Oliver Sterling suffered from severe anger management issues, and I was his anchor. Everyone around him knew that he would only stay calm and not lash out if I was there. He brought me into his elite social circle, introduced me to his parents, and told everyone I was his best friend. But he didn't know I harbored an uncontrollable, secret crush on him. However, I also knew he was straight. So, after graduating from college, I quietly disappeared from his life. 01 I hit "decline" on Oliver's call again. The semester had started a few days ago, and Oliver probably realized by now that I hadn't shown up for registration. He had been calling me incessantly, but I didn't dare answer. I knew he must be furious on the other end. After all, we had agreed to attend the same grad school—his alma mater. But I had secretly changed my application, choosing a university all the way in California instead. With his connections, it was easy for him to find out I hadn't enrolled at his school. Sure enough, right after I declined his call, a barrage of text messages and 60-second voice memos flooded my iMessage. I tapped the very last one. Oliver's furious, violent voice blasted through the speaker: "Leo, you actually dared to play me. You better tell me exactly where you are right now. I might just give you a chance to redeem yourself and make your death a little less painful. If you keep ignoring my calls and texts, you better pray I never find you. Because if I do, I will absolutely destroy you. Call me back immediately, do you hear me?!" Oliver had never spoken to me with that kind of tone before. My hand instinctively trembled when I heard it, and I accidentally sent a thumbs-up emoji back to him. Once I realized what I had sent, I frantically tried to unsend it, but it was too late. The very next second, Oliver replied. He sounded like he was gritting his teeth, ready to skin me alive: "Leo, you've got some nerve, provoking me like this. Fine, just wait and see." ... 02 I met Oliver Sterling during my sophomore year of high school. That year, my parents had made a small fortune from a business venture, so they sent me to a prestigious prep school in New York. The students there all came from powerful backgrounds, but the Sterling family sat firmly at the very top of the pyramid, untouchable. Their family's influence was unfathomable—deep pockets, massive power, and absolutely no one dared to cross them. But within the walls of that elite school, what everyone knew best was the temper of the Sterling family's youngest son, Oliver. He was infamous for his explosive anger and being generally terrifying to deal with. Because of his severe anger management issues, he gravitated toward anything that could burn off his excess energy. Boxing, MMA, street racing, bungee jumping—he did it all. But his favorite outlet was street fighting. Before I came along, he practically lived in dive bars, getting into a dozen fights a week. That was the exact setting where I first encountered Oliver Sterling. 03 It was a rainy day. I had been hospitalized with a severe stomach bug during our mandatory outdoor orientation trip and had only just moved into the dorms today. I was walking out of the school gates to find a place to eat nearby when I saw a man stumble out of a dive bar down the street. The man's clothes were rumpled and covered in muddy footprints. His face was bloodied, and he fell to his knees, begging uncontrollably: "I'm sorry, I was wrong! I swear I didn't know she was with you, Mr. Sterling." "If I had known, I wouldn't have touched her even if you gave me a million bucks!" Standing in front of him were seven or eight teenage boys. The one leading them had his eyes cast downward, ignoring the man entirely. He casually flipped open a wildly expensive Zippo lighter and lit a cigarette. The knuckles of his hands were stained with dried blood. His features were cold and distant. Through the haze of cigarette smoke, he looked even more aloof and ruthless. Without even glancing at the man groveling on the ground, he gave a subtle nod to the side. Two bodyguards immediately rushed forward, grabbed the man by the arms, and dragged him toward a dark alley. The man's agonizing, blood-curdling screams echoed instantly. 