Shao Yinan’s smile widened even more. Wen Zeru watched that smile and felt like reaching over and slapping him.
How could such a perfect flower be planted next to a lump of dung like Shao Yinan?
There was no mistaking it—A-Yin was the flower.
Wen Zeru’s eyes slid from the two of them holding hands to Shao Yinan’s face, a flash of displeasure there. But when his gaze landed on Wen Yin, the hardness softened into something tender, and a trace of regret lingered at the edges.
Fine. As long as his little princess was happy. As for Shao Yinan... he still needed to be tested.
Shen Ziying, who’d just been humiliated minutes ago, could only grit her teeth when she saw their linked hands. She fell silent.
Others in the room started staring at Wen Yin’s hand in Shao Yinan’s. Expressions shifted—curiosity, a little discomfort. It was jaw-dropping.
The Shao family’s heir was famously low-key. He showed up at almost no high-society events; anyone who’d seen him at one could count on one hand. No one expected him at Wen Zeru’s homecoming banquet—least of all clasping hands with the newly returned bona fide heiress of the Wen family.
Most in the crowd weren’t tuned into the celebrity world; they didn’t know that Shao Yinan and Wen Yin had been on the same dating show. Only Wen Zhi, who’d watched everything unfold, looked like she might burst. Watching Wen Zeru dote entirely on Wen Yin scraped away whatever pretenses she’d been holding on to. She had arrived at the Wen household years ago and, from the start, Wen Zeru had treated her coolly—he’d known which girl was actually the family’s true daughter and which one was the replacement. So she’d given up trying to win this nominal brother’s affection; she’d been spoiled instead by Xiao Mo and his crowd. Wen Zeru was irrelevant—until tonight.
Tonight, the tiny hope she’d harbored—that Wen Zeru was indifferent to everyone—shattered. All his warmth, all his softness, seemed focused on Wen Yin. The smile on Wen Zhi’s face crumpled; she gripped her wineglass until the knuckles went white. Hatred for Wen Yin flared hot and bright.
Her finger dug into her palm hard enough to hurt, but she didn’t feel it. She just stared at Wen Yin as if burning a hole straight through her.
Wen Yin almost wanted to glance back—she could tell whose stare it was without turning. As if foreseeing that move, Shao Yinan loosened his grip on her hand and, in the same breath, tightened his arm around her shoulders.
Warmth hit her—his breath feathered at her ear—and his voice came low and rough, close enough to vibrate against her skin.
“Yin—don’t look at her. Look at me.”
He leaned down slightly and met her eyes. In his dark pupils there was something stubborn and possessive, a kind of resolute obsession. She could see his Adam’s apple bobbing; his chest shivered ever so slightly.
Wen Yin forced herself not to look at Wen Zhi.
On the other side of the room, Wen Zhi’s jealousy felt like it might burst her ribs. How had Wen Yin gotten so lucky? Just because she came from the countryside? It wasn’t fair.
Jiang Shihuai and Lu Ziqiu, standing at the back of the crowd, both changed color when Shao Yinan made that move. Lu raked a hand through his carefully styled hair with an irritated snap, as if he wanted to storm forward and separate them.
Jiang pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose without a sound; a chill slid through his gaze. He’d misjudged Shao Yinan.
With Shao Yinan’s name and position attached to their interaction, Wen Yin suddenly had the room’s attention.
Qi Siqing stood a little apart in a champagne gown she’d chosen to be understated. But no matter how low-key she tried to be, the Qi family’s shadow meant people kept stopping by to greet her.
Shao Yinan kept glancing down at Wen Yin’s face. She showed no signs of resistance—no disgust. Relief dropped into him like a stone sinking to the bottom of a well. He didn’t notice his other palm had started sweating from nerves.
Now Wen Yin lifted her head. She had caught the slight tension in his face and couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her.
“Shao Yinan.” Her lips curved; this time she didn’t use the polite ‘Mr. Shao’ — she used his full name, casually. “I’ve lost count of how many times now.” Her tone lifted with a teasing edge. “But thank you, anyway.”
With a hand still on her shoulder, Shao Yinan blinked at the sudden remark. His Adam’s apple moved and he forgot to answer.
There was a playful glint in Wen Yin’s eyes now, like tiny stars were trapped in the black. It held anyone who looked there.
Before Shao Yinan could reply, he felt the space beside him go empty. When he turned, Wen Yin was no longer where she’d been—she’d been stepped behind by Lu Ziqiu, who’d come up and lodged himself protectively at her back.
Shao Yinan froze, his gaze cutting cold as ice. A shadow passed over his face. Lu Ziqiu was all set to bar anyone from getting near Wen Yin. Every line of his posture screamed resistance to Shao Yinan’s approach.
Lu hadn’t opened his mouth when Wen Yin’s voice, cool and controlled, spoke from in front of him.
“Lu Ziqiu, let go.”
Her eyes bore down on his hand as it clutched her wrist. The corner of her mouth flattened. That old, familiar distaste—like an empty spot inside her heart—rose up all at once. For an instant Wen Yin was taken aback by how strongly she felt it.
Jiang Shihuai—standing just behind Lu—felt a secret surge of pleasure. Of course—his A-Yin didn’t have feelings for Lu. He smiled inwardly.
Lu was stunned by the icy tone. Something flickered across his face; he looked uncomfortable. Keep holding her, and it’s wrong. Let go, and it’s wrong.
Then, with a push that sent him off balance, Shao Yinan gathered Wen Yin into his arms, sliding her in close enough to block Lu and Jiang’s view.
Jiang’s expression darkened in an instant.
“Young Master Lu—are you deaf? Didn’t you hear Yin tell you to let go?”