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

Chapter 97: Chapter 97: The Unsent Letter

But these lies, if placed into the hands of the one meant to read them, would become the most beautiful and heartbreaking truth in the world.

He wrote three continuous pages in one breath, and upon reaching the final page, he deliberately relaxed his wrist so that the handwriting would become trembling, as if the writer were struggling to hold back tears.

"I do not dare to send this letter to you. I will probably hide it away, stashing it in a place only I know, like a secret, just like my love. Do you ever think of me? Just a little bit, amidst all those meetings and contracts? I hope you do. Have a good business trip, remember to dress warmly, remember to eat your meals on time, and do not drink too much coffee or your stomach will hurt again.

Love you.

Lucien Sinclair."

The pen stopped, and Lucien lightly blew on the paper to dry the ink before carefully folding the three pages and slipping them into an unmarked white envelope. He held the envelope, turning it over and over in his hands, his eyes sweeping around the room to find a suitable hiding spot. The drawer was far too obvious, the space under the mattress lacked any sense of drama, and tucking it inside a book on the shelf was the most reasonable choice.

He walked over to the bookshelf next to the bed, his fingers trailing along the familiar spines, consisting entirely of economics, philosophy, and a few classic detective novels that Dominic Vance occasionally read before falling asleep. His gaze lingered on The Count of Monte Cristo, an old, thick book with a visibly creased spine, the very one Dominic Vance had read at least three times since Lucien moved in here.

The probability that Dominic Vance would read it again was the highest among all the books on the shelf. Lucien pulled the book out, opened it to the middle, and gently tucked the envelope inside, then placed the book back in its original spot and lightly patted the spine as if comforting a pet. Just lie there, and remember to speak up when he returns.

With everything done, he threw himself onto the bed, feeling the soft blankets and the familiar scent of cedarwood still lingering on the pillows. For a fleeting moment, he recalled the way Dominic Vance had dropped the suitcase and turned his back this morning, the way Dominic simply dropped a single, curt yeah and left Lucien standing alone in the middle of the room. Go ahead and test me, Lucien thought inwardly, his eyes half-closed, and we shall see who is the one truly being tested.

The next two days passed by in absolute tranquility. Lucien ate, slept, watched movies, surfed the internet, and even ordered takeout to eat openly right in the living room without the fear of being caught. The system occasionally spoke up to remind him not to be too lazy, but Lucien ignored it, because he knew he needed to recharge his energy for what was about to come.

By the evening of the second day, his phone vibrated to announce a message from Dominic Vance. Lucien almost choked on a mouthful of orange juice, hastily opening it with the thought that Dominic finally could not hold back anymore, but the content of the message was beyond his expectations: [I will be back the day after tomorrow. Do not go out alone.]

The incoming message consisted of only a few words, not displaying the slightest hint of affection. Yet Lucien stared blankly at the screen, the corners of his mouth slowly curling upwards. Do not go out alone, if this sentence were to be stripped of its cold exterior, would it not simply mean I am worried about you? Dominic Vance was afraid that Lucien would be sad staying home alone, that Lucien would go out and run into those paparazzi like last time, or worse, clash with the Sinclair family. He was worried, but he did not say it out loud, or perhaps he did not know how to say it. Regardless, for a man accustomed to holding power and controlling everything like Dominic Vance, showing vulnerability or care was inherently a very difficult thing to do.

Lucien bit his lip in thought for a moment before typing a reply, deliberately leaving an hour-long gap: [Yes, I am being very good at home.]

He also attached a nodding kitten icon, looking incredibly obedient and compliant.

Setting the phone down, Lucien leaned back against the sofa, his eyes directed toward the ceiling. The day after tomorrow when Dominic Vance returned, he would have to put on that gentle and obedient face once again, running out to welcome Dominic, asking how Dominic had been, brewing tea, and waiting for the exact moment Dominic found that letter. The script within his mind had been written long ago.

