“I’ve never paid for it,” Sheng Yu said coldly, his eyes sharp as ice. His voice carried a mocking edge. “I find it… dirty.”
Qin Sang’s lips twisted in a mix of humiliation and indignation. “Then why do you still want to ‘pay for me,’ Mr. Sheng? Don’t you find me dirty?”
“Dirty you?” Sheng Yu tightened his grip on her slender waist, tilting her chin up, a faint, teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes bore into hers, dark and cold. “Which part of you haven’t I kissed? And you… you liked it.”
“You—!”
Qin Sang had no patience for such words. Red with shame and anger, she raised her hand to slap him—but Sheng Yu caught her wrist and yanked her into his chest before she could react. She stumbled forward, collapsing against him.
“Miss Qin, so impatient,” Sheng Yu murmured, his voice low, casual, laced with amusement. “Already want to start?”
“Bastard! Let go of me!”
Qin Sang struggled fiercely, trying to push him away, to create distance.
“Miss Qin, you might as well save your energy,” he said, holding her tighter with one arm while the other lazily traced her cheek, flicking her earlobe in a teasing, intimate gesture. Yet his gaze remained icy, a mix of concealed rage and restrained desire. He smirked coldly, his words sharp:
“Tonight, if I don’t call it off… you’ll just have to endure it.”
The touch of his fingers was cool, teasing, making her shiver uncontrollably. Her heart raced. In panic, she struggled again, instinctively trying to push him away—but his low, impatient voice rang in her ears:
“If you really wanted… we could start now.”
He twisted her movements into a provocation.
Qin Sang froze. She didn’t dare move. The pressure radiating from him was suffocating, intimidating, and terrifyingly real—he seemed capable of anything he said.
Five years. So much had changed. People and circumstances alike.
She remembered their first meeting as if it were yesterday.
It had been the summer after her final year of high school. Her drama-streaming subscription had expired, with only the last episode left unseen. A friend mentioned that a local internet café had computers where she could watch it, so she went, skipping renewal.
That summer evening, she wore a simple white T-shirt and light jeans. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, and she carried a sun umbrella, walking into the café as the sunset painted the sky.
At the counter, she was just putting away her umbrella when a casual, mechanical male voice said: “ID, please.”
Still facing away, Qin Sang fumbled for her ID, turning to hand it over—and then her eyes met something that stunned her entire world.
Behind the counter stood Sheng Yu, wearing a plain white loose T-shirt, black hair neat and tidy, speaking to the attendant with a calm, measured composure. Even in simplicity, he seemed strikingly refined, each line of his profile perfect, as if sculpted.
He sensed her gaze and glanced up, and their eyes met unexpectedly.
So handsome.
Qin Sang had never seen anyone like him before.
He carried an innate elegance, untouchable and cold, a presence so out of place in her small hometown it made her heart pound.
She even felt her ears warm, her fingers tightening around her ID.
He gave her a fleeting, unreadable glance before sitting down behind the counter.
A frustrated attendant waiting for her ID muttered impatiently, only to be distracted by her appearance. With a laid-back grin, he said: “Miss, your ID for registration, please.”
“Oh, sorry, sorry!” Blushing, Qin Sang quickly handed over her ID, silently regretting not wearing her favorite dress instead of casual jeans.
She dared not speak to him. Even a glance at him made her nervous, shy, and awkward.
A proper, obedient girl in every way, she had never imagined romance—or even interacting with a boy like him. If Sheng Yu hadn’t pursued her later, that dazzling boy would have remained forever locked in her heart.
Now, fate had made their story one of regret.
Throughout the ride, Qin Sang, still held tightly in Sheng Yu’s arms, no longer struggled. The alcohol’s lingering effects made her dizzy, and she fought to stay conscious.
The car pulled up to a suburban Chinese-style estate. White walls, black tiles, stone carvings, pavilions, and flowing water. The architecture was majestic yet serene—classic Chinese elegance, exactly her taste.
Inside her bedroom, Sheng Yu carried her to the bed, not gently, but firmly. The sudden movement made her gasp, eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to sit up, still slightly intoxicated.
A servant returned with a bowl of hangover soup Sheng Yu had instructed to prepare in advance.
He took the bowl himself, walking to the bedside. His voice, cold as ever, sounded like a command: “Drink it, then go take a shower.”
Qin Sang, sitting on the edge of the bed, looked up at him. Her voice, small and uneasy, said: “Thanks… but I don’t need it. I already took a hangover pill earlier.”
Though her head was dizzy, instinct made her want to avoid letting him think she’d been in danger. But after saying it, she realized it didn’t matter.
She had gone to the bar with friends, only drinking soft drinks. When she discovered her things were missing, she had returned alone, confronted those ruffians, and timed her hangover pill just right to manage them.
Sheng Yu’s brows darkened.
“Already prepared?” His voice was sharp, teasing, edged with suspicion. “So practiced… so precise.”
“Huh?”
Qin Sang blinked, momentarily confused by his sudden accusation. Her brows knit slightly, tilting her head to look at him.
She was breathtaking, soft and serene, like a moonlit flower. Her peach-blossom eyes, marked with a mole below the left one, were filled with unspoken emotion. Her red lips were tempting, delicate, yet utterly innocent. Even just standing there could make anyone feel protective.
Now, flushed and slightly drunk, she tilted her head back, looking up at him.
That simple gaze melted Sheng Yu’s five years of suppressed anger and resentment. Only tenderness and relief remained.
Perhaps he had never truly hated her—only a fierce longing and regret for what had happened years ago.
Sheng Yu’s attention drifted from the soup. His hands rested on the bed edge as he leaned down and kissed her lips.
Lightly.
It was his first gentle touch that night.