Against the Algorithm

Chapter 24: The Shape of Clarity

Yao's cheeks flushed as she averted her eyes to the side.

But behind her, Sicheng's voice dropped low, threaded with frost as he finally broke his silence.

"We're here for a photoshoot. Not commentary."

The words were smooth, professional. But the warning underneath? Lethal.

Su Luo arched a brow, clearly amused, but she stepped back without another word, signaling for the stylist team to begin their work as she turned with a flourish of her hair and strutted toward the makeup station, tossing over her shoulder with exaggerated nonchalance, "Lights up in twenty, kitten. Make sure you sparkle."

Yao didn't respond as she ducked her head down and mentally groaned.

But Sicheng did lean in, low enough for only her to hear, voice quieter than breath. "She calls you kitten again, and I'm going to start calling you mine in front of her. Loudly."

Yao flushed to her ears, the jacket suddenly feeling much too warm.

And behind them?

Pang muttered, "If the photo team doesn't catch that tension on camera, they're blind."

Lu Sicheng had been patient, ruthlessly, agonizingly patient. He had pulled back on that terrace not because he wanted to, not because the fire between them hadn't already burned hot enough to justify more, not because he didn't feel every inch of her against him like a brand he still hadn't recovered from—but because she mattered more than want. More than hunger. More than that single moment of aching closeness that had nearly consumed them both. He had made the right decision, he knew that, damn it, he had made it for her. But now? Now she was looking at him like he'd done something wrong. Like she couldn't decide if she was grateful or disappointed or both. And that—that—was what twisted beneath his skin like a slow burn, what narrowed his gaze with every second she kept herself at a polite distance, what made his fingers curl into a tighter grip when she passed by him on set and didn't brush against him like she used to, didn't glance up like she was waiting for his approval.

She was hiding.

Not obviously.

Not intentionally.

But Sicheng could feel it in the way she smiled at everyone but him. In the way she stayed close to Ming and Yue during the group shots, in the way she quietly let the stylist fix her braid without a word. She hadn't said anything about last night. She hadn't referenced the kiss, hadn't blushed over it or muttered or shyly tried to dissect what it had meant. And maybe she thought that was fine. Maybe she thought they could both pretend it hadn't turned his entire goddamn world upside down. But Lu Sicheng wasn't built for pretending. He wasn't built for silence. Not when it came to her. Not when she had wrapped herself around him like that, gasped against his mouth, trembled in his hands and left him with the ghost of her lips burned into his every breath. So when the photographer called for a short break, when the team began wandering off toward the refreshment table or off to stretch or check their phones, Lu Sicheng didn't hesitate.

He didn't speak.

Didn't announce it.

He simply moved.

Crossed the distance between them like it was nothing, like they weren't surrounded by stylists and assistants and stage lights and half a dozen other people who had no idea that beneath the quiet professionalism of their Midlaner and Captain, something far more personal had been building like a fuse left half-lit.

"Come with me." he said, low enough that only she could hear.

And Yao?

Yao froze as she turned slowly, lifting her eyes just enough to meet his gaze, and he saw it—the flicker of something uncertain, the subtle tightening of her hands at her sides, the hesitation she was trying so hard to mask with that neutral expression she always defaulted to when overwhelmed.