Lin Shu's Apartment.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows stretched the city's dazzling, almost decadent nightscape, neon lights flowing like liquid, yet barely any sound penetrated the glass.
Inside, only a single ambient lamp was lit, casting a dim, intimate glow.
Lin Shu wore nothing but a silver silk slip dress, its delicate straps resting on her shoulders, revealing their soft curves. Her carefully styled curls tumbled in slight disarray.
She walked to the coffee table at the center of the living room, where a crystal vase held a few lush, crimson roses. Picking up a fine mist spray bottle, she mechanically pressed the trigger.
"Pssht—pssht—"
A fine mist settled evenly over the plush petals, forming dewdrops that trembled at the edges before rolling down into the crevices.
Lin Shu stared at the most vibrant rose, her gaze unfocused.
Was she relieved?
Of course she was.
The red marks Gu Chengyu had left on her wrist still throbbed faintly, a reminder of their heart-stopping confrontation in the backstage corridor earlier.
She had gambled—and won.
She hadn’t let him have his way. Hadn’t allowed herself to become just another plaything at his beck and call.
She’d seen the shock in his eyes, even the fury of being defied.
Good.
Fury was better than utter indifference.
At least in Gu Chengyu’s world, she, Lin Shu, was no longer a nameless, disposable object.
She had a name now. A temper.
She’d carved a mark into his arrogant, domineering universe.
But did she regret it?
How could she not…
Her fingers tightened unconsciously around the spray bottle, the mist turning harsher, droplets accidentally splashing onto her bare arm, cold against her skin.
The petals, saturated with water, deepened to a breathtaking scarlet under the light, quivering as if on the verge of collapsing under the weight.
Against her will, Lin Shu’s mind replayed Gu Chengyu’s approach—the powerful lines of his shoulders beneath that black shirt, the scorching heat radiating through the fabric, the intoxicating blend of liquor and dark oud in his scent…
And those piercing phoenix eyes, burning with undisguised hunger.
So intense. So… overwhelming.
He’d been in rare form tonight, that predatory certainty of his nearly searing through her defenses.
That energy, that state of him… She closed her eyes, her throat dry.
Who would benefit from it now?
Which temptress would replace her, bearing the brunt of that ruthless conquest?
One of those starry-eyed actresses on set, always watching him?
Or had Shen Que sent him some fresh new toy?
Her fingertip pressed lightly on a rose petal, bending it under the weight of a water droplet, the fragile stem seeming ready to snap.
Lin Shu abruptly released the spray bottle, irritably brushing the most vibrant bloom. The plush edge of a petal caught under her nail, leaving a small tear.
She grabbed the glass of red wine from the table and took a deep swallow.
The cool liquid slid down her throat but did nothing to quench the restless fire of resentment—or the darker, secret longing.
The empty glass clinked sharply as she set it down.
Her gaze lingered on the roses, now even more lush and dewy, their beauty almost unbearable.
She could only hope her choice had been the right one.
The next afternoon.
Sunlight slipped through the gaps in the blackout curtains, painting a sliver of light across the carpet.
The air still carried traces of Gu Chengyu’s cold, woody scent, mingled with the lingering musk of spent passion.
Su Qianqian let out a soft whimper, her long lashes fluttering several times before she managed to open her eyes.
Her doe-like eyes, still hazy with sleep, glistened as if veiled in mist.
The enormous bed held only her—the space beside her long gone cold.
With effort, she pushed herself up on trembling arms, the white silk sheets slipping from her shoulders.
"Hiss…" A faint gasp escaped her lips.
Even the simple act of sitting up pulled at sore muscles, her body aching in places she hadn’t known could ache.
Her waist felt boneless.
