Qin Sang felt her racing heart unexpectedly calm at the sight of Sheng Yu’s outstretched hand. She took a hesitant step toward him and stopped, but didn’t place her hand in his palm. Instead, she kept a polite, distant tone.
“Thank you,” she said.
She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, so she let her eyes drop and added, in a small, careful voice: “Thank you, Mr. Sheng, for getting me out of that situation…”
Sheng Yu’s hand hovered in midair, his expression unreadable. He simply watched her fidget nervously in front of him.
When he still didn’t speak, Qin Sang felt the weight of his gaze like ice pressing against her chest. On impulse, she raised her head and looked at him, unconsciously clenching her fists, before continuing, “It’s about lunch time… have you eaten, Mr. Sheng? I… I’d like to treat you to a meal.”
One “Mr. Sheng” after another—it sounded as distant and formal as possible.
Sheng Yu stepped closer. His tall, imposing figure cast a shadow over her, and his expression darkened as he asked, “You want to thank me with a meal?”
So close, the pressure radiating from him was almost suffocating. Qin Sang pressed her lips together nervously, glancing up at him as she asked softly, “Is that… okay?”
She tilted her head, long lashes blinking, like a tiny fawn caught in a trap, trembling at the mercy of a hunter. Her careful, tentative demeanor seemed reserved only for him.
Sheng Yu’s chest tightened, as if someone had crushed his heart in a vice. The icy weight in his gaze plummeted. Without hesitation, he grabbed her wrist firmly, cold and unyielding:
“Let’s try a different approach.”
“Huh?!”
Before she could react, Sheng Yu’s grip pulled her forward, and in one motion, he ushered her into the private elevator.
Ye Huai and the bodyguard, Hei Ying, didn’t follow. Ye Huai shot a knowing glance at the surveillance cameras, then at Hei Ying.
Hei Ying understood immediately: “The moment Sheng came over, the cameras here were already cut.”
Any news that escaped to the public had already been filtered by capital—otherwise it would never make the headlines.
This time, it wasn’t about covering for Sheng Yu’s mischief. Ye Huai knew just how special Qin Sang was to him and wanted to eliminate any chance of gossip.
Inside the elevator, Qin Sang’s wrist throbbed under his grip. She frowned, trying to pull free. “Mr. Sheng… you’re hurting me… ah!”
As she struggled, Sheng Yu pressed her lightly against the elevator wall, her back bumping the panel with a sharp gasp.
He twisted her wrist above her head and planted his other hand on the wall, trapping her against him and the small space of the elevator. His expression was fierce, almost carved with anger.
“Are you only ever a little monster in front of me? Always stretching your sharp claws at me, repeatedly throwing yourself into danger? In just three days since our reunion, you’ve already put yourself in danger twice.”
He suddenly gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, his voice laced with anger and disbelief.
“It was you who walked away back then, yet now you act as if I wronged you!”
His strength was overwhelming. Qin Sang’s wrist hurt, her jaw ached, and under the sharp, furious gaze, she felt the weight of unspoken grievances.
Since leaving him, her life had been a struggle. She had fought the world with everything she had, only to end up battered and bruised.
Sometimes, late at night, she thought of seeking him—but there he was, untouchable, appearing in financial news and social headlines.
And she… what right did she have?
Right to a life of ruin?
Sheng Yu saw her silent, reddening eyes, and for a moment, it was like throwing a punch into a pillow: powerless and frustrated.
She had the ability to wound him deeply without saying a word—just a single look could shred his heart.
It had always been this way, and now even more so.
Sheng Yu exhaled, the fury in him softening. He released her hand, leaned down, and gently brushed the corner of her reddened eye. His voice softened several degrees:
“Why would you rather put yourself in danger than come to me?”
“Sang Sang,” he said tenderly, using the name he’d kept locked in his heart all these years, a name that had once only lived in his dreams.
He was like a tempest, unhinged by her reaction, yet disarmed by a single glance.
Qin Sang stared into his eyes, sensing the raw, intense emotion there—so passionate it burned, so intoxicating it made her pulse quicken. She felt herself inching toward surrender.
Ding—
The elevator doors opened. Snapped back to reality, Qin Sang panicked. She bolted, wanting to escape.
Sheng Yu, however, draped his coat over her shoulders, then swept her up in a powerful embrace.
“Sheng Yu! Put me down!”
Blinded by the coat, Qin Sang instinctively grabbed his arm, struggling, but Sheng Yu’s voice, casual yet threatening, stopped her:
“Keep it up if you want tomorrow’s headlines to feature us together.”
Frustrated, flustered, and utterly helpless, Qin Sang was carried into the black Bentley. Only then did Sheng Yu remove the coat from her.
Finally able to see, she glared at him, exasperated: “Mr. Sheng, aren’t you worried your wife will get angry seeing us like this?”
“My wife?”
Sheng Yu tilted his head, brow raised, then said seriously:
“My wife slept with me five years ago and ran off without a word. We just reunited.”
Qin Sang blinked, momentarily thinking he was teasing her, then added with mild embarrassment:
“I meant Miss Wen… that day, leaving your house, I saw her with your child, just back from shopping. And you…”
“What nonsense are you talking?” Sheng Yu cut in sharply. “You mean Wen Li?”
Yes, Qin Sang had seen Wen Li bring Zhizhi to the villa when she left—but she hadn’t known if Sheng Yu was aware.
“Yes, Wen Li.” Qin Sang leaned against the car door, keeping distance, her tone neutral. “Back then, I knew about your engagement. I thought your wedding would be grand, romantic… but it turns out you were secretly married.”
Even Ye Huai in the front seat turned, startled and confused.
Sheng Yu frowned, frustrated, clarifying:
“I wasn’t married. Besides you, I’ve never had any engagement with anyone.”
Qin Sang, still unsure of his tone, asked: “Then what about Wen Li?”
“She’s a friend’s sister. There was never anything ambiguous between us.”
“And the child I saw?” Qin Sang pressed.
“That child belongs to Zhang Qiao,” Sheng Yu explained.
Qin Sang froze. “Zhang Qiao?”
“Her parents passed away,” Sheng Yu said. “I took the child in and raised her.”
Realization struck Qin Sang. She quickly apologized: “I… I’m sorry.”
She remembered Zhang Qiao—her first encounter, the boy who had asked for her ID to register—but hadn’t realized what had happened since then.
Sheng Yu tilted his head, watching her. Her words made him pause. Slowly, he reached up and smoothed the strands of hair messed by the coat, stroking her head like one would a cat.
“So… anything else you want to ask?”