LTD - 9

Chapter 9 

Wen Chen desperately wanted to gag that incessantly chattering little mouth, to stop the maddening things Luo Qingjia said. He wanted to see him reduced to whimpering or gasping for air, eyes rimmed with red and pleading through those damp, doe-like eyes.

It was hard to explain why a mouth-gag was "necessary," but the hidden compartments of his office chair were stocked with suitable tools. He could easily silence the baby without causing harm, all while justifying it as "discipline."

Wen Chen stared at those two lush, parting lips, his mind racing through countless methods of correction, yet he couldn't bring himself to put any into practice.

Instead, he simply leaned against the desk with practiced ease, bracing his weight against the edge with both hands. He looked down at Luo Qingjia, his gaze filled with a helplessness that betrayed his doting affection, as if he were merely watching a mischievous child.

Luo Qingjia caught that look, and his heart sank.

He had no idea that Wen Chen was gripping the desk edge so hard his knuckles turned white, fighting with every ounce of his strength to keep from pouncing on him.

"Wen Chen, I don't like it when you look down at me like that." Luo Qingjia pouted, glaring at him with tears welling in his eyes.

Wen Chen shifted forward, his fingers twitching. he longed to drop to his knees before his treasure and wipe away those tears, but he held back.

Struggling to right himself, he kept his gaze fixed on the empty air above Luo Qingjia's head, deliberately twisting the boy's meaning. "Fine. Uncle won't look at you."

Though he used the word "Uncle" to remind himself of his place, his body flared with agitation at the way Jiajia had just called him by his name, "Wen Chen." And, since last night, he found himself aching to hear Jiajia whisper a distorted, suggestive "Daddy" from those lips.

Every time this happened, Wen Chen was forced to realize what a colossal hypocrite he was.

Raised by his father to be the fa mily patriarch, he had spent his life immersed in the rigid hierarchies of an old-fashioned, Confucian noble family, surrounded by cold rituals and the delicate balance of power. Self-restraint had become his reflexive, subconscious code of conduct.

Before he recognized his love and lust for Jiajia, he had been devoid of desire, his emotions as stable as a rock. Restraint had been effortless.

But over the past two years, he had lost control of himself for Jiajia's sake more times than he cared to count.

The mantra of "restraint and ritual" had quietly become his own golden hoop. the shackle that forced him to wear a mask of ascetic composure. Even when his heart and mind were in total disarray, he could still put on a masterful performance of unshakeable calm.

Reciting that mantra only made him miserable. But if he stopped? The beast inside would grow wild, ready to tear through his facade at any moment and take whatever it wanted from Jiajia.

So, he had to keep reciting it.

Jiajia was too young. he couldn't distinguish between dependence and romantic love. Wen Chen couldn't take advantage of him, couldn't let a pure, beautiful boy carelessly trade his youth and innocence for the touch of an older man.

An older man who, once attached, would never let go.

Jiajia was fragile. He claimed not to care what others thought, but he was deeply sensitive. He would bite back with claws out in the moment, only to hide under his covers and cry later.

If Jiajia were with him, he would face endless scrutiny, his peace of mind shattered by the idle chatter of irrelevant people. Even if Wen Chen could silence the world, he couldn't scrub away the disdain in people's eyes.

Jiajia was observant, he read the look in others' eyes too easily.

Just like those gossiping fools at the banquet last night. even if they were too far away to hear exactly what they said, Jiajia had felt their malice.

The rage and grievance in the boy’s eyes haunted Wen Chen even now.

He had punished those people afterward, but he couldn't erase the memory. He knew that fixing the damage was nothing compared to preventing it.

Keeping their relationship within the bounds of "family" was the best protection he could offer.

As a son-like figure, Jiajia was simply a pampered young master. if people whispered, it was just out of jealousy and envy.

If they were lovers, in the eyes of the world, he was either a kept canary or a pedophile's plaything. No one would believe their love was genuine. no one would believe their relationship hadn't soured until Jiajia came of age.

Jiajia would be met with eyes full of contempt or pity. His treasure, the one he held in the palm of his hand, could never be subjected to such unspeakable humiliation...

Luo Qingjia watched Wen Chen's rapidly changing expressions with quiet admiration.

Seeing the man’s face grow increasingly strained, his resolve faltered. Suddenly, he threw a high kick, his left foot tracing a beautiful arc through the air before landing on Wen Chen's chest, sliding slowly downward. "Wen Chen, do you really think not looking at me is enough?"

Wen Chen’s gaze dropped to that smooth, pale foot, and his throat went bone-dry. He swallowed hard. "Jiajia, don't move around."

He knew the little troublemaker wouldn't listen. The only effective way to stop this would be to reach out and grab that unruly foot.

But he was terrified that if he touched him, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from pressing those cute, rounded toes to his lips. He could only grip the edge of the desk until his knuckles throbbed, murmuring in a low voice, "Your ankle is still injured. Be careful."

Lu o Qingjia ignored him, his toes curling beneath the man's belt, hooking the metal buckle to tug gently.

Perhaps afraid of hurting him, the man let himself be pulled. With the lightest tug, Wen Chen’s tall frame followed the movement of Jiajia's foot, sinking slowly onto his knees between the boy's legs.

Just as Jiajia went to drop his foot, the man finally took the initiative, one hand cupping the sole, the other gently massaging the ankle. his expression so solemn, it was as if he were handling a priceless, sacred relic.

Luo Qingjia watched Wen Chen’s brow, eyes, and lips. Only now did he notice the faint shadows under the man's eyes, the bloodshot intensity of his gaze. The fatigue was palpable, and there was a lingering, inconsolable worry etched into his features.

It was his fault.

Wen Chen was capable and masterful in every other aspect of his life. all of his exhaustion and stress stemmed from him alone.

"Jiajia, please don't joke around with your health anymore, okay?"

"If you wanted Uncle to come over, just tell me. If you do that hooking move again, and I don't coordinate with you, your ankle will be injured by the counter-force."

The man lectured him as he worked, his movements meticulous and doting. every bit of care was devoted entirely to him. Even the way he spoke in such long, detailed sentences was a privilege reserved for Jiajia alone.

The ruthless, efficient President Wen, who was always cold and sparing with his words to the outside world, reserved his anger, his joy, and his endless babbling for him alone.