The rain fell heavily over Jiāng City (江城), painting the streets in a glistening sheen of silver under the streetlights. The school bell had rung nearly twenty minutes ago, yet Xìng Ruò (幸若) remained under the overhang of the library, hugging her books close to her chest.

Her umbrella was at home. Again.

She sighed softly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, watching as the last few students hurried past her, shielding themselves from the downpour. She had been so absorbed in finishing her assignment that she hadn’t realized the clouds had darkened, nor had she noticed when the first drops of rain began to fall.

Now, she was stranded.

It wasn’t that she disliked the rain. In fact, she loved how it made everything feel calmer, quieter. But walking home drenched in wet clothes? That was a different story.

She glanced at her phone. No messages. Not that she expected any.

Xìng Ruò belonged to the Xìng family—a well-respected, middle-class household that prided itself on discipline and tradition. Her father, Xìng Wéiyán (幸威严), was a strict businessman who rarely showed affection, and her mother had passed away when she was young. She had spent most of her childhood trying to be the perfect daughter—studying hard, obeying every rule, and never giving anyone a reason to criticize her.

She was the kind of girl who never stepped out of line.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans for her tonight.

A deep, rumbling sound broke through the rain.

A black motorcycle pulled up a few feet away, its engine purring like a restless beast. The rider wore a dark leather jacket over his unbuttoned school uniform, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. Even from this distance, she could tell his dark hair was slightly damp from the rain, strands clinging to his forehead.

Lóng Yì (龙逸).

The school's most infamous student.

Unlike her, Lóng Yì came from a family that carried weight in Jiāng City—but for all the wrong reasons. The Lóng family had deep ties to the underground business world, with whispers of illegal dealings and unspoken connections to street racing circuits. Lóng Yì himself had a reputation that followed him like a shadow.

Skipping classes. Fighting. Breaking rules just because he could.

He was the kind of boy parents warned their daughters about.

And yet, he was here. Looking straight at her.

Xìng Ruò tensed as he removed his helmet, his sharp eyes filled with amusement. He had an effortless confidence about him—like nothing in the world could touch him.

“You planning to stand there all night, good girl?”

His voice was deep, teasing, and far too casual for someone who had barely spoken to her before.

Xìng Ruò stiffened. “I was just waiting for the rain to stop.”

Lóng Yì let out a low chuckle. “Hate to break it to you, princess, but that’s not happening anytime soon.”

She bristled at the nickname. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” His smirk widened. “You kinda look like one.”

Xìng Ruò exhaled slowly, choosing to ignore him. She turned back toward the rain, hoping he would just leave her alone.

But he didn’t. Instead, he reached up, unbuckled his helmet, and tossed it toward her.

She barely caught it in time.

“Get on.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’ll take you home.”

Her grip tightened around the helmet. “That’s not necessary.”

Lóng Yì tilted his head, watching her with something unreadable in his gaze. “You’d rather walk home in the rain?”

She hesitated.

She really, really didn’t want to accept his offer.

But she also really, really didn’t want to catch a cold.

For the first time in a long time, Xìng Ruò ignored the voice of reason in her head.

She stepped forward and climbed onto the back of the bike.

Lóng Yì let out a quiet laugh, clearly amused. “Thought you’d take more convincing.”

She exhaled sharply. “Just drive.”

He smirked. “Hold on tight, princess.”

Before she could protest, the motorcycle roared to life, and they shot forward into the rain, disappearing into the neon-lit streets of Jiāng City.

And just like that, Xìng Ruò’s carefully structured life began to crack.

Little did she know, this was only the beginning.

Xìng Ruò had never felt this kind of speed before.

The motorcycle shot forward, cutting through the rain like a streak of black lightning. The roar of the engine vibrated through her bones, and the cold wind whipped against her face, carrying the scent of rain and asphalt.

She clenched her fists around Lóng Yì’s jacket, her knuckles white.

“You might want to hold on tighter,” he called over his shoulder, amusement lacing his voice.

