A Kiss That Shouldn’t Exist

Zhao Liyun hated him.

At least, that’s what she told herself every time Li Wei’s piercing gaze followed her across the office. He was demanding, arrogant, and colder than the winter rain that slapped against the city windows.

But there was something about him. Something dangerous, magnetic.

Every time he leaned too close, her heart betrayed her.

That evening, the office was almost empty. Most employees had left, yet Li Wei remained, seated at his massive desk. His suit jacket was off, shirt sleeves rolled up, veins visible on his strong hands as he typed.

Liyun knocked softly. “Sir, these are the reports you asked for.”

“Bring them here,” his voice was low, calm, but it carried weight.

She stepped closer, setting the file down. Their fingers brushed. Electricity shot through her arm like a spark.

She froze. He noticed.

His lips curved slightly, but his eyes stayed unreadable. “You flinch like a child.”

“I-I didn’t!” she protested, pulling back.

Li Wei stood suddenly, circling her like a predator examining prey. His voice dropped lower.

“You’re hiding something.”

Her breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

“You smile too easily. People who smile like that… they’re covering wounds.”

She bit her lip, startled at how close his guess was. He doesn’t know anything. He can’t.

“You’re wrong,” she whispered.

Li Wei tilted his head, smirking faintly. “Am I?”

She turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist. Not harshly, but firm enough to stop her.

“Miss Zhao.” His voice deepened, dangerous. “Look at me.”

She hesitated. Then she did.

Their eyes locked.

For a moment, the office disappeared. No neon lights, no sound of the rain. Just his eyes—haunted, sharp, yet strangely vulnerable.

Li Wei’s throat tightened. He shouldn’t feel this. She was a Zhao. He should hate her, destroy her. Not… want her.

But her lips trembled, and something inside him snapped.

His hand slid to her chin, tilting her face up.

“Don’t…” she whispered, trembling.

“I told you,” he muttered, his breath brushing her cheek, “don’t mistake me for kind.”

And then—he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, desperate, almost punishing.

Her eyes widened. She should push him away. She should slap him.

But she didn’t.

Because deep down, she wanted this too.

For a moment, she melted against him, tasting the bitterness of his pain, the fire he kept hidden. His hand pressed against the small of her back, pulling her closer.

Her fingers curled into his shirt before her mind screamed—stop.

She shoved him back, breathless.

“What… what are you doing?!” Her voice shook.

Li Wei’s chest heaved. He looked furious—at her, at himself.

“Nothing,” he said sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”

Her cheeks burned. “Forget it?! You just—”

“Go home, Miss Zhao.” His voice cut like a blade, final and cold.

Her heart twisted. She wanted to scream at him, but the words wouldn’t come. So she turned and stormed out, slamming the door.

The silence afterward was unbearable.

Li Wei sat back, fingers pressing against his temples.

“Idiot,” he muttered at himself. “She’s a Zhao. She’s the enemy.”

But his lips still tingled, the taste of her still there.

He clenched his fists. “I can’t let this happen. I won’t.”

Yet in the reflection of the window, he didn’t look like a man who could stop.

He looked like a man already falling.

Meanwhile, Liyun stood outside the building, heart racing. The cold night wind whipped her hair, but she barely felt it.

Her lips burned. She touched them unconsciously.

“Why… why did I let him?” she whispered, shame and confusion twisting inside her.

She hated him. But her heart… betrayed her.

The next morning, the office buzzed with its usual chatter.

Liyun tried to act normal, but her thoughts spun. Would he mention it? Pretend it never happened? Fire her?

When she entered his office, Li Wei didn’t look up. He was already working, face calm, mask perfect.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She sat.

“I have a task for you,” he continued, flipping through papers. “You’ll be shadowing me at tonight’s gala. Don’t speak unless I tell you to. Don’t embarrass me.”

Her eyes widened. “G-Gala? Me? Why?”

“Because I said so.”

She clenched her fists. “You kissed me, and now you want me to—”

His head snapped up, eyes sharp. “We will never speak of that again.”

Her heart dropped.

“Understood?” His tone left no room for argument.

She swallowed hard. “…Understood.”

But as she lowered her gaze, a thought pierced her heart like a thorn:

If he wants me to forget… then why did it feel like he didn’t want to let go?

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