Deviant: No Longer Human

"Are you… really going to…" Qian Ruixin bit her lip, the words trembling out.

Her meaning was clear. Wang Xiao's gaze snapped to her, unreadable, a hint of amusement lurking. Then, to her disbelief, he nodded—slowly, deliberately.

Qian Ruixin froze. *He's serious. He's actually going to do it.*

Her heart pounded, half from disbelief, half from something darker she couldn't name. Gritting her teeth, she steadied herself. "Is it really that important to you?"

A plea. Silent and desperate. Couldn't he spare his sister?

Wang Xiao smiled faintly, but said nothing. Instead, he set Wang Jiarong's body down gently, his movements unnervingly tender. In one fluid motion, he pulled Qian Ruixin onto his lap.

"You think I can't love you both?" His voice was playful, but something in it made her shiver.

Qian Ruixin's breath hitched. His question knocked the air from her lungs. Love? Did he even know what that meant? Every time she looked at him, it was like staring into a beast pretending to be a man—logic twisted, desires unchecked.

And yet… her arms moved on their own, wrapping around him. Just for a moment, she leaned in, let herself forget the situation. Then he kissed her.

The kiss devoured her—possessive, ravenous. His hands gripped her waist as though claiming her outright. It left her dizzy. Before she could think, he pulled back.

Wang Xiao's attention shifted, sharp and predatory, back to the couch where Jiarong lay still and helpless.

His hand slid down, cupping the soft curve of her backside, squeezing, testing her warmth. He leaned in, capturing those crimson lips—sweet, like forbidden wine.

He kissed her slowly, savoring the taste. The softness of her skin, her faint fragrance—it all felt surreal. She was his now. His hands moved greedily, tracing the smooth curve of her hips, claiming every inch of her delicate body.

"Wait…"

The hesitant voice pierced through the haze.

Wang Xiao's brows furrowed as he glanced up at Qian Ruixin, irritation flashing in his eyes. "What now?"

Qian Ruixin stood awkwardly, her face flushed, biting her lip like she was deciding whether to speak. "Wait… Wait until she wakes up."

"??" Wang Xiao blinked, then snorted. "Are you out of your mind? You want her to wake up in the middle of this? She'll throw a tantrum so big it'll shake Mount Tai."

Qian Ruixin's lips quivered, but she pushed on, her voice soft, pleading. "She's never done it before… Wouldn't it be better if she was awake for…" The rest of her words tumbled out like a whisper.

Wang Xiao's face twisted with annoyance. "And that matters to me why?"

Her hands trembled as she reached for his, gripping tightly. "Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Come with me. I'll… I'll serve you until she wakes up."

Her eyes, shimmering with desperation, weren't pleading for herself—but for him.

Wang Xiao stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he stood. "Fine."

He stood, his movements languid, carrying himself with the smug arrogance of a man who had just pulled off a flawless trick. His gaze on Qian Ruixin, savoring her trembling resolve, before he let out a low chuckle.

Leaving Jiarong sleeping peacefully, he followed Qian Ruixin into the bedroom.

The door clicked shut. Wang Xiao's smile widened. Whatever. He'd deal with her first. When Jiarong woke up… he'd have a brand-new plan ready.

______

"Ugh..."

Hours later, Wang Jiarong stirred on the couch, groaning like the whole damn world had sat on her skull. Her hand shot to her forehead, rubbing the dull ache as she sat up, eyes hazy and unfocused.

"Fuck…" she muttered hoarsely. She never drank, but her body felt like it had been run over, dragged through hell, and spat back out. That bastard Wang Xiao—if stress could kill, he'd be mass-producing weapons by now.

She pushed herself up, wobbling like a drunk before staggering toward her spare room.

But the moment she stepped in—What the hell? Clothes everywhere, thrown like trash. The faint, clinging smell in the air made her wrinkle her nose, but her head hurt too much to care. Skin itching, thoughts a mess—she stripped down, flinging her clothes onto the growing pile of chaos, and stumbled into the washroom.

The shower roared to life, hot water blasting her face. She pressed her back against the cold tiles, head tilted up as the scalding heat streamed down her bare skin. Eyes shut tight, mind spinning—fractured memories teased her, slipping away like smoke.

What the fuck even happened today?

____

Meanwhile…

In the next room, Wang Xiao sprawled on the bed like a king, satisfaction oozing from every lazy stretch. Beside him, Qian Ruixin lay sprawled, chest heaving, hair tangled, her skin flushed crimson from neck to thighs.

But his gaze flicked toward the wall, his divine senses stretching outward. A figure next door.

Jiarong.

His lips curled into a low chuckle. There she was, soaking in the bath, staring blankly at the ceiling like she'd lost the will to live. Her face twisted with exhaustion, her mind practically screaming: How the hell did my life turn into this shit?

Amusing. He might've felt bad if it wasn't so fucking funny.

Then something else prickled at him—faint energy signatures, right outside the house. Wang Xiao's eyes narrowed, curiosity sharpening his gaze.

Sliding out of bed, he moved to the window, cracking it open. A blast of cold night air hit him in the face, sharp enough to sting. His gaze snapped to the shadows outside.

There they are.