She swallowed hard but did as he said, gripping him more securely.

If anyone had told her this morning that she would be riding on the back of Lóng Yì’s motorcycle by nightfall, she would have laughed in their face.

Yet, here she was.

The streets of Jiāng City blurred past them, a mix of neon signs, wet pavement, and blurred headlights. Most of the city had already retreated indoors to escape the rain, leaving the roads relatively empty.

Xìng Ruò tried to focus on anything other than the fact that she was pressed against Lóng Yì’s back.

He was warm.

She hadn’t expected that.

Everything about him—the rumors, the way he carried himself—made him seem cold, untouchable. But now, feeling the steady heat of his body through his jacket, she realized how human he was.

“Relax,” his voice rumbled through the rain. “You’re gripping me like I’m about to throw you off.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” she muttered.

Lóng Yì let out a low chuckle. “You think so little of me, huh?”

She said nothing.

He wasn’t wrong.

Lóng Yì was nothing like her. He belonged to a world of danger, rebellion, and recklessness, while she had spent her entire life following rules, trying to be the perfect daughter.

Her father, Xìng Wéiyán, would be furious if he ever found out about this.

And yet, she didn’t regret accepting his offer.

Because for the first time in a long time, she felt something different.

Freedom.

The ride was exhilarating, a sharp contrast to her usually structured, predictable life. There was something thrilling about the way Lóng Yì handled the bike—effortless, confident, like he had mastered the streets of Jiāng City in a way no one else had.

And despite everything she had heard about him, she felt safe.

Maybe that was the most dangerous part of all.

---

The Stop at the Bridge

After what felt like an eternity, the motorcycle finally began to slow down.

Instead of taking her straight home, Lóng Yì pulled over at a quiet spot by the bridge that overlooked the city. The rain had softened into a light drizzle, making the lights of Jiāng City below shimmer like scattered stars.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked, pulling off the helmet.

“Thought you’d like the view,” he said simply.

Xìng Ruò frowned. “I thought you were taking me home.”

“I am.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the handlebars. “But you looked like you needed a break.”

She hesitated.

“Was that your first time on a motorcycle?” he asked.

She nodded. “Obviously.”

He smirked. “Figured. You scream ‘perfect student’ from a mile away.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “And you scream ‘troublemaker.’”

Lóng Yì let out a low chuckle. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, they just sat there, listening to the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. It was something in between—like two people who weren’t supposed to be in the same space, yet somehow were.

Xìng Ruò turned to look at him. “Why did you offer to give me a ride?”

Lóng Yì glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Would you believe me if I said I was being nice?”

She raised an eyebrow. “No.”

He grinned. “Didn’t think so.”

She waited, expecting him to deflect the question with another joke.

But then, his smirk faded just slightly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, looking back at the city lights. “Guess I was curious.”

“Curious?”

“You’re not like the girls who usually chase after me.”

Xìng Ruò frowned. “I don’t chase after you.”

“Exactly.” He turned to face her fully, resting his cheek on his knuckles. “That’s what makes you interesting.”

She felt her stomach tighten.

Lóng Yì was flirting.

And worse—she didn’t hate it.

She quickly turned her gaze back to the city, trying to ignore the way her heart was beating too fast.

“This was a one-time thing,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I don’t make a habit of accepting rides from bad boys.”

Lóng Yì chuckled, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. “We’ll see about that, princess.”

She exhaled sharply. “Stop calling me that.”

“Make me.”

She shot him a glare, but he only smirked in response.

It was infuriating.

It was also—God help her—kind of charming.

Before she could think too much about it, he pushed himself off the bike. “Come on. Let’s get you home before your dad sends out a search party.”

Xìng Ruò stiffened.

Lóng Yì didn’t know anything about her father. About how strict he was. About how furious he would be if he saw her with him.

But if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that Lóng Yì was the kind of person her father would never approve of.

