The air in the room grew hotter by the second. Wen Yin felt as if she were sitting inside an oven.
Shao Yinan's kiss set her whole body ablaze.
Her vision blurred; the only clear thing before her was the man's face, beads of sweat tracing slow paths down his skin.
"Shao—"
The sound of her own voice surprised her. It came out soft and breathy, like a cat's purr. To a man like him, it was undeniable poison.
She squirmed in his arms. Heat pooled everywhere, and a foreign, urgent tide rose inside her.
As if on cue, Shao Yinan's expression darkened. Danger flickered behind his eyes. He drew her closer, palms against the small of her back, and Wen Yin could feel his heart hammering against her cheek, the dampness of his shirt clinging to her.
"Yin."
He said her name low. "Don't move."
If she kept going like this—if she kept testing him—he couldn't promise what would happen next.
She looked up at him through lazy, sultry lashes. The way she gazed at him made him avert his eyes for a moment. His Adam's apple bobbed once.
Foolish thing—she kissed him.
A featherlight kiss landed at the base of his throat.
Wen Yin heard him curse for the first time. "Shit."
Then the room tilted. He pinned her back against the sofa, his weight pressing her into the cushions. The dangerous glint in his eyes deepened.
"Yin, are you provoking me on purpose?" he breathed.
He knew every crooked thought that had been living in her lately. He was almost dizzy with the realization: when had he spoiled her so completely?
Her hand curled around his shirt at his neck, her lips glistening from the kiss, and she answered simply, "Yes."
He didn't answer with words. Instead he covered her with a feverish, all-consuming kiss.
His hands slid to her waist, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt. He felt the tremor under his palms—the small, involuntary shakes of a woman on the edge of losing herself. That knowledge softened his mouth and made his kisses more restrained, more gentle. He brushed away the tiny tears at the corner of her eye with a careful, practiced tenderness.
"Don't worry," he murmured in a rough voice, close to her ear. "I won't take the last step."
"I'll make it worth your while."
Those promises left her adrift, a lone boat on a choppy sea. All she could hear were his ragged breaths in her ear and the rhythm of his heart. With each motion he made, she sank a little deeper into the quicksand of him.
Somewhere in that small, overheated room their breaths braided—her soft pants and his low drawls composing a private symphony. Time blurred until finally it ended.
When it did, Wen Yin was a disheveled mess; her clothes were a rumpled heap. Shao Yinan pressed a single, quiet kiss to the corner of her mouth.
She looked at him, cheeks flushed. He lifted one corner of his mouth, his voice gravelly and magnetic as it filled the room.
"Marry me."
— —
On the eve of the launch Wen Yin arrived at the studio early. Jiu Jiu led her to the fitting room and presented what she considered her perfect creation.
A pale-blue mermaid gown with spaghetti straps, tailored to nip at the waist and flare into a carefully sculpted fishtail. It wasn't gaudy—the sequins shimmered like water, and sparse rhinestones dotted the fabric like lonely stars, catching the light and throwing it back with every movement. The dress clung to the mannequin's curves the way a tide clings to the shore, and Wen Yin found herself unexpectedly impressed.
"Not bad," she said.
Jiu Jiu's eyes lit up. She had fought the urge to squeal, bouncing slightly in place. Wen Yin's standards were notoriously brutal; to hear those words was the highest praise the designer could hope for.
"It’s all your inspiration," Jiu Jiu gushed. "Now go change—I need to see it on you."
Wen Yin picked up the gown and slipped into the dressing room. When she stepped out, Jiu Jiu fell silent, breath hitched.
Wen Yin let her hair fall loose, simple heels grounding the look. The dress, however, did everything else—its pale blue set off the porcelain tilt of her skin, the cinched waist drawn tight against her figure. Her neck was slender, her shoulders like gentle angles; the collarbones were a sculpture in white. The overall effect made Jiu Jiu want to cry with delight.
"This is exactly what I pictured," she whispered, struggling to keep her composure. "The perfect mermaid."
Jiu Jiu clapped once to contain her excitement. "Come in!"
A team of makeup artists flowed into the room at once. Jiu Jiu had called them; she wasn't about to skimp when she was showcasing her masterpiece. The stylists' faces brightened the instant they saw Wen Yin—creative sparks flying.
They decided quickly: soft, pastel makeup and a half updo with waves. For three hours they painted and shaped and set, working until every detail was immaculate.
When Wen Yin re-emerged, the transformation stole another breath. Subtle, cool-toned eyeshadow matched the gown; eyeliner was lifted just so, sharpening her gaze into something cool and distant. She looked otherworldly—more siren than human. Her hair fell in glossy waves, half pulled into a high tail, the rest spilling over one shoulder like a dark cascade against her pale skin.
"Absolutely stunning," Jiu Jiu murmured, producing a pair of shoes she'd picked out for the look. Wen Yin slid them on and became, in every sense, a delicate, untouchable sea-maiden.
"Let's go—the venue's not far," Jiu Jiu said, already made up in a simple white floor-length dress.
They reached the launch site as Wen Yin's phone buzzed. A message from Shao Yinan lit the screen:
Shao Yinan: I just finished the meeting. I'm on my way.
The text tugged her back to that night—back to the heat, the kiss, the promise.
Jiu Jiu cocked her head, puzzled. "Weren't you supposed to have your hair completely pinned up? I told Mr. Zhao to do an updo—why is half of it down?"