When Dominic Vance read the letter, what would he see?. A Lucien Sinclair who loved Dominic Vance to the point of tumbling over, insecure and terrified, accepting the fate of being abandoned, a fragile, resigned soul willing to step back into the shadows just so Dominic could be happy. That, to a person like Dominic Vance, was far more terrifying than any threat or tearful display, because it struck directly at his deepest compassion, the very thing he always tried to conceal beneath a thick, freezing exterior.

You will not be able to forget me, Dominic Vance. Lucien whispered in the darkness, his voice as light as a passing breeze. No matter how many beauties you meet in the future, or whoever you might marry, there will always be a boy named Lucien Sinclair living forever in your mind, like a scar that can never heal.

That night he went to bed early, hugging Dominic Vance’s pillow and burying his face into it, not out of yearning but simply wanting to familiarize himself with this feeling, the sensation of someone about to leave who was clinging to something that never belonged to him in the first place. To act meant to perform flawlessly to the very end; even without an audience, a great actor still had to live inside his role. And Lucien had never permitted himself to deliver a poor performance in any scene.

On the morning of the third day, he woke up with a chilling sensation running down his spine. It was a vague premonition creeping through his chest that caused him to open his eyes very early, despite there being no sound to awaken him. The house remained utterly silent, the early morning sun draping pale golden ribbons across the wooden floor.

Dominic Vance was returning today, Lucien knew that. He stretched his shoulders and stepped out of bed, drinking a glass of warm water before entering the bathroom, every movement as unhurried as an actor warming up before heading into the makeup chair, preparing for the final act of the play.

By the time Lucien stepped out of the bathroom, his hair still wet and a cotton towel wrapped around his waist, the phone on the table had already lit up with a notification from Dominic Vance sent while Lucien was still sleeping, generally stating that Dominic would be home this afternoon and telling Lucien to wait for him at home.

He was in no rush to reply, setting the phone down and slowly blow-drying his hair, picking out an outfit that looked truly simple yet highly flattering: a thin white sweater, beige trousers, and a knee-length cardigan draped loosely over the outside, his entire being exuding a soft, obedient, and fragile aura exactly as intended. Afterwards, he went down to the kitchen, deciding to cook a lavish lunch so that when Dominic Vance walked through the door, Dominic would see him standing in the kitchen, apron tied loosely, hands swiftly stirring the pan, with a fully arranged dining table spread out as though it had been prepared for a long time.

Everything was calculated perfectly by Lucien, save for one detail... Dominic Vance came home earlier than expected.

Lucien was still busying himself in the kitchen, his hands picking fresh herbs to sprinkle over the steamed fish platter, when the sound of the front door opening echoed from the main hall. Only there was no sound of leather shoes, nor the noise of a suitcase being dragged across the floor; this pervasive silence made Lucien feel a little strange. He wiped his hands on his apron and walked out toward the living room.

Dominic Vance was standing there, leaning his back against the recently closed door, his tall figure casting a long shadow under the hallway lights that had not fully turned on yet. He was not wearing a suit as per usual, still clad in the simple black outfit from when he left, but something was different. His shoulders were slightly slumped, the collar of his sweater somewhat disheveled as if he had just endured a long journey without any time to tidy himself up. The leather suitcase remained motionless at his feet, not yet pulled inside.

Lucien blinked, and for a fleeting moment, he nearly dropped the gentle, well-behaved facade he had prepared in advance. He had returned at least three hours earlier than anticipated. By rights, he should still be sitting on the airplane at this hour, or having just touched down at the airport. And yet he was already standing here, in the living room, wearing an unpredictable expression that Lucien had never seen before.

But in a split second, he managed to adjust himself. His face relaxed into a radiant smile, his eyes lighting up with utter joy as though the man’s appearance was the most wonderful thing to happen all day.

"You are home!" Lucien cheered, his voice slightly higher than usual, intentionally revealing a sense of eagerness. He ran quickly toward him, bare feet padding against the cold wooden floor, the apron still loosely tied behind his back: "Why did you not let me know in advance so I could come out to receive you? Are you tired, are you hungry? I am cooking steamed fish, it is almost done, please wait for me just a moment."

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