04 I wasn't standing very far away. Maybe the man was just too terrified, but I couldn't clearly make out what he was saying at first. However, seeing a grown man pale with terror and driven to the brink of madness... I instinctively assumed it was a group of rich, spoiled brats bullying someone. Driven by a strong sense of justice, I marched right over. I stormed up to the boy leading the group and demanded righteously: "Hey, what do you think you're doing? A whole group beating up one guy? Have you no shame?" The leader frowned and looked at me, a dark hostility rising in his eyes. Everyone around him shut their mouths. Even the man who had been wailing stopped abruptly. A deathly silence fell over the scene. Probably no one had ever spoken to Oliver Sterling like that. Their faces clearly read, "You're dead meat." I had no idea who Oliver Sterling was at the time. Although I could sense something was off from the look in their eyes, I didn't care. I took a few steps forward, looking him dead in the eye, holding my head high, not backing down an inch. We were standing very close—so close I could smell the crisp scent of cedar on him, mixed with a faint trace of tobacco. The moment I stepped closer, the hostility in his eyes vanished completely. He looked up at me, slightly stunned, a flicker of confusion in his gaze. I thought my righteous anger had intimidated him. Just as I was about to tell them to let the man go... Oliver suddenly grabbed me by the collar and yanked me closer. Our faces were mere inches apart. Instinctively thinking he was going to attack me, I didn't hesitate. I clenched my fist and swung it straight at his face. Oliver casually blocked it with two swift movements, grabbed my arm, and twisted it behind my back. Although I had never had formal training, I grew up in a rough neighborhood and frequently dealt with street thugs, so I knew how to throw a punch. But despite all the fights I'd been in, I had never been manhandled like this—completely subdued in just one move. My heart sank. This guy knew how to fight. 05 Just as I thought I was a goner. Oliver did something that left everyone's jaws on the floor. He lowered his head slightly, leaning in close, and pressed his nose against my neck. He inhaled my scent brazenly, almost greedily. He was incredibly strong; his grip on my arm was ironclad. I struggled desperately, but he was like a solid rock, unmoving. After a long while, As if satisfied, he let go. I immediately covered my neck, turned around, and glared at him: "What the fuck, are you a pervert?!" Oliver's friends were carefully watching his expression, terrified he might actually snap my neck. But Oliver wasn't angry at all. He even seemed to be in a good mood as he explained the situation to me. "He spiked my girlfriend's drink. Beating him up isn't an overreaction, is it?" Skeptical, I turned to look at the man slumped on the ground. As if finally snapping out of his daze, the man started bowing repeatedly on the ground, muttering: "I'm sorry, Mr. Sterling, I swear I'll never do it again. Please spare me this once." It wasn't until I heard that title that I realized exactly who I had messed with, and worst of all, I was the one in the wrong. I turned back stiffly, forcing an awkward, dry smile: "Just a misunderstanding. I apologize, Mr. Sterling. I was wrong." Oliver frowned slightly, as if finding it difficult to resolve: "Well, what are we going to do about this? I really hate being misunderstood. Tell me, how should I teach you a lesson?" His tone was casual, as if he were asking what to have for dinner, but a cold sweat broke out all over my body. Sweat rolled down my forehead, only to be gently wiped away by someone. I heard someone gasp: "Doesn't Oliver have germaphobia?" Then, a deep, magnetic voice spoke right by my ear: "Be my friend, and I'll forgive you." 06 Later, I somehow ended up adding Oliver on Snapchat and surprisingly became his roommate. Actually, it wasn't really a surprise. The prep school never assigned dorms based on grades, but by social class. The high-end dorms were essentially luxury townhouses where everyone had deep political or financial backgrounds. But my background was just "new money." It was obvious who pulled the strings. The only person capable of breaking a century-old tradition at that school was him. Being Oliver's friend was actually pretty great. He was incredibly generous. On my birthday, he gave me a watch worth hundreds of thousands. He found out who my favorite musician was and took me to their concert over the holidays. We didn't just get VIP seats; we even got to go backstage and take photos with them. He brought me into his social circle, introduced me to his parents, and told everyone I was his best friend. When my parents faced difficulties with their business, he stepped in to help. But deep down, I knew that to him, I was just an emotional anchor—a human mood stabilizer. His friends told me that since I started hanging around Oliver, he had stopped going to bars to pick fights. He even smoked a lot less. When I was around, he rarely lost his temper. Even when he was absolutely furious, just catching my scent would calm him down immediately. 