5 – The Second Time
The air froze for a moment.
Wen Man quickly turned to look at herself in the mirror. The lipstick had smeared beyond her lips, staining her fair skin, making it look… as if she had done something naughty.
A flush instantly crept up to the tips of Wen Man’s ears, and her entire neck turned a deep shade of red from embarrassment.
She quickly dismissed the thought from her mind and used her fingers to wipe away the lipstick on her cheek.
Wen Yanchuan watched Wen Man’s movements and asked, “Is the event over?”
Wen Man paused, realizing that Wen Yanchuan was referring to the wrap party, and shook her head. “Not yet.”
After saying that, Wen Man seemed to feel it wasn’t enough and added, “But I don’t want to go back…”
Her dress was stained, her lipstick was smudged—it would be too embarrassing to return now.
She didn’t want to give those who disliked her a chance to laugh at her.
Wen Yanchuan looked at Wen Man’s slightly pitiful eyes and said in a low voice, “Then let’s leave.”
Wen Man shook her head again, this time answering firmly, “But leaving would be seen as acting like a diva.”
Because of the incident with Jiang Jin trending on social media, her reputation in the industry was already tarnished. Yet the person who had actually done wrong was still living a carefree life, admired by others.
Wen Man didn’t feel particularly resentful, but she had to be cautious in every situation, which felt too restrictive for her. She didn’t like it.
Especially having to put up with those people’s attitudes.
Wen Yanchuan frowned, not quite understanding the woman’s dilemma.
After all, in his view, he would never force himself to stay in an unnecessary situation.
But he respected Wen Man.
Wen Yanchuan lowered his head and asked again, “Do you need help?”
His tone was the same as the last time in Paris, but this time, Wen Man didn’t feel awkward. Instead, she felt inexplicably comforted.
Wen Man looked up at Wen Yanchuan, a faint smile curling her lips. “Mr. Wen, are you Doraemon?”
Wen Yanchuan’s brow twitched slightly, finding the title somewhat novel.
“So, do you need it?”
Wen Man glanced at the cream on her dress. Just as she was about to agree, she remembered what her assistant had said last time.
It seemed she had grown too trusting and too close to this Mr. Wen…
After all, he already had someone by his side.
At this thought, Wen Man took half a step back.
Wen Yanchuan noticed Wen Man’s movement but said nothing. He simply stood where he was, waiting for her to make her own decision.
Perhaps because her situation was too awkward, Wen Man hesitated for a moment, wondering how she could repay Wen Yanchuan’s kindness.
After a long pause, Wen Man finally asked, “How do you plan to help me, Mr. Wen?”
Wen Yanchuan didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the door, casually stopped a waiter, and instructed in a low voice, “Take this young lady to the top floor. Contact Rita to bring over a gown, and have the manager select a good vintage wine to send to this young lady’s private room.”
After saying that, Wen Yanchuan added, “Remember, only under Miss Wen’s name.”
Wen Man watched Wen Yanchuan’s series of actions, stunned and rooted to the spot.
“Mr. Wen, are you really Doraemon?”
Wen Man asked, “This doesn’t seem to be within the hotel’s service scope, does it?”
Wen Yanchuan turned to look at Wen Man, his gaze deep and intense.
“No, it’s not.”
Wen Yanchuan’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. “But this hotel belongs to me.”
Wen Man was taken aback, reminded once again of what her assistant had said to her earlier that evening. The words slipped out almost involuntarily: “I thought Mr. Wen had just entered the Chinese market?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, Wen Man felt she had been impolite. She quickly fell silent, lowering her head slightly toward Wen Yanchuan. “I’m sorry, that was presumptuous of me.”
Wen Yanchuan, however, didn’t seem to find it presumptuous at all. Instead, a faint smile touched the corners of his lips. “You know a lot about me?”
Wen Man lowered her gaze. “Who doesn’t know about Mr. Wen?”
She, in fact, did not.
But with the conversation at this point, she truly didn’t know how to respond.
Wen Yanchuan ignored her almost teasing remark and explained, “I acquired it after returning to the country.”
Wen Man didn’t reply further.
The attendant standing nearby, seeing their conversation had ended, stepped forward to guide Wen Man.
“Miss Wen, please follow me this way.”
Before leaving, Wen Man glanced back at Wen Yanchuan.
He stood there, his figure tall and straight under the dappled light. Whether it was her imagination or not, she felt that Wen Yanchuan shone brighter than the light itself.
…
The attendant led Wen Man to the elevator, taking her directly to the top floor.
As the room door opened, the interior was dimly lit. Beneath her feet was a soft cashmere carpet, and a few small lamps were embedded in the ceiling, insufficient to illuminate the vast room.
