Jiang Wanju had no idea just how special his definition of “special” really was.
Chen Zhouren called room service a second time—asking for clean ice and hot water.
The ice came in a transparent glass cup—small, neat cubes, delicate and refined.
The hot water was brought in a kettle, along with a cup.
There were also cool peppermint candies.
This hotel didn’t prohibit smoking.
Chen Zhouren lit a cigarette and asked,
“Wanna try again?”
Jiang Wanju took it from him.
She had actually already learned how to smoke, but she wasn’t addicted.
She didn’t usually carry cigarettes with her, and she still didn’t really see the appeal of tobacco.
She could take it or leave it.
She held the cigarette between her lips, and Chen Zhouren lit it for her.
She took a drag, narrowed her eyes, and watched him as she exhaled slowly.
Chen Zhouren didn’t pour the water into the cup.
Instead, he poured it carefully onto a neatly folded hot towel, letting the steam rise thick into the air.
Jiang Wanju leaned lightly against the bed frame, still unsure what he was doing.
There was a hint of confusion in her expression.
The boiling water soaked through the towel, turning it into a steaming cloud.
Chen Zhouren walked to her side of the bed.
Jiang Wanju turned slightly and tapped the ash off her cigarette.
Chen Zhouren spread her legs apart.
She didn’t say anything—just gave him a quick, taunting smile.
But when he leaned down and kissed her, that smile disappeared.
At first, she grabbed his hair to push him away.
But as time passed, she pulled him closer instead, wanting more.
That’s when he pulled back.
Chen Zhouren knelt at her bedside and kissed her again.
Jiang Wanju had just taken a deep drag from the cigarette and hadn’t yet exhaled.
She had no time to dodge.
Caught in the moment, she froze, embarrassed and dazed.
But Chen Zhouren was in no rush.
He sealed his lips over hers and slowly coaxed the acrid smoke from her mouth into his.
Jiang Wanju had always found cigarette smoke filthy.
But he didn’t see it that way.
He cupped her shoulders, pressing in close.
He wanted her to taste the saltiness on his lips—the smoke, the heat, and everything broken in between.
Jiang Wanju nearly fainted from how deeply he kissed her.
In a haze, she watched him get up and return with the steaming towel.
She set her half-smoked cigarette down beside the ashtray, squinting at him.
“I already took off my makeup.”
And really—who uses a hot towel to remove makeup?
Chen Zhouren smiled low and deep, touching the towel to test the temperature.
“I’m not wiping off your makeup,” he said. “I’m wiping you off.”
Jiang Wanju hadn’t yet processed what that meant—
But with one long step, he was already on top of her.
The towel’s warmth and textured surface brought a rush of sensation.
As it pressed against her skin, she gasped sharply and reached out to smack him.
But he caught her hand mid-air.
He raised a brow slightly, eyes gleaming with amusement.
“Someone needs to be taught a lesson.”
No matter how she struggled, Jiang Wanju couldn’t break free.
The heat made her head spin.
Her eyelids fluttered half-open, and through the haze she could see him restraining her arms and legs.
He wore a black shirt.
The scent on him was clean and subtle—strangely inviting.
He asked,
“What are you running from?”
The steam rose around them, leaving nerves tingling and limbs utterly relaxed.
Jiang Wanju gave a soft cry.
Chen Zhouren pressed his hand to the back of her head and kissed her again.
The lack of air became overwhelming.
Jiang Wanju’s vision began to blur.
She teetered on the edge of passing out before he finally let go, allowing her to breathe again.
She gulped in air, still lying on her back.
She could feel the warmth retreating from her skin as he removed the towel.
It felt like being rescued.
Jiang Wanju pushed herself up on one arm and grabbed the cigarette she hadn’t finished.
She took a hard drag—
The glowing embers flared to life.
She trembled as she smoked a few more times—until a hand reached out, took the cigarette from her, and snuffed it out in the ashtray.
“Smoking’s bad for your health,” he said.
Jiang Wanju looked up.
Chen Zhouren was holding her chin, his thumb stroking her cheek.
Then he leaned down and fed her a mint candy from his mouth.
It was cool and refreshing.
She held it on her tongue and slowly tasted it.
Then he offered her a sip of water from the cup—ice-cold.