07 It was strange. Even though I knew I was just an anchor to him, I couldn't stop myself from falling for him. To be fair, falling for him wasn't hard to understand. Oliver was incredibly handsome. His face looked like it had been meticulously sculpted. He had an aggressive, raw, masculine beauty. He could just throw on a simple white t-shirt and walk down the street, instantly drawing everyone's eyes. He had a great body too—tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, and with an eight-pack. Of course, it wasn't just his looks. He was intensely charismatic. He knew everything from global history and local customs to the future prospects of various industries, and he could explain them all in simple, engaging terms. But I knew he didn't like me. During our four years of college, he had several girlfriends. I knew exactly his type: bright, elegant, and feminine. Not skinny, plain, and definitely not male. So I kept my feelings for him buried deep down. But I also knew I could never stand by and watch Oliver get married and have kids with someone else. So, leaving was inevitable. 08 "Hey, Leo, why are you always staring at your phone lately? Are you waiting for a text from a girl you like?" my roommate Mark asked, a teasing smirk on his face. "No," I replied flatly, shaking my head. Mark didn't buy it. He slung an arm around my neck, applying a little pressure: "I don't believe you. Come on, spill it. Who is it?" I couldn't say, because there was no girl. I was waiting for a message from a specific guy. Ever since he sent me that one text, there had been absolute radio silence. It was like he vanished into thin air. Living in fear for the past few days hadn't eased my anxiety; it had only made it worse. Just as I was lost in thought, a sudden commotion erupted near the campus gates. Many students started running in that direction. Mark, who loved drama, immediately dragged me along with the crowd. By the time we got there, a large crowd had already gathered. Mark was tall, making it easy for him to see over the crowd. He suddenly gasped: "Holy shit! Isn't this the kind of spectacle you only see in romance novels when the billionaire CEO comes to catch his runaway bride?" I was stuck in the back and couldn't see clearly. I asked him: "What's going on?" Mark thought for a moment. "More than a dozen top-tier black luxury SUVs, and two men in black suits standing in front of every single one." He frowned, as if feeling that description didn't do justice to the scene. He waved his hand dismissively and said: "I can't even describe it. Come on, I'll show you." He grabbed my shoulder and pushed toward the front. Once we reached the front, peering through a few rows of people, I spotted Oliver immediately. He was sitting in the back of a car, his face dark with intense anger and impatience. In the few short days since I last saw him, the aura around him had grown much sharper and more dangerous. He hadn't seen me. He was turning his head to talk to the bodyguards beside him. I froze in place, involuntarily recalling his threat: You better pray I never find you. Without thinking, I ripped my arm out of Mark's grasp and started pushing my way back through the crowd. I prayed Oliver wouldn't look in my direction. But I forgot that finding me, let alone catching me, was child's play for him. Right now, I didn't have time to worry about that. However, things never go as planned. Seeing me leave, Mark immediately yelled after me at the top of his lungs: "Leo, why are you leaving?! I finally managed to push us to the front! Hey, why are you walking faster? Wait up!" The moment he yelled my name, I felt a searing gaze lock onto me. I knew Oliver had spotted me, but the crowd was too dense, and I couldn't squeeze my way out. Moments later, the synchronized sound of approaching footsteps echoed, parting the crowd around me. I looked up at the scene before me. A dozen bodyguards surrounded me completely, trapping me in the center. From behind came that deep, hoarse voice, dripping with ice, sending shivers down my spine. "Found you, Leo." 09 I was "escorted" into the car by Oliver's bodyguards. The moment the car door shut, Oliver lunged at me without warning, pinning me against the backseat. Seeing this, the driver up front quietly raised