The System Keeps Making Me Do Indecent Missions [BL, R18]

Chapter 31: Chapter 31: A Wretched Silhouette in the Storm

Having walked a sufficiently long distance, Lucien chose the awning of a tightly shuttered convenience store. He let his body drop heavily onto the freezing concrete steps, curling himself up into a tight ball.

Twenty minutes later, the blinding glare of headlights swept in from the distance, tearing through the dense curtain of rain.

The black Maybach screeched to a halt by the side of the road. Dominic Vance sat inside the car, his gaze piercing through the soaking wet windshield, locking tightly onto that small silhouette curled up beneath the awning.

Dominic’s pupils constricted slightly. He had envisioned a scenario where he would catch Lucien sitting and drinking coffee while waiting to be picked up, or at the very least, standing in some clean and dry place. However, the image that entered his line of sight right now was far too wretched.

Lucien was completely drenched from head to toe, his black hair hanging limply over his forehead. His delicate face was as pale as a sheet of paper, drained of every last drop of blood. And the most glaring sight of all was the trouser leg torn by something, Lucien was bowing his head, using his trembling, freezing fingers... desperately attempting to pluck out each shattered fragment of glass embedded deep within the flesh of his knee.

All alone.

The image of the young man licking his own wounds in a dark corner acted like an invisible hand, suddenly reaching into Dominic’s chest and viciously squeezing his violently pounding heart.

Dominic pushed the car door open and stepped out, popping open a large black umbrella, taking long strides toward the awning.

Lucien heard the approaching footsteps and also caught sight of the dark shadow cast upon the road. The abnormal traces of the aphrodisiac within his body began to scream once more, urging him to throw himself into the other man’s embrace.

Yet, Lucien deliberately refrained from lifting his head, continuing his actions so as to let Dominic stand there and clearly witness his bloodstained hand trembling as it pulled out a shard of broken glass.

Lucien even let out a soft hiss of pain. His eyes brimmed with tears, but he forced himself to blink rapidly, preventing a single teardrop from falling. It was just that his shoulders could not stop quivering from the sheer agony.

Or perhaps it was because of the suppressed grievances that he could not hold back a quiet sob.

It was only when the massive, dark silhouette of the umbrella obscured the glow of the streetlamp that Lucien slowly raised his head.

The moment he saw Dominic’s face, Lucien’s initial reaction was not to burst into tears of self-pity, nor was it the joy of a drowning man grasping at a lifeline.

Rather, it was sheer panic.

Lucien’s large, round eyes, laced with bloodshot veins, suddenly contracted. Terrified, he shrank back, pressing his back tightly against the freezing wall as if desperately trying to hide.

"You... why are you here?" Lucien’s voice trembled violently, as faint as a mosquito’s hum, mingling with the sound of the rain.

Before Dominic had the chance to open his mouth, the boy hurriedly bowed his head low, his purplish lips moving faintly: "I am sorry... I am sorry... I will not bother you anymore. Please go back..."

The words uttered were as sharp as daggers, piercing directly into the man’s central nervous system.

Dominic froze, an unnamed, sinister fire suddenly surging within his chest. He had never said he wanted to abandon this person, much less ever harbored the intention of throwing Lucien away. Yet, in Lucien’s subconscious, the boy had assumed that he was nothing but a nuisance, assuming that Dominic had appeared here solely out of disgust to chase him away.

Just who had forced the boy into such a pitiful state of inferiority and self-deprecation?

Dominic took a step forward and crouched down in front of Lucien. The intense irritation of being misunderstood, coupled with his fierce possessive instincts, caused the man to lose control of his strength. He reached out, his long, rough fingers gripping Lucien’s chin tightly, forcefully lifting the boy’s pallid face and compelling him to look straight into Dominic’s eyes.

"Did I permit you to leave?" Dominic’s voice was icy cold, as deep and resonant as thunder before a storm. His gaze was razor-sharp, carrying the absolute domination of a superior entity: "Lucien Sinclair, without my orders, where do you think you can escape to?"

He was still the same, tyrannical, possessive, treating Lucien as his own private property, entirely devoid of the profound understanding that comes with deep love.

However, Lucien merely looked at Dominic in quiet serenity. His eyes were as still as a pool of stagnant water, so utterly empty that it left one bewildered. Rainwater slid down from his soaking hair, tracing across the corners of his eyes, looking exactly like transparent teardrops.

He parted his chapped lips, speaking in a voice that was exceedingly light and incredibly hoarse, yet it struck directly at the most vulnerable spot in the man’s conscience: "But aside from being in your bed... what other value do I even have?"

The hand that Dominic used to grip Lucien’s chin suddenly stiffened. His breathing stalled for a fraction of a second.

Lucien was not wrong, even if it were merely a commercial marriage, Lucien Sinclair’s value was absolutely incomparable to that of Miles Sinclair. Of course, setting this issue aside, Miles did not possess a shred of actual value either.

He was entirely useless in bed as well, from the sound of it, Miles appeared to be even more of a waste than Lucien.

But Dominic could not deny one undeniable fact: it was absolutely true that from the previous day until now, he had only viewed this person as a mere tool to vent his desires.

Lucien had spoken those words with a profoundly sincere attitude, so sincere that it seemed as though the young man genuinely believed himself to be that cheap and filthy.

Looking into those eyes completely drained of hope, Dominic suddenly felt as if his heart had been violently yanked out and crushed by someone. For the first time in the life of this aloof, high-and-mighty CEO, an emotion called a guilty conscience surged fiercely within him. He felt that he was truly an utter scumbag.

It was his own callousness and selfishness that had pushed this frail young man into a dead end, turning someone who rightfully held a legitimate marriage arrangement with him into a lowly creature who despised his own existence.

The atmosphere was as taut as a drawn bowstring, with nothing left but the sound of the torrential rain smashing against the pavement.

Dominic released his grip on Lucien’s chin. He did not utter a single superfluous word, decisively sliding his arms behind the boy’s knees and around his waist. With a powerful surge of strength, he scooped the entirely weightless and freezing body up from the ground.

Lucien did not resist, or more accurately, he no longer had the strength to put up a fight. The accumulated exhaustion, combined with being soaked in the rain for such an extended period, had caused his body temperature to spike abnormally. Lucien had genuinely developed a fever.

Pressing his cheek against the man’s solid, warm chest, the remnants of the pheromones seemed to have finally found a peaceful harbor. Lucien squeezed his eyes shut tightly. His searing, broken breaths puffed unsteadily against Dominic’s collar.

As the door of the Maybach closed shut, completely sealing off the freezing storm outside, Lucien dazedly burrowed deeper into the man’s embrace. He loosely clutched the lapel of Dominic’s coat, his parched lips mumbling one final sentence before his consciousness sank entirely into darkness: "I will not fight for it anymore... give it all back to him... I will not fight anymore..."

The hand that Dominic had wrapped around Lucien’s waist tightened to the point where thick, blue veins bulged. He lowered his head, nuzzling his chin against the boy’s soaking wet hair, his long, narrow eyes flashing with an unprecedented streak of sharp and ruthless hostility.

Give it back?

Will not fight for it anymore?

Dominic’s lips curled into a freezing, contemptuous smirk. What belonged to him, Dominic Vance, even if he threw it away, it was absolutely not the turn of those insignificant insects from the Sinclair family to have the right to touch it. Let alone the thought of forcing his person to yield and crawl away in such a pathetic, wretched manner.

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