Yin Yusheng fell in love the night she almost crashed into him.

He slammed the brakes. Tires screamed. The car swerved, headlights slicing the dark. Anyone else would’ve panicked, screamed, trembled—

She didn’t.

She stared through the windshield, calm, annoyed, as if he’d merely interrupted her walk. No fear. No shock. Just that cold, piercing glare that made him feel at fault.

He should’ve apologized and driven away. Instead, he fell in love—hard, instantly, disastrously.

And he didn’t forget her.

For days, he traced her. Found her name, agency, routines. He watched interviews, fanmeets, walks, rehearsals. He memorized her temper, habits, ambition, the way she stayed calm when the world tried to break her. By the time he approached her again, he knew everything—favorite directors, least favorite reporters, her unspoken dislikes.

He married her for that look, because nothing scared her, because she was sharp, unbreakable, terrifyingly composed. She didn’t need him—she didn’t need anyone—and that drew him in.

But she didn’t marry him for love.

For her, it was logical. Safe. He offered protection, stability, silence from those who tried to drag her down. Her career was her heart, her pride, her identity. Everything else, including him, came second.

And that hollow space she left ate him alive.

So he tightened her world—quietly, subtly.

A project got delayed. A schedule shifted. A director changed plans. Enough to nudge her attention—never enough to harm her.

Because he loved her too much to break her… but not enough to let her ignore him.

She confronted him one night, slamming his office door. Her glare was the same as the night they met—unflinching, sharp, dangerous.

“You’re messing with my work,” she said. “Trying to make me play the loving wife?”

He didn’t deny it. “I want your love,” he said quietly. “I want you to choose me. Even once.”

She stepped closer, head tilted, examining him like he might snap.

“You sure you could handle me?” Her voice softened, almost tender— and far more frightening that way. “My affection isn’t gentle. It consumes.”

Something shifted in her. Not distance—something worse.

She didn’t quit her job—it was her life. But she began reorganizing around him. Adjusted filming schedules. Turned down events with co-stars she didn’t trust. Memorized every minute of his routine.

She started watching him—truly watching. Who called. Who texted. Who stood too close. Who smiled too long.

When a woman brushed his arm at an event, she didn’t lash out. She whispered something quietly. The woman avoided him for the night… and requested a transfer the next day.

One night, he woke to find her sitting beside him in the dark, knees drawn up, studying him with an unsettling calm.

“I understand you now,” she murmured. “You weren’t trying to control me. You were afraid I’d never choose you.”

Her fingers traced his cheek—soft, warm, possessive.

“But you don’t have to fear that anymore. I’ve chosen you. Completely. And I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

A cold ripple slid down his spine.

He had loved her first. Loved her recklessly. Loved her with desperation.

But now?

She loved him in a way far darker— a love that wrapped around him like a shadow, a love that didn’t just want him…

…it consumed.