the privacy partition. Oliver buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling my scent greedily and urgently. I could feel his cool lips brushing against the burning skin of my neck, his breath hot against my collarbone. Feeling incredibly uncomfortable, I gave him a weak push. The next second, he grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head. He was very strong, gripping my wrists tightly, intentionally making it hurt. "Don't move." His tone was heavy, as if annoyed by the interruption. He reached down and gripped my waist tightly. Oliver was furious about me secretly changing my grad school application. It took a long time for the dark cloud over his face to dissipate, but he still didn't get off me. He braced himself with one hand by my ear, lifting his upper body slightly, staring straight into my eyes. When he finally spoke, his tone wasn't as aggressive as before, but it definitely wasn't pleasant: "Who was that guy hugging you?" I looked at him and couldn't help but remember our college graduation day. That day, our class hosted a farewell party, and Oliver came with me. I had originally planned to confess my feelings to Oliver that day. But just as I turned a corner in the hallway, I saw a girl blocking his path. Her face was flushed, but she still gathered the courage to speak: "Oliver, I like you. Will you be my boyfriend?" Oliver maintained his usual calm, indifferent expression. "I'm sorry, I don't feel the same way." Then, I heard the girl ask him: "Is it because of Leo? Ever since Leo transferred here, you haven't dated anyone. Do you like him?" I hid behind a pillar, my fingers tightening involuntarily out of nervousness, crushing the love letter in my hand. I held my breath, straining my ears to hear his answer. But all I heard was a ruthless scoff, as if he'd just heard a joke: "Why would I like him? He's a guy. I'm not gay." But the first question he asked me now wasn't an interrogation about why I changed my application. It sounded almost like he was jealous, asking about my relationship with Mark. Those hidden feelings in my heart suddenly refused to stay buried. I thought, maybe he did like me a little, but just hadn't realized it yet. I knew it was just wishful thinking on my part, and it probably sounded ridiculous. But just the sliver of a possibility made my heart race uncontrollably. The urge to tell him how I felt peaked in that moment. I looked up at him intently, a hint of testing in my gaze: "Aren't you going to ask why I changed schools?" His face darkened instantly: "You have the nerve to ask? Tell me why." I looked at Oliver with burning intensity: "Because I like you. I didn't want to watch you date someone else, so I secretly changed my application." He stared at me for a long time, then suddenly let out a scoff: "Leo, are you a fucking idiot? Do you really think making a joke like that means I'll forget about you lying to me?" I immediately defended myself: "I'm not joking." He stared at me for a long time, suddenly curled his lips into a smile, released the hand propping him up by my ear, let his body weight sink heavily onto me, and said casually: "Is that so? Then prove it to me." I asked him: "How?" He raised an eyebrow, gently tapped his long finger against his own lips, and slowly uttered two words: "Kiss me." My brain exploded, going completely blank. I was too slow to process it, looking at him in a daze: "What did you say?" His smile widened: "Didn't you say you like me? What, you don't even have the guts to kiss me?" I stared at his lips, which were moving as he spoke. Only one thought echoed in my mind: he asked me to kiss him. Did that mean he liked me? "Leo, next time you should find a better..." I lifted my head and gently covered his chattering mouth with mine, staring unblinkingly at Oliver. I saw him freeze slightly, but he didn't show the slightest hint of disgust. I closed my eyes and deepened the kiss. I gradually allowed myself to sink into it, savoring the sweet taste of him. But before I could fully enjoy it... Suddenly, I was violently shoved away. My back slammed hard against the car door, a sharp, piercing pain shooting up my spine. But what was harder to accept was that when I opened my eyes, I saw Oliver wiping his lips with a look of absolute disgust. He said, "Leo, you are disgusting." The color drained from my face instantly. Trembling, I didn't know what to say. He ordered the driver coldly: "Pull over." The next second, his face dark, he roared at me: "Get the fuck out."
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