A few cubes clinked and swirled in the glass.
The chill made her shiver.
Before she could fully recover, he tilted his head back and popped the last remaining ice cubes into his mouth.
After placing the cup on the table, Chen Zhouren leaned over her once more.
Jiang Wanju resisted.
Unfortunately, the more she struggled, the more it excited him.
He liked her most when she was stubborn, disobedient, and difficult—
So he pinned her down all over again.
After several rounds of relentless pressure, Jiang Wanju finally gave in.
She softened and pleaded for mercy.
Chen Zhouren looked down at Jiang Wanju, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Isn’t it about time you repaid me?”
Jiang Wanju had long known that Chen Zhouren wasn’t someone with good intentions.
He was the kind of man who would lend you an umbrella on a rainy day—then, once the skies cleared, skin you alive, pick you apart, and leave nothing behind.
The “repayment” Chen Zhouren wanted was indeed shameless.
But Jiang Wanju had no strength left in her.
She’d already been thoroughly dismantled, inside and out.
Just before bed, he tried to give her water again.
Haunted by what had happened earlier, she stubbornly refused.
Chen Zhouren chuckled softly, “It’s warm water. Nothing else.”
Only then did Jiang Wanju slowly drink it down, soothing her parched throat.
She fell asleep resting on Chen Zhouren’s arm.
When she woke up, he was gone.
But on the table, there was breakfast—and a note he’d left behind, with his name and phone number.
His handwriting was bold and careless.
Jiang Wanju got out of bed and drank the still-warm coffee.
Once she was done, she crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it into the trash without hesitation.
The next two days remained busy.
Her throat hurt, so she bought medicine and kept drinking throat-soothing syrup.
Her job required talking, but thanks to Chen Zhouren, her voice had been strained and hoarse for days.
Still, it didn’t affect her performance.
The final business dinner was again hosted by the mall’s representatives.
Everything went smoothly, and the director was pleased.
Noticing Jiang Wanju’s throat discomfort, he didn’t force her to drink.
When it came time to socialize and network, the director didn’t take Jiang Wanju along either.
Had it been the old Jiang Wanju, she would’ve insisted on joining.
But the current her knew better than to push herself.
Health came first.
With a sore throat, it was best to speak less—and saying less meant fewer chances of slipping up.
She sat alone at the round table, quietly eating her steamed mandarin fish.
Loud chatter buzzed at her ears.
She looked up and saw a crowd gathered around Chen Zhouren.
Jiang Wanju had no intention of going over to greet him.
She was seated in an out-of-the-way spot; no one would notice an intern anyway.
While they drank and bantered, she enjoyed a quiet, solitary meal—no toasts, no greetings, just peace.
Afterward, Jiang Wanju planned to head straight back to her room to rest.
Their flight back to Beijing was scheduled for the next afternoon.
But just then, the director called her back, saying he’d left something behind and asked her to go retrieve it.
Jiang Wanju did as told, heading back to the meeting room from earlier that day.
It was already late.
The room was empty and dimly lit—no lights on.
She groped around in the dark, trying to find the switch, but couldn’t locate it.
Frowning in confusion, she kept searching—
Until her hand suddenly touched something warm.
Startled, Jiang Wanju almost screamed—
At that moment, the lights snapped on.
Chen Zhouren had turned them on.
He was still dressed in the same suit from the banquet, hadn’t changed.
He smiled at her and said,
“Sore throat, and you still ate so much fish tonight? Aren’t you worried you’ll get a bone stuck?”
Jiang Wanju turned away and replied,
“Whether I choke or not—what’s it got to do with you?”
“How does it not?” Chen Zhouren smiled.
“Don’t you get what I want?”
Jiang Wanju glanced around the conference room, trying to remember where the director had sat, searching for the misplaced document.
“President Chen,” she said flatly, “you’re far too busy for someone like me to understand what’s on your mind.”
Chen Zhouren let out a sigh.
He said,
“Jiang Wanju.”
It was the first time he’d called her by her full name—slow and deliberate.
“We’re a good match.”
Jiang Wanju said nothing.
She methodically searched table by table.
Her foot accidentally kicked a wooden chair.
She winced in pain but didn’t make a sound.
Chen Zhouren’s voice echoed steadily in the empty room:
“Be with me.”