A large bed stood in the center, and the entire room was dominated by shades of gray. Beside the glass counter stood a tall wine rack filled with bottles of red wine, all of which looked exceedingly valuable.
“Miss Wen, please rest for a moment. The gown will be delivered shortly.”
Wen Man turned and called out to the attendant. “This isn’t a hotel guest room, is it?”
The attendant nodded and explained to Wen Man, “This is Mr. Wen’s private suite.”
Wen Man was stunned. Before she could react, the attendant had already closed the door.
Standing at the entrance, Wen Man suddenly felt as if she had intruded into someone else’s territory.
Carefully, she fastened the safety lock on the door, then removed her high heels and stepped barefoot onto the cashmere carpet, taking in the room.
The style of the room resembled Wen Yanchuan—deep and mysterious.
Wen Man walked over to the wine rack, which was stocked with renowned red wines from various brands, some with shockingly old vintages.
Nearby, several expensive cigars were displayed, and a faint scent of tobacco lingered in the air.
Wen Man furrowed her brows, imagining what Wen Yanchuan might look like while smoking a cigar.
In truth, she had only met Wen Yanchuan twice and didn’t even know whether he smoked.
On the black nightstand by the bed sat a scented stone diffuser. Wen Man glanced at it, recognizing the familiar scent of cedar.
She wandered around the room but eventually only dared to sit on the sofa, feeling too uneasy to move.
It wasn’t until a knock sounded at the door that Wen Man straightened her back and walked over to unfasten the safety lock.
As the door opened, a familiar, delicate fragrance wafted toward her. Wen Man paused, looking up to see Wen Yanchuan standing at the doorway, holding a gift bag in his hand, which he offered to her.
Wen Man was taken aback, not expecting it to be Wen Yanchuan. Instinctively, she took half a step back, partially closing the door to shield herself and keep Wen Yanchuan outside.
“Mr. Wen…”
Wen Yanchuan lowered his gaze slightly, immediately discerning her thoughts.
He lifted the bag in his hand slightly, his thin lips parting. “The dress.”
Wen Man didn’t reply. Instead, she slowly extended her arm through the crack in the door, took the bag, and steadied her voice. “Thank you, Mr. Wen.”
Wen Yanchuan stood there motionless, merely looking down at Wen Man with a faint remark, “It’s good to have a sense of crisis.”
Wen Man felt the air conditioning in the room was a bit too strong, her face flushed with heat in an instant, shyness creeping up to her earlobes, and a thin layer of sweat forming on her back.
Only when the door slowly closed did Wen Man feel a wave of regret, her face burning red with embarrassment.
Mr. Wen had no such intention at all—it was all in her own head!
Wen Man clenched the bag in her hand, bit her lip, and slowly took out the dress.
Inside the bag was a red velvet gown, similar in texture to the one she was wearing, with a slit from below the waist that revealed one thigh. The back featured an inverted V design, perfectly outlining the curves of Wen Man’s back.
Beneath the bag was also a gift box. Opening it, she found a brand-new bottle of perfume—the same one Wen Man had worn that day, a blend of mandrake and iris, stimulating and exhilarating yet subtly elegant.
Wen Man didn’t understand why Wen Yanchuan had given her the perfume.
She opened the door to find Wen Yanchuan leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, his gaze hazy. Through the thin haze, she watched the smoke curling from his cigarette, her fingers tightening slightly around the doorknob.
Wen Yanchuan smoked.
“Thank you, Mr. Wen. I’ll return the gown to you.”
After saying this, Wen Man felt foolish.
Who would want a gown someone else had worn, especially someone of Wen Yanchuan’s status.
Wen Yanchuan glanced at Wen Man briefly before looking away. “There are no women around me who require me to gift them gowns.”
Wen Man didn’t catch the implication of his words, merely pursed her lips and asked, “Mr. Wen, why did you give me that perfume…?”
Wen Yanchuan extinguished the cigarette and tossed it into a nearby silver trash can.
“Aren’t you still going back to the banquet?”
Wen Man was surprised—Wen Yanchuan was unexpectedly thoughtful and considerate.
Not quite like what she had heard before.
“Thank you, Mr. Wen.”
Wen Yanchuan’s gaze lingered on Wen Man’s face. He lowered his eyes slightly, watching her with a cool expression, yet Wen Man felt her earlobes burning.
“The second time,” Wen Yanchuan said.
Wen Man paused slightly. “What?”
Wen Yanchuan leaned in slightly, his eyes fixed on Wen Man’s slightly bewildered gaze, and spoke in a low voice.
“I’m a businessman. I never make deals at a loss. Verbal thanks—I don’t need them.”