The early summer night breeze in Shanghai carried moisture from the Huangpu River, making the flags outside the hotel’s floor-to-ceiling windows flap noisily.
On the top floor of the Earl Hotel, the corridor was laid with thick smoke-gray carpet that absorbed all footsteps. Wall lamps cast warm yellow light onto the beige walls, illuminating a figure.
Gu Ziyao stepped out of the elevator, her nude-colored stiletto heels sinking silently into the carpet.
She raised a hand to press against her temple.
The effects of the alcohol hadn’t fully dissipated, and a dull ache throbbed at the back of her head.
She hadn’t wanted to attend tonight’s business forum cocktail party. But her company had just won the bid for an agency project in the East China region, and as the project lead, it would have been inappropriate for her not to show up.
Everyone present was a prominent figure in Shanghai’s business circle—toasting, exchanging business cards, and making polite small talk—none of which she could avoid. She had drunk three glasses of red wine and two more of champagne, her stomach burning uncomfortably, yet she still had to maintain a smile and see it through.
Fortunately, it was all over now.
She glanced down at her phone—9:47 p.m.
On the screen was a message from her assistant, saying the meeting materials for next Monday had already been sent to her email. Gu Ziyao didn’t reply, instead tucking her phone into her clutch and continuing forward.
Her room was at the end of the corridor, number 1809. She had asked the front desk to open it in advance, planning to stay directly after the drinks to avoid the hassle of going home.
The corridor was quiet, so quiet she could only hear her own breathing.
She passed one closed door after another, the room numbers increasing from 1801, 1802, and onward.
When she reached room 1807, her steps faltered.
The door wasn’t fully closed, leaving a gap about the width of a palm. Warm yellow light seeped through from inside, casting a long, slanted shadow on the carpet.
Gu Ziyao instinctively glanced in that direction.
At this hour, the door wasn’t shut?
But she didn’t dwell on it. She trusted the security of a five-star hotel—perhaps housekeeping had forgotten to close it, or maybe a guest had just stepped out for a smoke. She withdrew her gaze and lifted her foot to continue forward.
The next moment—
An arm shot out from the gap in the door, fingers clamping tightly around her wrist, yanking her inside.
The force was astonishing.
Gu Ziyao was pulled entirely into the room, her clutch flying from her hand and landing with a soft thud on the carpet. Her back collided with a scorching chest, and before she could even cry out, she was flipped around and pressed heavily against the wall.
The back of her head struck the wall with a dull thud.
The pain instantly sharpened her senses, the alcohol-induced haze completely frightened away.
Instinctively, she raised her hands to push, her palms just touching the man’s chest—
When her lips were sealed.
It was a kiss laced with the scent of alcohol and searing heat, domineering and devoid of any finesse, like a drowning person clutching at their last piece of driftwood—urgent, forceful, even carrying a hint of roughness.
Gu Ziyao’s mind went blank.
She could smell the strong scent of alcohol on him, mingled with a crisp cedar cologne. The body pressing against her was heavy, his shoulders so broad they nearly blocked all the light from above.
The man’s breath was frighteningly hot, the pressure against her lips making her ache slightly.
Once she regained her senses, Gu Ziyao pushed with all her might.
Her palms pressed against his chest, her nails almost digging into the fabric of his shirt. The man seemed unprepared for her resistance, his body swaying slightly as she forced him back half a step.
Gu Ziyao immediately dodged to the side, pressing her back tightly against the wall, her chest heaving violently. She raised her hand and wiped her lips fiercely, her eyes already red—not from wanting to cry, but from anger.
“You—”
She opened her mouth to curse, but her words caught in her throat the moment her gaze fell on the face before her.
The small light above the entrance of the room cast its glow on the man’s profile. His cold, pale skin now flushed with an abnormal redness, and a thin layer of sweat beaded on his forehead.
His features were sharp as if carved by a blade: high brow bones, a straight nose bridge, and a jawline so defined it could cut through the air. Standing at 188 centimeters tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, his suit jacket was nowhere to be seen. He wore only a dark gray shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing wrists where veins faintly protruded.
Gu Ziyao froze in place.
This face was familiar to her.
Not the kind of familiarity that came from frequent meetings, but the kind that had lingered in her mind over the past three years—appearing in fleeting, unguarded moments, refusing to fade.
Shen Junyan.
Her husband.
To be precise, her husband of three years in a secret marriage.
That afternoon three years ago, in the marriage registration hall of the Civil Affairs Bureau, he had worn an impeccably tailored black suit and signed his name on the marriage registration form without a trace of emotion. As he set down the pen, he looked up at her, his gaze as cold as if he were looking at a stranger.
“A secret marriage for three years, no interference. After three years, divorce.”
Twelve words, spoken softly, yet each one felt like a nail driven into her chest.
After that day, Shen Junyan seemed to vanish from the face of the earth. She didn’t know where he was, what he was doing, or even whether he was alive or dead. The only proof of this marriage’s existence was the deep red marriage certificate tucked away in a drawer.
Gu Ziyao had imagined their reunion before.
Perhaps at some business occasion, where she would represent her company in negotiations with the Shen Group, and he would sit across the long table, shaking her hand in a strictly professional manner. Or perhaps at the Civil Affairs Bureau, when the three-year term expired, both of them silently signing the divorce papers before going their separate ways.
But she had never imagined it would be like this—
In a hotel room, where she was passing by, only to be forcibly dragged inside by her own husband, pinned against the wall, and kissed.
Shen Junyan didn’t seem to recognize her.
He stood there, his gaze unfocused, his pupils burning like a raging fire. His breathing was rapid and heavy, his chest rising and falling violently. Two buttons of his shirt collar had been torn open by his own hands, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone and flushed skin.
He stared at Gu Ziyao for a second—there was no surprise at recognizing his wife in his eyes, no complexity from a long-awaited reunion, only a desire fueled by drugs and alcohol, bordering on uncontrollable.
The next second, he took a step forward.
Gu Ziyao instinctively retreated, but her back was already pressed firmly against the wall, leaving her with nowhere to go.
Shen Junyan reached out and gripped her wrist, his palm frighteningly hot, as if it had just been pulled from boiling water. His fingers were long and powerful, with distinct knuckles, and a faint scar marked the space between his thumb and forefinger.
He dragged her deeper into the room.
Gu Ziyao stumbled forward, her high heels slipping on the carpet. As she pitched forward, Shen Junyan seized her waist and pushed her onto the bed.
The mattress sank with a dull thud.
Gu Ziyao fell into the soft bedding, and before she could even turn over, Shen Junyan was already on top of her.
His weight pressed down, and Gu Ziyao felt as if a massive stone were crushing her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She could feel the heat from his body seeping through his shirt, scorching hot as if it would burn her.
“Let go…” Gu Ziyao’s voice trembled, her hands pushing hard against his chest in an attempt to shove him away. “Let me go!”
Shen Junyan remained silent.