The morning light crept through the curtains, Zhao Mei's mind was anything but restless.
She woke slowly, her body heavy under the silk sheets, and the first thing that hit her was the taste of him still lingering on her lips like a forbidden secret. Her cheeks warmed instantly, heat creeping up her neck as memories from last night flooded in, uninvited and vivid.
His strong hands gripping her waist, pulling her close. His mouth on hers, hot and demanding, starting slow like he was savoring every second, then turning fierce, tongues moving in a rhythm that made her knees weak. He'd kissed her like he'd been holding back a storm and finally let it loose. She'd almost given in completely, her body melting against his, heat pooling between her thighs, slick and aching for more.
A small, silly smile tugged at her lips. It felt good to remember that fire, that pull.
But then the smile faded, replaced by a sharp twist in her chest. He'd pulled away. Just like that. Left her standing there mid-kiss, body humming with want, hungry for something he'd started but didn't finish. The ache had kept her up half the night, tossing in these too-big sheets, her skin too sensitive, her thoughts too wild.
It was almost cruel. Teasing her with that taste of heaven and then slamming the door. A dull headache throbbed behind her eyes now, frustration mixing with leftover desire.
She groaned softly, pressing her palms to her forehead. "Why did he have to stop?" she muttered to the empty room.
Part of her wondered if it was all a dream, but the slight swell of her lips told her it was real. Too real.
And now what was she supposed to do with this mess of feelings bubbling inside her?
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the door at first. A soft knock pulled her back, and before she could sit up properly, Qiao Qiao slipped in, carrying a sleek black package wrapped neatly.
"Good morning, Young Madam," she said with a polite bow.
Zhao Mei pushed herself up, smoothing down her rumpled nightgown. "Good morning, Qiao Qiao."
Qiao Qiao approached and handed her the package with both hands. "Young Master Wei instructed me to deliver this to you personally. If you need anything else, please ring the bell."
Zhao Mei took it, her fingers brushing the smooth surface. "Thank you."
Qiao Qiao bowed again and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Zhao Mei stared at the box, her heart picking up speed.
Is this his way of saying sorry? Does he feel guilty for lighting that fire last night and walking away?
The thought sent a mix of hope and nervousness through her. What if it was just a polite gesture, nothing more?
But curiosity won. She carefully peeled back the wrapping and lifted the lid with trembling fingers.
Inside, nestled in soft padding, was the latest iPhone, gleaming under the morning light.
Her breath caught. She'd seen ads for it, heard people gush about its features, but holding it? This was luxury she'd never dreamed of touching. Her old phone with its cracked screen and dying battery was nothing compared to this sleek masterpiece.
Tears pricked her eyes, gratitude and excitement overwhelming her.
"He got this for me?"
Before she could think twice, joy took over. She jumped out of bed barefoot and ran down the hallway, heart pounding with pure, childlike happiness.
She had to thank him. Right now.
She didn't knock. Didn't pause to catch her breath.
In her excitement, she pushed open his bedroom door, bursting in with the box clutched to her chest.
"Wei!"
The word died on her lips.
He stood there fresh from the shower, a white towel wrapped low around his hips. Dangerously low. Clinging to his damp skin.
Time froze.
Their eyes locked. His dark gaze sharpened, surprised but unreadable. Hers widened in shock.
Then, against her will, her eyes wandered.
Down his broad shoulders, glistening with water droplets that trailed lazy paths over his sculpted chest. His abs, chiseled and defined, each ridge catching the light, dipping into that tempting V-line that disappeared beneath the towel. His arms flexed slightly as he shifted, veins standing out under his skin. Water dripped from his wet hair, a strand falling over his forehead.
Zhao Mei swallowed hard, her throat dry. Heat flooded her, straight to her core, warmth building between her thighs.
Her mind raced with thoughts she shouldn't be having. Imagining tugging that towel free. Feeling him against her again like last night, but this time without stopping.
She bit her lip, lost in the fantasy, her breath coming shallow and quick.
He snapped his fingers, sharp and commanding. "Zhao Mei."
The sound yanked her back, her face burning crimson.
"Oh! Wei, I came to…" She stammered. "Thank you! For the phone. It's amazing, really, I don't know what to say, thank you so much!"
The words tumbled out in a rush, too high, too fast. She didn't give him a chance to respond. She turned and fled, the door banging shut behind her, her heart thudding like a drum.
She slammed her own door shut, leaning against it, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her skin felt too hot, too tight, every nerve alive from that glimpse of him.
"Oh God," she whispered, hand pressing to her racing heart. "Help me. Let this fine man leave my sight before I lose my mind completely."
The image burned in her brain. His wet torso. Those abs she wanted to trace with her fingers. The towel teasing what lay beneath. Desire twisted in her belly, shameful and thrilling, making her squeeze her thighs together against the ache.
A firm knock rattled the door behind her.
Her breath hitched. Not him.
She cracked it open just enough to peek, and there he was, now dressed in a simple shirt and pants.
She slammed it shut again, panic rising.
His voice came through the wood. "Mei. Open the door. We need to talk. If you don't want to, I'll leave."
