The woman on the bed showed no reaction. Alcohol had pulled her into a deep sleep. She lay face-down, her clothes and skirt crushed into wrinkles beneath her body. Her jet-black hair spilled loosely over her shoulders and the quilt. The room was dimly lit, and in the low light, her fair skin looked smooth and luminous, like jade.

Zhou Yang’s fingers traced her face, moving back and forth like he was playing a piano.

“I thought Shen He could hold out a little longer,” he murmured with a faint chuckle. “Didn’t expect…”

His smile widened, satisfied. His fingertip slid back to her lips, rubbing and pressing lightly. “Is this fate helping me out? Hmm?”

He bent down, thin lips nearing Su Hao’s. Their breaths mingled. There was a faint scent of alcohol on her—red wine, sweet and mellow. Just as his lips were about to touch hers—

Zhou Yang’s eyes narrowed. His hand slid to her neck, about to close around it.

At that very moment, Su Hao suddenly turned over in her sleep and, as if dreaming, swung her arm hard.

Smack.

The sound echoed sharply in the room.

It landed squarely on the other side of his face.

Zhou Yang froze mid-motion, instinctively holding his breath. He stared tensely at the woman on the bed.

After slapping him, Su Hao rolled over again, reached for another pillow, and hugged it into her arms. The bedroom fell silent once more.

That slap had been solid.

Zhou Yang pressed his tongue against his cheek and tasted iron. He tilted his head, wiped at the corner of his mouth, and laughed despite himself—there was blood.

“Pretty fierce.”

He bent down and looked at the sleeping woman. Sliding his hand under the blanket, he caught her wrist. Her nails were neatly trimmed, though just long enough to scratch.

Zhou Yang lowered his head and lightly bit her finger. Only then did he tuck the blanket back around her, rub his bruised lips, and leave the room.

As soon as he stepped out, the elevator doors opened. Assistant Lu came up carrying several documents. Seeing Zhou Yang emerge from Room 1802, he froze. Then he noticed the blood at the corner of Zhou Yang’s mouth and the clear slap mark on his face.

“Mr. Zhou…” he stammered.

“Did you bring them?” Zhou Yang reached out, took the files, and flipped through them on the spot.

Assistant Lu glanced again at the closed door behind him. What did President Zhou do this time? And judging by his unmistakably pleased expression—had he done something bad?

Oh my god.

Zhou Yang pulled out a motor design blueprint, shoved the rest back into Lu’s hands, and said, “Go get some rest.”

With that, he took out his room key and swiped into Room 1801.

Assistant Lu hesitated, then thick-skinnedly followed and lowered his voice. “President Zhou, you and Miss Su are friends now.”

“And… you should be careful. She might avoid you again.”

Before he could finish, Zhou Yang cracked the door open and shot him a cold look.

Assistant Lu pushed up his glasses, looked straight ahead, and turned around to leave.

A second later, Zhou Yang snorted.

Assistant Lu heard it—but pretended he hadn’t—and stepped into the elevator.

Su Hao slept until morning without waking once. Her dreams were chaotic, filled with fragments of the past—Zhou Yang, her father, her mother, even Tang Rui—flashing by like scenes in a reel.

When she woke, she sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, dazed and empty-headed.

Only when her alarm rang did she get up and head into the bathroom. She’d sweated and drunk alcohol the night before; her clothes were wrinkled beyond saving.

After changing into jeans and a top, she washed her hair as well. Once it was dry, she left the room. The moment she opened the door, the door next door opened too.

Zhou Yang stepped out in a dress shirt and slacks. When he saw her, he raised an eyebrow. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Su Hao replied.

They walked toward the elevator together.

Hands in his pockets, Zhou Yang asked casually, “What time did you get back last night?”

Su Hao thought for a moment. “Don’t remember. Maybe around nine.”

“Did you drink?”

“A little. The wine you gave me.”

“Oh?”

The elevator arrived. Zhou Yang held the door and smiled. “Ladies first.”

She stepped in without ceremony—and suddenly noticed a faint mark on his cheek, like a slap. She looked twice.

A woman did that?

Zhou Yang caught her gaze and curled his lips. “What are you looking at?”

She cleared her throat and looked away.

“Want a closer look?” He tilted his head and tapped his cheek. “A woman hit me. Pretty hard, don’t you think?”

He leaned in slightly, his shirt collar loose. Su Hao caught a glimpse of his collarbone and quickly looked up again. There was a scratch mark near the corner of his lips.

She pressed her lips together. “It was pretty hard. What did you do?”

Zhou Yang turned to her. They were standing quite close now. His narrow eyes gleamed with amusement. “Guess.”

She took two steps back. “Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been anything good.”

“Oh?” he teased. “You know me that well?”

Though he sounded light, Su Hao noticed how good his mood was—like someone who’d just confessed and been accepted.

Is he in love? she wondered.

At the hotel entrance, Assistant Lu was already waiting with the car. Just as they were about to get into the Bentley, a black Mercedes pulled up. The window rolled down, and Shen He leaned out.

“Morning, Brother Zhou. Morning, Haohao.”

Their steps paused.

Su Hao smiled. “Why are you here?”

“To take you to work,” Shen He said, opening the passenger door. “Get in. Rare chance I get to drive you.”

She hesitated. Seeing the forced cheer in his eyes, remembering his hesitation the night before, she wondered how long he could keep pretending.

In the end, she decided to act like nothing was wrong. Smiling, she walked over and got into the passenger seat.

Ahead, Zhou Yang stood by his car door, watching. The Mercedes backed up. Shen He waved at him; Su Hao waved too.

The smile vanished from Zhou Yang’s face, leaving only cold indifference.

Assistant Lu didn’t dare say a word.

He sat quietly in the car.

A moment later, the door slammed shut. Zhou Yang stepped aside, took out a cigarette, and held it between his lips without lighting it. A trace of hostility crept into his brows.

He’d had enough.

Later that day, Zhou Yang drove the Bentley up to the surface and saw the familiar black car parked at the entrance of Feijie. It wasn’t even quitting time yet.

He hit the accelerator and brushed straight past the Mercedes.

The screech of metal startled Shen He inside the car—and the security guards outside.

Two luxury cars were left with long, ugly scratches.

Shen He got out and walked over, knocking on the Bentley’s window. It rolled down. Zhou Yang leaned back, lifted his eyes, and after a few seconds smiled.

“Waiting for Su Hao?”

Shen He stood there.

Only now did he sense the sharpness radiating from the man in the car. He nodded. “Yes.”

“Brother Zhou, how exactly are you driving?”

“Like this.”

Zhou Yang pushed the door open and stepped out. Tall and relaxed, he leaned against the door lazily. His expression looked careless—but his eyes were unmistakably threatening.

Shen He straightened unconsciously.

The two men faced each other in silence.

The air crackled with tension.

Smoke and sparks filled the space between them.

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