Shao Yinan’s eyes turned ice-cold in an instant. The warmth that usually softened his gaze vanished; what remained was a hard, furious glitter that settled over Lu Ziqiu the moment he stood there. Shao didn’t do anything but stand—yet his presence alone dwarfed Lu by a mile. Seeing Wen Yin’s face go so cold, Lu finally let go, looking awkward and a little embarrassed.
Jiang Shihuai’s attention landed on the heavy hand at Wen Yin’s waist. The possessive grip made his skin crawl; he wanted nothing more than to tear off every finger that had dared touch her. “Let go,” he said, voice flat as iron, staring at the hand as though willing it to unfasten.
Shao Yinan didn’t release her. He smiled instead, a smile that never reached his eyes; the darkness in his pupils carried a chill. “Is whatever’s between us supposed to concern you?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. He knew all too well what Jiang Shihuai had been thinking, knew why the man kept targeting Ah Yin because of Wen Zhi. The thought turned a little nasty in his mind.
Wen Yin snorted softly, as if she’d just heard a ridiculous joke. A teasing lift at the corner of her mouth, the faint, amused tilt in her voice made the whole room lean in. “Jiang Shihuai,” she said, the name rolling off her tongue with a disarmingly pleasant cadence. Today the makeup artist had given her a cat-eye flick; every blink and smile drew people in.
Shao’s palm tightened at her waist. His eyes darkened into something unreadable. Hearing his name from her lips made Jiang’s chest ache in a way he’d never expected; it sounded sweeter than anything he’d ever heard her say. He cleared his throat involuntarily. “Yes. I— I’m here.”
Wen Yin’s reply was cool and clear. “Do you live by the sea, Mr. Jiang? Why are you worrying about everyone's business?” The words landed like a cold splash. Jiang froze—he hadn’t expected her to speak to him like this. He had assumed that because of his past with her, she’d at least speak kindly. He hadn’t counted on this.
Color drained from Jiang’s face. He stared at her as if trying to bore a hole through her, desperate for an explanation he couldn’t seem to come up with. “Wen Yin, I’d like to speak with you privately,” he managed finally, stubbornness flaring—he didn’t believe this change.
Wen Yin smiled without anger, just a slow, faint lift of the lips. “And if I don’t agree?” Her tone was casual, almost lazy, but it cut. She made no move to tell Shao to remove his hand; that small omission pleased him. He lowered his gaze to her and something like fondness softened his features.
She blinked up at him with a deliberate languor, the kind that left nothing to chance. “On what grounds would you ask me to talk privately?” Her refusal was precise, crisp as a slap. Jiang opened his mouth and found nothing to say; he couldn’t even argue the case that he was her ex—how could that entitle him to a private conversation? Around them, the other guests had already turned, curiosity alight in their faces. The whispers were the kind of gossip that lived for wealthy families’ dramas.
Jiang’s expression soured. He fidgeted with his lips, stammered uselessly, then left in a huff. Lu Ziqiu watched Wen Yin for a heartbeat, conflicted, then turned away as well. He knew better than anyone that there was no future between them anymore.
No sooner had the two men walked off than Shao blinked slowly and smiled at Wen. “Well then, the show’s over,” she said, her voice softening just enough to seem tender to anyone who hadn’t been watching the whole scene. To the crowd, she barely spoke, but the moment carried.
Shao didn’t let go. Instead he leaned down, those dark, pearled eyes of his locking with hers like a pool drawing in the light. Wen Yin’s pupils dilated; her pulse picked up. This was the closest they’d stood to each other. For a second she was struck dumb.
Shao laughed low and amused. “What, Ah Yin used me and now you want to run?”
Heat climbed to her ears; she felt ridiculous and exposed—like a shrimp blushing under the sun. The words stained the air with an odd ambiguity. She stammered, “I— I didn’t mean that.”
He grinned with a foxish tilt. “Oh? So how is Ah Yin going to repay me?” The end of his sentence coyly rose, full of invitation. “In other words, what favor will you give me?”
Two sentences and Wen Yin was beet-red, unable to find her voice. She looked at him, baffled—this was not the gentle, honeyed Shao Yinan she knew; he’d shifted, become altogether more dangerous and delicious. Worse, her heart insisted on racing.
Shao, sensing the effect, chuckled close to her ear. “Okay, I won’t tease you more.” He’d felt a prickle of attention on them ever since he’d gripped her waist; it had faded only when he finally loosened his hold. A private speculation had formed in him, but he let it slide with a quiet laugh.
At that moment, Wen Zeru stepped onto the stage and officially kicked off the banquet. Only then did the evening’s program truly begin. “Thank you all for taking time to attend my homecoming banquet,” he said with the formal courtesy expected of a host. Then his tone shifted, grander. “Tonight is not only to welcome me back. It is also a reception for the true daughter of the Wen family—Wen Yin.”
At his words, a spotlight found Wen Yin. She stood bathed in light like a delicate princess; every head in the room swiveled toward her as if pulled by strings. The hush that followed was full of awe and a thousand curious, hungry speculations.