And yet, as she climbed back onto the motorcycle, gripping his jacket once more, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time she would see him.

No matter how much she told herself otherwise.

Xìng Ruò barely had time to process the events of the night before her father’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Where were you?”

The moment she stepped into the grand yet suffocating silence of the Xìng family estate, she knew she was in trouble.

Her father, Xìng Wéiyán (幸威严), sat in the main hall, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. The dim glow of the antique chandelier cast sharp shadows over his face, making his already stern features even harsher.

Ruò lowered her gaze. “The rain started while I was in the library. I had to wait for it to stop.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

Her father exhaled, setting down his tea cup. “You should have called the driver. Instead, you returned home soaking wet, hours late. That is unacceptable.”

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

This was how it always was.

No concern for her well-being. No questions about whether she was okay. Only disappointment that she hadn’t followed his strict rules to the letter.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Xìng Wéiyán studied her for a long moment. “I expect better from you, Ruò. You are my daughter. The heir to this family’s legacy. Do not forget that.”

She bit her lip. “Yes, Father.”

Without another word, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

Ruò bowed slightly before turning on her heel, heading straight for her room.

But just as she reached the top of the grand staircase, her younger half-brother’s voice drifted from the shadows.

“You’re lying.”

She froze.

Xìng Jùn (幸骏) stepped forward, leaning casually against the wooden railing. His face bore the same sharp, aristocratic features as their father, but unlike Xìng Wéiyán, his eyes gleamed with amusement rather than cold authority.

He was only a year younger than her, yet he had always carried himself with the arrogance of someone who knew he would never have to try too hard. Being the son of their father’s second wife gave him a certain untouchable status.

Ruò narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jùn smirked. “Oh, come on, Ruò-jie. I saw you.”

Her stomach dropped.

“What?”

“I was coming back from my own... outing.” He tilted his head. “Imagine my surprise when I saw my oh-so-perfect sister getting off a motorcycle. And not just any motorcycle—Lóng Yì’s motorcycle.”

Her breath caught.

Jùn chuckled. “I wonder what Father would say if he knew.”

Ruò’s heart pounded. “You wouldn’t.”

He gave a lazy shrug. “Depends. What’s it worth to you?”

She glared at him. “Jùn, this isn’t a game.”

“For me, it is.” He grinned. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell Father... yet. It’s much more interesting to see what you’ll do next.”

With that, he turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving her standing there, pulse racing.

Damn it.

This was bad.

Really badThe Next Morning

Xìng Ruò barely slept that night.

When morning came, she forced herself out of bed, dressed in her neatly pressed uniform, and made her way to school.

The whispers started the moment she stepped onto campus.

“She was with him?”

“I heard he drove her home on his bike.”

“Since when do top students hang out with guys like Lóng Yì?”

Her stomach twisted.

She kept her head high, walking straight to her locker.

But just as she reached for her books, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Well, well. Didn’t take long for the rumors to spread, huh?”

She turned.

Lóng Yì leaned lazily against the lockers, arms crossed, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

Unlike her, he didn’t seem fazed at all.

If anything, he looked amused.

Ruò tightened her grip on her books. “This is your fault.”

His smirk widened. “Oh? I don’t recall forcing you onto my bike.”

Her cheeks burned. “People are talking.”

“They’ll get bored eventually.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they won’t. Either way, who cares?”

She frowned. “I care.”

Lóng Yì’s gaze flickered over her face, and for a brief moment, something unreadable passed through his expression.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“Relax, princess.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Unless, of course, you’re worried about what your father might think.”

Her breath hitched.

How did he—?

His smirk returned, but there was something sharper behind it now. “Your family’s reputation means everything to you, doesn’t it?”

Ruò’s throat tightened. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe.” He stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets. “But I do know this—you’re not as boring as you pretend to be.”

Before she could reply, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, heart pounding.

She hated that he was right.

She hated that he saw through her.

But most of all... she hated that part of her didn’t want to stay away.

And that terrified her more than anything.