Footsteps shifted, like he meant it.
"Wait!" She yanked the door open. "You can come in."
He stepped inside, his presence filling the room. She backed away instinctively, putting distance between them.
His eyes dropped to her lips, lingering there. They were still slightly swollen from last night's kiss, tender and marked.
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. "Still feeling it?" he asked softly, voice low.
Her face flamed hotter. She couldn't answer, just looked away.
Then his expression shifted, turning serious. "About last night. It was a mistake."
The words landed like a punch, stealing her breath. Disappointment crashed over her, sharp and cold.
"I wasn't sober," he continued, his voice cool now. Detached. "And it won't happen again."
It hurt deeper than she expected. Part of her had hoped for more, for an explanation that didn't cut like this.
But she forced a small smile, hiding the ache. "It's fine."
It wasn't. Not really. But what could she say?
He nodded, pulling out the phone from the box she'd left on the bed. "I'll save my number. So you can reach me when you need to."
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice small.
He tapped quickly, then set it down. With one last glance at her lips, like he couldn't help it, he turned and left.
The door closed softly.
Zhao Mei sank onto the bed, disappointment settling like a weight in her chest. The phone felt heavier now, a reminder of what could have been but wasn't.
Across the city in a rundown motel on the outskirts of Beijing, Chen Rong paced the dingy room.
The air was thick with the stench of stale smoke and desperation. He hadn't slept in days. His eyes were bloodshot, hands trembling as he checked his phone for the hundredth time.
Accounts frozen. Cards declined. Every attempt to withdraw cash met with cold rejection, courtesy of Zhang Wei's stranglehold.
He collapsed onto the sagging bed, running a hand through his greasy hair. "How did it come to this?" he muttered, voice hoarse.
Hiding like a rat. Scraping by on cheap bread, instant ramen, beer that did nothing to dull the panic.
How long could he keep this up? A week? Two?
While his father lounged in luxury, swimming in riches built on shady deals and cutthroat ambition.
Memories flashed. His father's stern face. The lectures on power and legacy. "You're my only son," the old man had said once, pride in his eyes.
But would that save him now?
Chen Rong had screwed up. The drugged drink. The setup. The video that blew everything to hell.
If he confessed it all, would his father help? Or disown him on the spot?
He stood, staring at his reflection in the dirty mirror. Hollow cheeks. Shadowed eyes.
"I can't run forever," he whispered.
Risk it. Face him. Tell everything.
Maybe the old man would understand. Maybe he'd pull strings, get him a ticket out of the country. A fresh start somewhere far away.
Heart pounding, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "He won't abandon me. I'm his blood."
With one last glance at the room that had become his prison, he stepped out into the cold morning, heading home.
Whatever waited, forgiveness or fury, he had no choice left.
Meanwhile, in a small apartment across town, Xiao Lan sat on her bed with her phone in hand, staring at the blank screen.
Another failed call. Another day with no answer from Mei.
A tear fell down her cheek.
"Where are you, Mei ?"
She missed her so much it hurt.
They used to talk every day. Share food. Laugh at stupid things. Cry together when life got hard.
Now? Nothing.
The news said Mei had married that rich man. Lived in a big penthouse now.
But Xiao Lan didn't believe it was that simple.
Why would Mei suddenly disappear? Why no calls? No messages?
She wiped her eyes. "She's trapped," Xiao Lan whispered. "That man is keeping her like a bird in a cage."
Fear twisted in her stomach.
What if he's hurting her? What if she's scared and alone?
No one else would help Mei. Her family hated her. The world didn't care about girls like them.
Only me. I'm all she has.
Xiao Lan stood up and looked at her work uniform on the chair.
She was supposed to go to her café job today.
She didn't care anymore.
"I'm coming to find you," she said, her voice shaking but strong.
Even if she had to skip work. Even if she had to walk all the way.
She would go to that Zhang penthouse. She had to see Mei. Had to know she was safe.
Another tear fell. "Please be okay."
Back at the penthouse, the morning hummed with its usual quiet efficiency.
Maids dusted surfaces. The faint scent of fresh coffee drifted from the kitchen.
Then the elevator dinged, doors sliding open.
Out stepped Zhang Jun, Zhang Wei's younger cousin. Tall. Effortlessly handsome. A mischievous grin that could melt ice.
He'd been abroad for months, chasing adventures in Europe, but now he was back. Designer jacket. Jeans that hugged his athletic frame just right.
The maids froze mid-task, eyes widening. Whispers rippled through the hall.
"It's Young Master Jun!"
"He looks even better than before."
"Those eyes…"
Zhang Jun caught the stares and flashed his signature wink, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Missed me, ladies?" he called out, voice playful and warm, drawing giggles and blushes.
He strutted forward, feeling every bit the charming playboy he was. Fun-loving. Harmless. With no evil bone in his body, just a love for life, laughter, and a good flirt.
"Still got it," he murmured to himself, chuckling as he headed deeper into the penthouse.
Wei would roll his eyes at his antics, but that's what made it fun.
After months away, it was time to shake things up.
********