Before she fully regained consciousness, Wen Yin only registered that the voice had a familiar cadence. When her eyes fluttered open, the dark, limpid gaze she met was already lifted a fraction—Shao Yinan’s—then, behind him, another figure came into view.
All at once she was fully awake.
The corner was dim, but color had already risen to her cheeks, an involuntary bloom. Her earlobes were flushed enough to seem painfully hot. Shao Yinan unclenched the large hand that had been holding her wrist; two faint red marks had been left there where his grip had been too tight a moment earlier.
He lowered his eyes to the way she kept her head bowed, like an ostrich hiding its face, and couldn’t help but press her closer against his chest, effectively cutting Qi Siran off from the sight. My little girlfriend… she really is dangerously cute, the thought flitted through him.
Qi Siran’s expression slid over with something colder and unreadable. She sounded surprised—as if she had only just discovered Wen Yin’s presence. “Oh—wen Yin’s here too?”
That phrase snapped Wen Yin fully awake.
“Mm,” Shao Yinan snorted lazily, clearly disinclined to indulge her.
Qi Siran, sensing she might lose them, switched topics with a practiced smile. “I just bought a new evening gown from Qili’s latest line. Wen Yin, could you take a look for me?” She pitched the request in that deliberately guileless tone the wealthy young heiress used like a weapon.
Shao Yinan squeezed Wen Yin’s warm fingertips between his own, playing with them without obvious motion. “You don’t really need her, Siran,” he said, low, the refusal written across his face.
Wen Yin pursed her lips. Her carefully applied lipstick had been smudged—mostly ruined—by what had happened, though when she’d sneaked a glance in a mirror a moment ago it hadn’t looked as bad as she’d feared. Qi Siran noticed the small motions and the light in her eyes dimmed almost imperceptibly.
“Is that so?” she said. “But I think Wen Yin’s taste is so much better than ours. The dress I bought is… the highlight of Qili’s new collection, I’m told.” Her gaze sharpened; she stood there, slow and deliberate, a smirk twitching at the corner of her pale lips. “I heard the designer is called Jiujiu?”
The implication was plain: Shao could build someone up, and Qi could just as easily tear them down. Qi Siran had no doubt of her influence.
Wen Yin’s look grew cool. Her phone in her clutch was buzzing—she had just opened it to see messages from Jiujiu, ecstatic.
Jiujiu: Wen Yin jie! My design sold!! Hahaha!
Jiujiu: And they paid handsomely!
Jiujiu: Am I officially rich now?!!
Jiujiu: Happy dance.
Shao Yinan’s brow creased almost without him noticing. Instinct told him Qi Siran didn’t have clean motives. One of the few things he disliked about her was the sullen, out-of-place shading to her temperament that made people uneasy—if not for the Qi name, he wouldn’t put up with her for a second.
“All right,” Wen Yin said. Her voice was clear but faintly chilly. Qi Siran’s smile widened with satisfaction.
When the three of them moved backstage, Wen Yin took in the dress—an almost flawless evening gown in a delicate powder blue that suited Qi Siran’s snow-white, fragile image to a fault. Everyone could see it: this was a pretext for Qi to cozy up to Shao Yinan.
“So I heard you’re inviting N.A to Shaohua?” Qi Siran asked, seeming as innocent as a child seeking idle gossip. There was very little innocence behind it.
Wen Yin nodded slowly, unbothered.
By the time they left the lounge, Shao Yinan’s face had turned stone-dark. Qi Siran really was like a sticky patch he couldn’t peel off. Wen Yin slipped away first to the restroom; Shao Yinan took a step, willing to go anywhere as long as Qi Siran wasn’t near.
Wen Yin hadn’t been in the bathroom long when a tall silhouette filled the doorway. The man kept half his face in shadow, but then his gaze slid toward her. When their eyes met, her own instinctive chill deepened. She turned away quickly, pretending not to have seen him and moving to pass.
Shao Yuanjia’s teasing voice came from the dim. “In such a hurry, Ah–Yin?”
He reached for her as she tried to squeeze by. His grip was shockingly strong, his eyes rimmed with a reckless glint. It was obvious—deliberate—that he wanted to leave his mark on her.
Wen Yin didn’t allow his hand to linger on her wrist for even a second. She shrugged his grip off with a force that caught him by surprise—she was no weakling. He blinked, a faint look of resignation flitting across his handsome face as he shrugged.
Her gaze cooled in measured inches. “Don’t call me ‘Ah–Yin,’” she said, voice like an old glacier—cold and unmoving.
“And—” she added, letting her eyes drop to the hand he had just withdrawn, still dangling at his side. Her lips gleamed with a hint of wet color as her tone softened in a way that was somehow more terrifying. “If you don’t want that wrist anymore… I can have it chopped off for you.”
The smile on Shao Yuanjia’s face widened in a way that made it worse. He pressed the back of his tongue to his cheek, and something mean and insolent flickered across his expression. “Okay, okay. I suppose Wen Designer has already seen it?” he said lightly. “My father’s moved up the new project. I’m looking forward to Wen Designer appearing with N.A.”
Wen Yin’s face was the calmest thing in the room. “Mr. Shao,” she said coolly, “you’ve got something on your tooth.”
It was such a deadpan remark that the smile at the corner of his mouth froze mid-bend. For a beat he looked awkward, stepping back, his composure briefly unspooling.
Wen Yin let a small, almost teasing curve touch her own lips. “And mind your distance,” she added. “Stand any closer and I’ll be tempted to slap you.”
Shao Yuanjia hesitated, jaw working as if he wanted to ask whether there really was something on his tooth. He didn’t speak. Wen Yin left with a crisp, contemptuous laugh that chilled more than any threat.
He’d been right about one thing: Shao Qi, the old fox, had moved the meeting up by three days. Tomorrow, N.A would have to be in the conference room.