The next morning.
Auntie Zhang, the housekeeper, had an urgent matter and called Gu Chengyu's assistant first thing in the morning.
Her niece, Little Chen—a quick and efficient girl who had undergone rigorous housekeeping training—was arranged to cover the shift at the Cloudtop Apartment for the day.
Dressed in a neat uniform, Little Chen stood at the entrance, quietly taking a deep breath.
Even after hearing her aunt describe it countless times, stepping into the legendary Cloudtop penthouse duplex still left her heart racing at the overwhelming luxury and vastness before her.
She kept her eyes down, not daring to glance around, but couldn’t help thinking to herself: Goodness, how much must this place be worth?
Following her aunt’s instructions, she began working quietly.
The enormous living room was spotless, with only the faint lingering scent of agarwood and a subtle, sweet warmth in the air—probably drifting from the bedroom.
She didn’t dwell on it, focusing instead on dusting the surfaces.
Just as she finished tidying the living area, the master bedroom door opened.
Gu Chengyu stepped out.
His crisp white shirt collar framed his striking, aristocratic features, his imposing presence filling the space.
The usual cold detachment on his handsome, sharp face was gone, replaced instead by a look of satisfaction and vigor.
Like a well-fed lion, languid yet brimming with energy.
His steps were steady as he passed Little Chen, casually instructing, "Don’t clean the master bedroom yet. Wait until the person inside wakes up—she’ll call for you."
"Yes, sir," Little Chen replied quickly, her heart pounding.
The person inside? The young lady Auntie said to be extra careful with?
Gu Chengyu said nothing more, taking the folder handed to him by his assistant before striding out of the apartment.
The assistant followed, carrying a breakfast box from the chef.
With the master gone, Little Chen exhaled in relief and turned her attention to the rest of the common areas.
The living room, dining room, study—all immaculate, requiring little work.
Finally, the dance studio.
The door was open, the lights still on, as if the owner hadn’t bothered to turn them off.
The blackout curtains, however, were tightly drawn.
The first thing that caught Little Chen’s eye was the plush white carpet covering the entire floor—luxurious to the touch.
But now, it was far from its usual pristine state, instead bearing deep creases and uneven depressions, silently telling the tale of how intensely the young lady had practiced her dance moves the night before.
Huh? Why were pieces of a rosy chiffon dress scattered across the carpet? She must’ve tossed them aside after getting too warm from dancing.
In truth, Gu Chengyu had urgently commissioned that dress yesterday—far superior in quality to the one from the film set.
Little Chen decided to start cleaning from the side of the studio.
On the barre, a delicate sash of the same rosy hue hung limply, one end still clinging to the rail while the other draped lifelessly onto the carpet.
Nearby, an even longer dance veil lay discarded, tangled with the outer chiffon robe in a haphazard pile, forming a small mound.
Was there really this much fabric in the dress? Little Chen found it odd.
Moving closer, she spotted a pair of dainty sandals—one lying lopsided in a deep indentation of the carpet, its toe slightly buried in the plush fibers.
The other? Her gaze followed the carpet’s uneven surface until she froze.
It had somehow landed near the far edge of the barre. That position… She recalled videos of dancers stretching their legs sideways—just how flexible was this girl?
Steadying herself, Little Chen began gathering the scattered garments.
As she lifted the chiffon robe, what lay beneath made her breath hitch.
A sleek, expensive men’s belt lay carelessly on the carpet, a pair of black dress pants crumpled beside it.
Ah. Seeing the master’s clothes, she finally understood. No wonder the place was such a mess.
She picked up the pants, only to freeze again.
Beneath them was a delicate piece of lingerie—soft pink, starkly contrasting against the dark belt and trousers, almost painfully fragile.
Little Chen’s face burned as she hastily grabbed it, her fingers tingling as if scalded.
The composed, impeccably dressed man who had just left… had he really been so impatient last night?
Once her mind went there, everything took on a different meaning.
The dance studio, which might’ve just held traces of practice, now seemed… charged.
Even the air felt different.
No longer the usual citrusy fragrance of the apartment, but something sweeter, warmer—intoxicating.
Her aunt had mentioned the young lady had a unique natural scent. Was this it? And why did it seem… stronger than usual?
Swallowing her embarrassment, Little Chen continued cleaning, her gaze drifting to the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
The carpet before it was in complete disarray, the deep imprints suggesting forceful activity.
A gray men’s dress shirt lay discarded nearby, several buttons missing, the collar crumpled as if ripped off in haste.
Beside it was the inner layer of a courtesan’s costume—its delicate straps and skirt bunched up in wrinkled abandon.
The carpet bore twisted knots and claw-like marks, as if gripped tightly in passion.
Little Chen averted her eyes. What if she’s wrong? What if the young lady really had just been dancing? She shouldn’t assume the worst.
Quickly, she gathered the scattered clothes, sorting them into piles before hugging them to her chest.
She all but fled the studio, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it, exhaling shakily.
That carpet would need professional cleaning. For now, she’d just wash the owners’ clothes.
Rich people really play differently… And if her guess was right, how was the master still so energetic today? Didn’t he get tired?
…She was probably overthinking it.
