Ever since that day in the library, Arthur felt as if he were walking on air. Though Shen Yanci remained his usual cold, strictly-business self hardly granting him a second glance during meetings, Arthur was confident.
He kept the phone number, and he’s keeping it close to his chest!
What was that called? A major breakthrough. A dawn on the horizon. He waited gleefully for several days, expecting a text even a single period would have sufficed. Instead, his phone remained as silent as a stone; aside from the mass-sent royal schedules, there was absolutely nothing.
Arthur’s excitement began to deflate. Is this “closet flirt” planning to treat that number as an heirloom to be enshrined?
Fortunately, the cooperation project was progressing smoothly. The teams decided to hold an informal business dinner at a top members-only restaurant in London to celebrate their milestone. Seeing the invitation, Arthur’s eyes lit up again.
Hehe, a god-given opportunity!
On the night of the gala, Arthur dressed meticulously. He wore a perfectly tailored white velvet suit, the fabric shimmering softly under the lights, making him look as refined and beautiful as a polished pearl. His hair was carefully styled, with a few rebellious curls left to fall over his forehead for a touch of casual nonchalance.
He arrived earlier than the appointed time. When he realized Shen Yanci hadn’t arrived yet, he felt a small pang of disappointment but quickly rallied. He socialized elegantly with the executives already present, perfectly playing the role of the royal representative. However, his peripheral vision kept darting toward the entrance.
Finally, that familiar tall figure appeared.
Shen Yanci was in his eternal black suit, though his tie was now a deep navy, making his aura seem even colder. The temperature in the restaurant seemed to drop two degrees the moment he entered. He greeted the hosts, his gaze sweeping the room; it paused for a half-second upon seeing Arthur before indifferently moving on as he walked toward his seat.
By coincidence or rather, Arthur’s careful “arrangement” their seats were diagonally opposite each other. The dinner began formally, with courses served one by one. The conversation revolved around the project, market prospects, and Anglo-Chinese cultural exchange. Shen Yanci spoke little, but every word was precise. He was the epitome of a top-tier business elite.
Arthur was also impeccable, conversing fluently and cracking occasional jokes to lighten the mood. But beneath the tablecloth, a completely different scene was unfolding.
Midway through the meal, Arthur “accidentally” dropped his napkin. “Oops,” he whispered, leaning down naturally to retrieve it. In that moment, his right foot clad in a polished Oxford “inadvertently” brushed against Shen Yanci’s calf.
Shen Yanci’s hand, holding his cutlery, faltered almost imperceptibly. He looked up at Arthur. Arthur sat back up, looking at him with pure innocence, even raising his glass with a smile as if the contact were a mere accident.
Shen Yanci’s gaze was deep. He said nothing, lowered his eyes, and continued cutting his steak. Arthur took a small sip of wine, gloating internally. He didn’t refuse? There’s hope!
A moment later, a waiter came to top off the wine. Arthur leaned aside to make room, and his foot under the table “naturally” drifted forward with the movement. This time, it wasn’t a light brush. The tip of his Oxford accurately and slowly rubbed against the outside of Shen Yanci’s calf.
Once. Twice. A blatant provocation.
Shen Yanci was listening to a British official, nodding occasionally. His expression remained unchanged—calm and self-possessed even posing a relevant question or two.
However. his fingers, holding a fountain pen to sign a supplementary document, tightened. At the signature line, the pen tip lingered too long; a drop of rich black ink bled uncontrollably into the white paper, creating a small, abrupt blot.
The assistant sitting next to him noticed the ink blot and felt it was strange. The boss had a slight case of OCD and was always meticulous with his writing; why would he…
Shen Yanci seemed to realize as well. He expressionlessly moved the pen away, naturally closing the document and pushing it aside without a flaw. Only the assistant closest to him seemed to hear the boss take a near-inaudible, extremely slight breath, as if he were enduring something.
Across the table, Arthur saw it all. He saw the jawline that tensed and relaxed, the unexpected ink blot, and the hand resting on Shen Yanci’s lap that had at some point curled into a fist, veins slightly protruding.
Arthur was overjoyed. It’s working! It’s really working! He suppressed the urge to laugh, lowering his head to eat dessert while hiding his wide grin. His foot under the table grew even more restless, his shoe tip trailing along Shen Yanci’s leg as if tracing a pattern.
Hmph, keep pretending! Keep ignoring me! Let’s see how long you can last!
Shen Yanci’s breathing seemed to grow heavier. He picked up his wine, took a large gulp, and his Adam’s apple bobbed violently. Then, he suddenly stood up.
“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” His voice was steady, but upon closer inspection, it was lower and raspier than usual.
He pulled back his chair and walked toward the restroom. His pace was steady, but his back looked stiff. Arthur, watching his near “flight,” was nearly flying with pride himself. He took a large spoonful of tiramisu, the sweetness spreading to his very soul.
Not long after, Shen Yanci returned, his expression back to its usual icy calm. The gala neared its end, and the guests began to enjoy after-dinner drinks and casual chatter. Arthur was smiling and listening to someone speak when he suddenly felt something under the tablecloth. His calf was hit, neither lightly nor heavily.
He froze and instinctively looked down though he could see nothing. Then, a foot belonging to Shen Yanci clad in a black, bespoke leather shoe pressed down onto the top of Arthur’s Oxford with undeniable force and heat.
There was no further movement; he just kept it pressed there. It was a declaration of dominance, a reversal of roles.
Arthur’s heart gave a violent thud. He looked up instantly at Shen Yanci. The man was holding a glass of red wine, his head tilted slightly as he listened to an elderly gentleman. His face held no expression; there was even a polite, nearly invisible curve at the corner of his mouth. It was as if the foot arrogantly pinning Arthur’s down didn’t belong to him at all.
Arthur’s face turned red in an instant. The heat spread all the way to the tips of his ears.
He… he… he! He actually fought back?!
Arthur felt as if his pressure points had been struck; he was frozen in his chair, unable to move. The clear sensation and pressure on his foot were constant and scorching.
Shen Yanci seemed to sense his gaze. He slowly turned his head, his dark eyes looking at Arthur with an unfathomable depth. Hidden within was a trace of an extremely faint smile and… a warning?
He slightly raised his glass toward Arthur across the table. The movement was elegant and flawless.
Arthur’s heart hammered against his ribs. He hurriedly picked up his own glass, his fingers trembling.
It’s over. I… I think I teased him too much. I’ve gotten myself trapped!