Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Ryan Miller was woken up by the ringing of a phone by his ear.

Wait, where did a landline come from?

He groggily woke up, reached out to answer, but as soon as he moved his elbow, a wave of soreness shot through his bones and jolted him fully awake.

He instinctively opened his eyes, his pitch-black pupils darting around in the dim light, his lashes trembling with the movement.

Shit, even if he’d slept on his elbow all night, it shouldn’t hurt this much, right?

The phone kept ringing, grating on his nerves. He frowned, clicked his tongue impatiently, and struggled to pick up the call.

"Hello sir, our hotel’s checkout time is noon. Would you like to extend your stay?"

He saw the room’s decor as he opened his eyes, so he naturally knew he was in a hotel.

Ryan Miller closed his eyes. He realized it wasn’t just his elbow that hurt—his legs felt even worse, and everything below his waist was basically useless. He said, "Extend." He hadn’t slept enough yet.

"Alright, sir. When you have time, please come to the front desk to handle the extension."

After hanging up, Ryan Miller thought that if he kept lying in this position, his arm would really be ruined, so he struggled to turn over and change positions.

That was a big mistake.

A wave of numbness and sharp pain shot from his feet to his head, making him grimace in agony. At the same time, the pain brought back scattered memories from last night.

Before he could catch any of those memories, something in his line of sight made his jaw drop.

A pair of red underwear lay quietly on the wooden floor—it was the pair he’d bought for his zodiac year, cost him two thousand yuan.

No, that wasn’t the point.

Next to his red underwear was a pair of pure black men’s briefs.

At the same time, his left hand touched something.

Ryan Miller stiffly turned his head.

There was a man lying next to him.

The man had short, neat hair and was lying with his back to him, so he couldn’t see his face. But the man’s back was taut and his neck long, clearly someone who worked out—a type that would get hit on by both men and women at the gym.

But Ryan Miller had no interest in admiring his muscles.

There were several red marks on the man’s back, obviously from last night, and there were other ambiguous traces elsewhere.

Memories flooded back.

Ryan Miller was gay, but he’d never actually slept with a man before, and he definitely hadn’t hired anyone last night, so this guy couldn’t be one of those club boys.

Nor was it any of his rowdy friends—they wouldn’t dare touch him even if they had eighty lives.

It couldn’t be some random guy from the street either—he went to that bar often, lots of people knew him, and even if he passed out, no one would dare take advantage.

Who else did he run into last night?

A handsome, rugged face flashed through his mind.

Recalling certain details, Ryan Miller was so startled he shivered—

Fuck!!!

Was he out of his mind? Who else could have such an infuriating back besides that bastard Matthew Clark?!

Ryan Miller felt a sharp pain below him, and anger and frustration surged in his chest. All his emotions rushed to his head, his cheeks flushed with rage, and he didn’t even want to confirm it—he just flailed, trying to get out of bed.

But as soon as he moved, he felt something liquid inside him shift as well. Before he could react, it slid down to the base of his thigh, the sticky discomfort shooting straight to his brain.

Fuck!

Goddammit!

Ryan Miller eyed the ashtray nearby, calculating its lethality, while trying to calm himself—

Calm down, Ryan Miller, you have to stay calm. It’s almost New Year’s, you can’t spend it in jail.

He really wanted a cigarette to calm his nerves, but that was clearly not an option. So he grabbed his red underwear from the floor and tried to pull it on, but the pain made his hands tremble, and after a long struggle, he still couldn’t get it on.

"Where are you going?"

The man’s voice was low and hoarse, breaking the silence.

Ryan Miller froze instantly.

The man on the bed had woken up at some point and was looking at him.

His features were sharp and deep-set, one eyebrow slightly raised, a casual question in his eyes.

Ryan Miller’s stiffness lasted only a moment.

He would never show weakness in front of Matthew Clark in his life.

He continued what he was doing, gritting his teeth: "Going to buy you a coffin. What style do you like? Something floral, or something more understated?"