Cold sweat had already soaked through Chen Caiwen’s thin dress.
The glance Ye Mochen had just given her carried no emotion, yet it froze her blood. It was the indifferent gaze of a predator at the top of the food chain, the same way one might ignore a pebble on the roadside.
“Caiwen, what are you looking at? Lost your soul there?”
Director Li finally leaned closer, his thick hand subtly trying to brush her waist. The stale smell of smoke and alcohol emanating from him made her stomach churn.
Snapping back to herself, Chen Caiwen instinctively turned aside, dodging his touch, and forced a stiff smile onto her face: “Nothing, Director Li. I thought I saw an acquaintance just now… my mistake.”
Her mind was still buzzing. Once the tide of fear receded, an even more unbelievable thought surfaced:
Ye Mochen… has a woman in his arms!
She struggled to recall, but in that fleeting glimpse, all she had seen was a patch of pale neck and the top of soft hair.
Who was that woman? Why was she being held by Ye Mochen?
The man—possessive to a pathological degree, obsessive to the point of driving others mad—wasn’t supposed to be hers alone? Why was he touching another woman?
A ridiculous, betrayed anger flared in her chest, momentarily overpowering her fear.
But then…
Chen Caiwen quickly calmed herself.
She knew Ye Mochen too well.
That man was a lunatic, unpredictable, ruthless, prone to sudden outbursts.
Which normal woman could endure him?
Thinking this, she curled her lips into a disdainful smile.
It didn’t matter who the woman was—just another unworldly victim.
Soon enough, she would experience his suffocating control and volatile temper firsthand.
And then, she would tremble and fear, just as she once had, longing to escape.
Let her wait.
There was no woman in the world who could truly endure Ye Mochen!
Chen Caiwen’s jealousy and resentment quickly turned into a perverse sense of satisfaction.
She even thought with a hint of schadenfreude: let that woman taste the hardship I once endured.
“Director Li, didn’t we say we were going downstairs for a drink?”
Turning toward him, she linked her arm with his, her practiced, flirtatious smile firmly in place.
She had chosen her own path, and she would walk it.
And the impudent woman? Let the lunatic torment her.
…
The Rolls-Royce smoothly drove out of the underground garage. Silence filled the cabin, broken only by the subtle hum of the engine.
Outside, the passing lights brushed over Ye Mochen’s sharply defined profile, giving him an almost aloof glow.
Ran Weiyi, having worn heels all day, felt waves of soreness creeping up her feet.
Quietly, she kicked off her shoes, curling her toes to stretch, but the fatigue remained.
Frowning, she bent down in the dim light, reaching to massage her own feet.
“Don’t move,” Ye Mochen’s voice came from beside her.
Startled, she barely reacted before he leaned down.
His long, knuckled hands held her ankles—without a hint of desire, only pure, protective care.
With the other hand, he slipped off her remaining heel, casually tossing it aside.
“You…” she started, but her words were cut off.
Ye Mochen didn’t speak. He lifted both her feet and rested them on his legs, clad in crisp, tailored trousers.
The expensive fabric accentuated the pale elegance of her feet.
Ran Weiyi felt her cheeks warm. She tried to withdraw her feet, but he held them firmly.
His thumbs pressed warmly against the sore spots on her soles, neither too hard nor too soft, exactly where the pain was most intense. A wave of heat traveled from her feet up her legs, reaching her chest.
She froze.
Ye Mochen’s movements were focused, meticulous, as though tending to something incredibly important. His long lashes cast shadows under his eyes, his expression completely serious.
The hands that had once orchestrated storms in the business world now tenderly massaged her feet. Ran Weiyi’s heart responded to his touch with a fluttering warmth.
Leaning back into the soft seat, she closed her eyes, lazily enjoying this top-tier care.
After a while, his voice sounded again, carrying a subtle command:
“Go throw these shoes away.”
Ran Weiyi simply smiled obediently and nodded.
“Yes.” Back at the estate, Ye Mochen didn’t give her a chance to step out. As soon as the car door opened, he had circled around, lifting her in his arms horizontally.
Strong yet natural, Ran Weiyi instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. One heel fell onto the carpet, the other dangling precariously. He didn’t glance at them, carrying her straight through the grand foyer.
The living room was brightly lit, servants standing at attention, eyes forward, the space silent enough to hear a pin drop.
Ye Mochen gently placed her on the soft leather sofa; the dangling heel slipped off and he casually kicked it aside as if it were inconsequential trash.
Without standing, he knelt on one knee before her, his expensive suit trousers pressing against the cold marble.
A servant promptly presented a tray with three pairs of brand-new soft slippers: pink bunnies, pale yellow ducklings, and gray cats.
Ye Mochen glanced once, dismissing the servant with a wave.
He personally picked up the pink bunny slippers. In his large, knuckled hands, the somewhat silly footwear seemed to gain a surreal dignity.
Ran Weiyi watched him, the man known for decisiveness and ruthlessness, now earnestly studying a pair of bunny slippers. She almost laughed.
He held her delicate ankle, the coarse calluses on his palm contrasting with her soft skin, the warmth making her heart skip.
Carefully, he slid the slippers onto her feet, adjusting them so they were fully wrapped, the gesture brimming with care.
Ran Weiyi lowered her gaze, seeing the striking red of his hair—a softness in stark contrast to his usual icy aura.
Chen Caiwen called him a madman.
She thought, Chen Caiwen could never imagine a “madman” kneeling before another woman just to put on her comfortable slippers.
Once done, he looked up; his deep eyes, devoid of the usual coldness toward outsiders, reflected only her.
“Does it still hurt?” His voice was low, slightly husky.
Shaking her head, she offered a soft smile: “No, it doesn’t.”
Seeing her bright, happy face, he finally rose, taking her hand and guiding her to the bedroom.