If he took advantage of her like this, Xiaoshu Jing would never see him as anything more than a lecher—someone beneath respect. They’d be done for life. But the urge to possess her, to make her his, roared so loud inside him he could hardly breathe.
“You’re mine,” he had rehearsed that line in his head a thousand times. Every time it reached his lips, though, he swallowed it back down.
“I’ll fight the company for your share—another five percent on top,” he said instead.
Xiao Shujing froze. “…You pity me?”
“Don’t you need it?” he answered, blunt and gentle at once.
She hesitated and then, without arguing, admitted, “I do.”
She needed it desperately. Her brother was an endless drain—money gone with no trace and no vices to blame. Ever since they’d moved into the luxury home, everyone at home stopped working; even distant relatives seemed to think they had a free meal. Refusing now would be suicide. Even if it felt wrong to stoop so low, she had to play the game.
This was the entertainment world’s rule: to survive you clung to power, you took the money and produced results. No questions.
“Don’t mess this up,” Su Minghan said, voice soft but firm. “Rest for half an hour. I’ll pick you up for rehearsal. Tonight’s fountain banquet has to be perfect.”
He said it like an order in a whisper. When he loosened his hold and opened the door, his warmth and the faint trace of his cologne lingered in the air. Xiao Shujing pressed herself against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, stunned and tense.
She was grateful to Su Minghan, but a bell kept ringing in her head, warning her to keep her distance—one wrong move and there’d be no climbing out.
Su found his assistant and led him up to the private rooftop terrace on the second floor.
“I just called Jingyu,” Shen Ximan said, shaking her head with a helpless smile. “He didn’t pick up.”
“He wouldn’t,” she added as if stating the obvious.
“How do you know?” Su asked, incredulous.
“We broke up.” She hung her lashes and looked small. “He—his grandfather pressured him at first. But then he signed the papers himself. The divorce—he signed it.”
“He’s not that kind of person. I know him.” Su was surprised.
“He’s not the problem. I owe him a lot. Maybe that’s why he was so decisive… I pushed him into choosing this.” Guilt softened her voice. Shen Ximan replayed every expression, every movement of Bo Jingyu in her head—none of it seemed staged. It had been raw, utterly sincere.
Seeing her so defeated, Su rubbed his chin, thinking, then surprised her. “I have a villa. Stay there for a while.”
She waved him off quickly. “No, don’t drag you into this.”
“My friends’ problems are my problems.” He brushed off her concern. “He’s been stubborn—probably said things in the moment that made you feel guilty. But he’s actually very sensitive. Try to understand him.”
Shen pictured Bo Jingyu’s face and the way he’d behaved and softened. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Su carried on without waiting for an answer, already scheming out loud. “I’ll arrange for someone to get you out quietly tomorrow. There’s a village called Huazhi Lake not far from where Jingyu will be—I'll engineer an accidental meeting so you two can talk it out in person.”
He planned the whole thing like it was a weekend picnic, completely unconcerned whether she agreed. It was the kind of straightforward thoughtfulness that made her feel less alone.
She watched him and laughed when he clammed up about her scar. “Don’t smirk like that. I’m not discriminating against your scar—I’m just… nervous.”
He hunched his shoulders and muttered like a child, and the terrace filled with her laughter.
Su crossed his legs and rested his cheek on his hand, peering down over the railing. “It’s starting.”
She followed his gaze. The red carpet that had been hastily rolled up earlier was being smoothed out again, fountains sighing into life. Xiao Shujing drifted down the carpet in a white gown.
“This haute couture is from Ahairei—designed by the famed Karima,” Su narrated, professional and pleased. “The dresses you’ve worn before were from Karima’s protégés. The company’s clearly aiming to dominate the couture market with this campaign; they signed Xiaoshu Jing to represent the line.”
“Ahairei? I keep hearing that brand everywhere,” Shen said, frowning like someone unfamiliar with the scene.
“Guess how much this gown sold for,” Su prompted.
Her eyes widened. “A million?”
He wagged a finger. “Three hundred million yuan. And that’s not even counting the appearance fee.”
She made a face. “That CEO must be insane.”
“He’s wealthy—and very secretive.” Su sipped his wine. “Only the regular staff and a few managers are ever seen. The president—no one’s met him. No apparent secretary either. Very mysterious.”
“You’ll meet him sooner or later,” Shen said with a private smile.
The music swelled as the orchestra moved in. Su’s eyes, however, were fixed on Xiaoshu Jing below; he didn’t even hear Shen’s remark.
Back at the Bo residence, Bo Siming dragged off his shoes and craned his neck toward the back yard. Bo Jingyu was still on his knees, unmoving.
“You just got back, or are you heading out?” Bo Yanhai snapped from the dining room, face sour.
“Sorry, Grandpa,” Bo Siming answered. “A few directors called last night—stock issues. I had to deal with them, so I got held up.”
He stepped forward, owning his mistake.
“Bah! You worry too much about the company these days,” the old man grumbled. “If you don’t know something, ask the directors. I’m retired now—old and useless!” Bo Yanhai complained, all the melancholy of age on his features.
Siming bristled inwardly; he felt slighted that the old man still kept his distance as if he weren’t the closest heir.
“Understood, Grandfather.” He sat as ordered. “Eat, then come with me to a meeting.”
“Mm.” The exchange lasted ten minutes. Nobody so much as glanced at Bo Jingyu.
Only Yan Ming felt pity. When the others were distracted, he slipped a small lunchbox, barely palm-sized, out to the yard and scurried over.
“Second Young Master, please—eat something,” Yan Ming urged gently.
Bo Jingyu’s face was ashen; he shook his head weakly. “Don’t… bother. If Grandfather sees me he’ll punish you.”
Yan Ming watched his stubbornness and sighed, leaving the lunch beside him. “I’ll leave it here. Remember to eat.”
Dawn climbed higher and the heat climbed with it. Sweat darkened the wisps of hair at Bo Jingyu’s forehead, but he kept kneeling, knees numb and swollen from hours of immobility, barely feeling the ache anymore.