" His voice was terribly hoarse. "Tell me, okay?"

Yun Muqian's hand was still pressed against his chest, her nails digging into the fibers of his damp shirt. "Let go first."

"I'll keep going like this until you tell me." He took another half step forward, until her back was completely pressed against the wall, leaving her with nowhere to retreat. Water from the showerhead poured down on both of them. "What do I have to do for you to forgive me?"

"I wasn't even angry, so why are you saying you forgive me?"

When will Qin Qihan understand that she really doesn't care about him that much? There's no such thing as being angry or not; it's simply that he's no longer of any use to her.

"You hate me," he said softly. "Hating me means you still care about me."

Yun Muqian turned her head away, and Qin Qihan did not ask any further questions. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Only by possessing her can he feel that she belongs to him.

When the kiss ended, she was breathing softly. He could feel her trembling, a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor. He rested his forehead on her shoulder, his breathing heavy and disordered. "I'll do anything as long as you forgive me."

She suddenly sneezed, and Qin Qihan looked down to see her slightly hunched shoulders, with goosebumps clearly visible on her skin under the warm light of the bathroom.

He immediately released her, turned around, grabbed the bath towel from the shelf, unfolded it, and wrapped it around her from behind.

"Don't catch a cold."

Yun Muqian gripped the edge of the bath towel. The heat in the bathroom was slowly dissipating, and a chill was coming from all directions. She did feel cold. Qin Qihan noticed this and almost immediately picked her up in his arms.

He strode out of the bathroom, across the hallway, and kicked open the bedroom door. He was wrapped tightly in a bath towel.

He casually turned on the bedroom light, placed her on the carpet at the foot of the bed, turned around to adjust the air conditioner remote, turned the temperature up a few degrees, and warm air blew out from the vent, blowing on her bare calves.

Qin Qihan searched the room and found a thick white bathrobe in the closet. He squatted down in front of her, unfolded the bathrobe, draped it over her shoulders, and then bent down to wrap the sash around her waist.

It's like an adult taking care of a child.

Qin Qihan looked at her wet hair ends, took a hairdryer from the dressing table drawer, sat down on the edge of the bed in front of her, and gently patted his thigh.

"Rest your head here," he said. "It's easy to get a headache if your hair isn't dried properly."

Qin Qihan waited a few seconds, and seeing that she didn't respond, he lowered his voice even further: "I'm not doing anything. Just drying my hair."

The room was quiet for a few seconds before Yun Muqian finally moved. She slowly turned to her side and rested her head on his lap.

Her movements were very light, as if she were just going through the motions, or as if she was tired and didn't want to struggle with him anymore.

Qin Qihan turned on the hair dryer, and warm air blew out from his palm. He first tested the temperature with his fingers, and only when he felt it was suitable did he approach the ends of her hair.

His movements were clumsy; he didn't do this kind of thing often. He thought to himself that he must blow-dry her hair more often in the future.

His legs were strong, the contours of his muscles visible through the fabric of his trousers, carrying the warmth of his body. Her cheek was pressed against his thigh, her warm breath penetrating the thin fabric, and Qin Qihan had to restrain himself.

Her breathing gradually calmed down. The warm air from the air conditioner and the hot air from the hairdryer mingled together, making her feel cozy and comfortable.

After drying her hair, he combed it for her and then gently carried her to the bed.

She turned over, and the collar of her yukata opened slightly as she moved, revealing a section of her delicate collarbone and a small patch of fair breast skin.

His gaze fell on the exposed skin, his fingers unconsciously curling up, gripping the edge of the blankets and then loosening them.

He longed for her.

But he wondered if she would hate him if he continued to act so recklessly.