Against the Algorithm

Chapter 43: Off-Script

Sicheng had just reached for the zipper of his jacket, eyes fixed on the hallway ahead, his body already falling into match-day mode, when Yao's fingers curled gently around his wrist.

"Wait." she said softly.

He stopped instantly. His head turned, eyes narrowing slightly—not with annoyance, never with her—but with that silent focus that always came when she did something unexpected.

She took a step closer, her cheeks blooming with color, that distinct rose-tinted hue that reached the tips of her ears and crept down her neck like it had bloomed from her chest. Her hazel eyes flicked up to meet his, determined despite the flush warming her skin, and then—

Before he could even ask what was on her mind—

She rose onto her toes, delicate fingers braced against his chest, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Soft.

Certain.

Undeniably hers.

Sicheng froze, the warmth of her lips against his skin sending a sharp, grounding jolt straight through him.

And then she pulled back just enough to whisper against his skin, her voice quiet, trembling, and laced with truth. "I'm yours," she murmured. "Your Intended." Then, with the same bold softness that undid him, she whispered it. "...Baobei."

Something in him snapped. Not in a harsh way. Not in a violent way. But in the way that heat flooded his chest and every instinct he'd ever spent a lifetime controlling surged forward like fire behind ice. That single word from her lips—spoken so shyly, so unguarded—ripped every restraint from him in a breath. His hand rose immediately, curling around the back of her neck with firm possession, not hard but certain, anchoring her in place as his head dipped and his mouth found hers in a kiss that swallowed the last space between them.

Deep.

Slow.

Deliberate.

His lips pressed against hers with heated reverence, coaxing rather than rushing, and when she gave the smallest whimper against his mouth, he shifted—nibbling gently on her bottom lip, drawing it between his teeth until she parted for him on instinct. And then he took her mouth fully. His other hand slid to her waist, pulling her against him, his chest flush to hers, her heartbeat frantic beneath his fingers.

She melted. Right there, standing in the center of their quiet sanctuary, while the arena outside waited, while the others moved through corridors and cameras came alive—she melted into him. Because there was no one else she would ever belong to and he made sure she remembered exactly why.

His mouth lingered on hers just a moment longer, the heat of her breath still mingling with his, her lips swollen and soft beneath the press of his own. His fingers curled gently at the back of her neck, anchoring her in place not because she would pull away—she hadn't—but because he needed that last second of closeness before reality returned. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled back, his amber eyes opening to find her flushed and breathless, her hazel gaze dazed and wide, her lips parted just slightly as if she hadn't quite caught up to what had just happened between them.

He didn't speak.

Not at first.

He just looked at her like he could memorize the sight—her platinum braid falling slightly over one shoulder, her cheeks burning with color, and that vulnerable, glowing softness that only ever came from her when she was completely, unequivocally his. His thumb brushed along her jaw, slow and reverent, like he was grounding himself in the reality that she'd just called him Baobei.