Eveline stood poised and cold as ever, those glowing eyes cutting through the dark like twin blades. Next to her, Penny—Persephone—fidgeted like an idiot, dressed poorly as a waitress and failing miserably to blend in.

Wang Xiao grinned, teeth flashing in the dark. What are they up to? Showing up at his door like amateurs—did they think this was some cheap spy flick?

With a snort, he slammed the window shut.

BAM!

The sound cracked through the night like a gunshot.

They could wait their turn.

____

Outside…

Persephone nearly leapt out of her skin, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

"What…" she stammered, staring at the window as though it had slapped her across the face.

Beside her, Eveline folded her arms, a sharp sneer curling her lips. "Satisfied now?" Her voice dripped with scorn, each word a dagger. "You really thought he would come running just because you batted your lashes at his doorstep? Naive. You don't know what kind of monster you're playing with."

Persephone flushed scarlet, her fists clenching as she shot Eveline a venomous glare. But no words came. Not a single retort.

Her brilliant plan—crushed like a bug. Showing up here, dressed to kill, playing the helpless, pretty woman? It always worked. Always.

But Wang Xiao? He didn't even fucking glance her way.

Ignored. Rejected. Without so much as a word.

Eveline snorted, low and mocking. "Take this as a warning. Men like him don't *get used. They'll use you. Twist you until you're begging to break. And when you're broken? He'll toss you aside, and you'll still thank him for the privilege."

Persephone's face paled, her confidence shattered so hard she couldn't even breathe, let alone snap back. For once, the queen of underworld had nothing.

Not. A. Damn. Word.

______

"Who?"

Back in her room, Wang Jiarong finally finished reclaiming the war zone that had once been a spare room. The stale, musky stench was drowned beneath layers of room freshener, leaving the air deceptively crisp.

Everyone had that room. The dumping ground. The battlefield of clothes, bags, and random crap nobody knew what to do with. Normally, Jiarong's own space was spotless—a reflection of her preference for control. But thanks to her brother and meddling cousin, she'd been forced to wade through this disaster.

Her body ached, her head pulsed faintly, and all she wanted was to collapse—anywhere—and sleep for a week. Wearing nothing but a loose white tank top and shorts, her hair still damp from her bath, she pulled a blanket over her shoulders and curled up in the corner of the now spotless room.

But just as her eyelids began to droop—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Her eyes snapped open. Heart jolting, she glanced at the clock.

Three…

Three in the fucking morning. The world outside was dead quiet. Even the hum of the city had been swallowed into eerie stillness. Her throat tightened. That knock—it felt too abrupt, too out of place. Like the shitty opening of a horror drama.

Knock. Knock.

Louder.

Then came the voice—low, muffled, and unmistakable.

"It's me. Open the door."

"??"

The tension snapped. Wang Xiao.

Relief washed over her, quickly drowned by exasperation. Of course it was him. Who else would be pulling this nonsense at 3 AM?

Barefoot, still wrapped in her blanket, Jiarong hesitated before trudging to the door. Her damp hair clung to her neck, the oversized tank top slipping off one shoulder—not that she noticed.

"Xiao Wang?" she called, pressing her ear against the wood.

"Who else?" His voice oozed calm, laced with that lazy drawl that made her fingers itch to smack him.

Rolling her eyes, she unlocked the door, cracking it open.

Wang Xiao leaned lazily against the frame, his gaze sweeping over her the moment she appeared. His eyes lingered—bare legs, loose straps, damp hair plastered to flushed skin. A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, though the teasing tilt of his voice said he didn't give a damn.

Jiarong scowled, heat creeping up her cheeks. Tugging the blanket tighter, she shot him a glare. "Why the hell are you knocking like a ghost at three in the morning?"

Wang Xiao's grin widened, his eyes glinting as he leaned closer.

"Scared?"

"No, annoyed." Jiarong narrowed her eyes, trying—and failing—to look intimidating while bundled up in a blanket, half-dressed. "Why are you here? Don't you have… other things to do?"

Wang Xiao tilted his head, his sharp gaze flicking over her and then into the spotless room behind her. "You cleaned this place?"

"Yes. Because I'm not living in your mess." Explore more stories at My Virtual Library Empire

His brow arched, and that wicked smile softened—though not in any comforting way. "Good. At least you're still useful for something."

Useful?

Jiarong froze. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" she snapped, her cheeks burning deeper as frustration bubbled over.

Wang Xiao waved lazily, turning back into the hallway. "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

And just like that, he was gone.

"Bastard," she muttered, slamming the door with a huff.

She spun around, ready to collapse into her corner again, but Wang Xiao's smirk flashed in her mind, clinging there like gum on her shoe.

"Did you just curse me?"

The door creaked open again.

"AH!" Jiarong yelped, whipping around so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. Wang Xiao's head popped back in, his grin plastered across his face like a damn billboard.

"Stop doing that!" she barked, clutching her blanket tighter. Her chest heaved, cheeks blazing, her voice teetering between rage and panic. "Are you trying to kill me with a heart attack!?"

Wang Xiao's lips twitched, clearly amused. "Who knew you scared so easily? I'll have to remember this for later."

Her eyes widened, finger jabbing accusingly. "Don't you dare! One more stunt like that and—"

"And what?"