Shao Yinan’s gaze went sharp as a blade. Since that last Wen family banquet, a small unease had been growing under his skin, and his instincts kept pointing to one person: Wen Zhi.
Wen Yin, slow to notice Shao’s presence, yanked her phone to her chest and covered it with a flustered hand.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
She looked so guilty that Shao didn’t press. He wasn’t about to expose her just to prove a point.
A forced little smile lifted the corner of Wen Yin’s mouth. “Nothing.”
She had no intention of telling him anything. She leaned her head against the car window and watched the blur of city lights pass. Her hand tightened, almost without her knowing.
This time… who was it?
A soft, amused snort escaped her. Probably Wen Zhi again—who else could it be?
Shao kept his eyes on her as he drove. Wen Yin’s expression kept flickering, glazed as if she were somewhere else entirely. Her clear eyes had gone hollow, lost in thought.
When they reached the address she’d given, Shao reached over and ruffled her hair. “Yin, we’re here.”
She blinked back into the present. They got out and climbed the stairs together. Wen Yin packed light—half an hour and her things were ready. Just as she swung her suitcase toward the door, the bell rang.
Shao opened it and froze. A dark lens stared back at him—an enormous camera pointed straight into the foyer.
Wen Yin no longer cared about the office. The crew in front of them belonged to the show Heartbeat, Lovers.
The cameramen were stunned to find Shao Yinan at Wen Yin’s door. One of them stepped back, glanced at the apartment number, voice trembling. “Isn’t this Wen Yin’s place?”
The camera kept rolling, catching Shao’s bare, unmade face suddenly framed in the viewfinder. Shao looked unruffled. “Did you start filming early today?”
The crew broke into nervous sweat. This segment had been planned as a surprise for the female guests—now the surprise had landed on them. They exchanged panicked looks and set their shoulder rigs down.
“It’s okay. It’s not live. Keep going,” someone advised hastily.
Wen Yin came out, exasperated, and hurried to explain. “It’s fine. Mr. Shao just gave me a ride home.”
Shao’s sidelong glance at her held something like grievance and a smudge of petulance, which made her suppress a smile. The crew offered awkward, forced smiles back—this was turning into a story they hadn’t expected.
They decided not to film the doorway scene. Instead the producers invited Wen Yin and Shao to the new “heartbeat house” set, where the recording would take place. Neither of them refused; they followed the crew down the corridor.
Inside, there were only a few people. Xiao Mo sat rigid on the middle sofa, expressionless. A single camera aimed at him; the lights were on but the recording hadn’t begun.
When he saw Wen Yin and Shao enter together, contempt and a complicated heat flickered across Xiao Mo’s face. Wen Zhi’s careless words from the day before—about Wen Yin’s flirtatious nature—seemed to land like pebbles in his mind. Seeing Wen Yin with Shao only deepened his dislike.
Shao’s face cooled to ice in response to Xiao Mo’s look. The contempt was undeserved—Wen Yin was his, and no one had the right to look at her like that. Xiao Mo noticed the chill, and hurriedly averted his gaze; he had the sense then, uncomfortably, that he felt a kind of fear around Shao. The Shao family’s reach in the business world was notorious; being wary of them was sensible. He hated that he felt trampled by somebody he considered a kid, but the rumor that the Shaos had their own troubles comforted his bruised ego a little.
He hadn’t sorted out why he felt so off—was it a genuine dislike of Wen Yin, or the provocation of seeing her with Shao? The thought was still half-formed when he stepped in front of Wen Yin as Shao went upstairs to grab his things.
She rubbed her tired temples and turned to find him there again.
He was like a shadow that wouldn’t go away. Wen Yin didn’t want to listen to whatever lecture he’d prepared.
“If you came here to say something else,” she said coolly, “then sorry—we’ve got nothing to talk about.”
Xiao Mo blinked, surprised that she’d actually opened her mouth. “Wen Yin, what do you mean by that?”
She looked at him flatly. “I mean exactly what I said. If you don’t understand plain language, you should probably go back to school and learn it.”
Her tone was merciless. “Can’t you even understand something that simple? Did you fall through the cracks of compulsory education?”
The barb landed hard. Xiao Mo’s face flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation. He sputtered, “Shao Yinan isn’t someone you should be messing with. You’d be better off staying away from him.”
The warning that had been boiling in his chest twisted as it came out, changing its aim into that clumsy, possessive scold.
Wen Yin looked at him as if she’d heard the funniest joke. She’d heard that same line before, more than once. “And on what grounds are you telling me that?” she cut in. “Since when do you get to point your long arms into everybody else’s business?”
She laughed, bright and infuriating. “Xiao Mo, what kind of long-armed ape are you, bossing everyone around like this?”
It was a stinging comparison—insult with a smile—and it left Xiao Mo floundering for an answer. He could only manage a series of sputtered, useless “you…” that didn’t amount to anything.
Wen Yin lifted her face, oddly radiant despite the weariness, and finished calmly, “If there’s nothing else to say, don’t speak to me again. Not that only you hate me—because I hate you too.”