Zhou Jin’s pupils contracted slightly. Her gaze swept back and forth across Jiang Hansheng’s face.

She shouldn’t. She absolutely shouldn’t.

She shouldn’t be thinking of Jiang Cheng right now — shouldn’t be thinking of that day with its damp wind and rain. Jiang Cheng holding an umbrella over her, and when he smiled, the pitch-black of his irises lit up brilliantly, that sharp canine tooth peeking out.

“Xiao Wu, stop playing games with me.”

Zhou Jin’s face had flushed with anxiety. She shouted at him: “Who’s playing games? I’m serious. I like you — I’ve only ever liked you, from when I was small until now.”

He had looked at her with a raised brow, genuinely for a moment — and then, just like that, brushed her words aside as though they meant nothing. He didn’t refuse her, didn’t agree, simply turned and walked away, leaving her behind with effortless ease: “What does a little girl like you know? Time to go home. Keep up on your own — if you get rained on, don’t come crying to me.”

Zhou Jin, seeing her feelings so easily dismissed, let out a frustrated sigh, clenched her fists, and went charging after Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng was tall, with long legs, his stride far faster than hers. But she kept up close behind him, and Jiang Cheng indulged her by slowing down just enough — so it worked out just right.

She gritted her teeth and made her vow: “Just you wait. I’ll prove it to you.”

……

To say that seeing Jiang Cheng again had stirred nothing in her — no inner turbulence whatsoever — would undoubtedly be a lie.

The more hatred, the more it proved how much she still cared.

She had no way to prove to Jiang Hansheng that she was indifferent. She chose to get up and leave instead, saying quietly: “I’ll go get a towel.”

Jiang Hansheng couldn’t stop himself — he caught hold of Zhou Jin’s wrist.

He lowered his eyes, pressing the rapid, desire-quickened breathing from moments before deeper and deeper down, slower and slower.

Jiang Hansheng quickly composed himself, recovered his restraint, and apologized to Zhou Jin: “I take back what I said.”

Zhou Jin’s choice to avoid the subject of Jiang Cheng came from two things: she didn’t want Jiang Cheng upending her life again, and she didn’t want to deceive Jiang Hansheng.

And yet the man before her — so evidently handsome and refined, so cultured — now held in his eyes a quiet, solitary light, veiled in a kind of helpless, undone beauty.

Zhou Jin had a natural instinct to protect. All the more so with someone like Jiang Hansheng, who was ordinarily so composed that he rarely showed any emotional shift at all — the moment even a sliver of vulnerability and vulnerability showed through, Zhou Jin had the immediate impulse to cradle him in her hands.

This couldn’t quite be called love yet. It was simply the nature she’d been born with.

Jiang Hansheng was her husband. And now he had been hurt saving her. The least she could show him was that she would not let him down. And so —

Zhou Jin wrapped her arms around Jiang Hansheng’s neck and kissed him back.

Her lips, warm and soft, grazed Jiang Hansheng’s lips lightly, then pressed a kiss to his cheek.

It was so utterly unexpected that Jiang Hansheng froze, his fingers instinctively gripping the bed sheet, a faint tremor running through his shoulders.

A woman’s kiss was unlike a man’s — no fierce aggression to it, no heavy, pressing urgency. Zhou Jin’s kiss was tender and lingering, like water and like a net all at once. By the time he realized he had been caught, it was already too late.

Jiang Hansheng found it a little difficult to breathe.

Zhou Jin shifted onto her knees on the bed, cupped Jiang Hansheng’s face in both hands, and kissed him with slow, careful attention. She held the lead — like savoring something delicious — the tip of her tongue skimming along the cool, pale line of his cheek, coming to rest lightly against his earlobe.

Jiang Hansheng felt a wave of startled unease, his ear going pleasantly, distractingly numb, a thin film of warmth spreading across his back.

He couldn’t hold out any longer. The rigidity in his body finally gave way. He raised his hands to grip Zhou Jin’s waist and pulled her back a little. “Zhou Jin, you…”

“Weren’t you asking me to prove it?”

Her face was flushed red to the tips of her ears, her breath coming light and quick.

Before him were Zhou Jin’s vivid red lips, the warmth of her breath falling against his face, scalding the blood in his veins.

The arm encircling her waist drew tighter and tighter. The wound on his arm still ached — but good, let it ache, let it ache enough to keep him clear-headed and rational.

Jiang Hansheng was aware that he was losing control by degrees. Something inside his chest was ramming and tearing — a destructive urge. He wanted to crush Zhou Jin entirely into his arms.

Zhou Jin’s legs suddenly left the ground. She startled, and instinctively reached up to cling to Jiang Hansheng’s neck and shoulders.

He lifted her onto the bed.

Jiang Hansheng’s face hovered close above hers — still the same as always, that unshakeable calm — yet the tips of his ears had gone completely red.

Zhou Jin reminded him: “Your arm!”

“It’s fine.”

Jiang Hansheng didn’t care. His palm traced up along her arm, their fingers lacing together.

His eyes held flames of desire. His breath grew heavy. He lowered his head and kissed Zhou Jin’s lips again.

He was urgent, without patience, without any kind of method — following only raw instinct, pressing his tongue past her teeth to seek out the soft sweetness within.

His fingers were long and strong. They slipped beneath the hem of the black dress, tracing the taut, smooth line of her leg upward, cradling her.

Zhou Jin bent her knee. The skin beneath the dark fabric appeared even more delicate and luminous.

“Zhou Jin, I want you.”

The relentless, consuming kisses from moments ago had done nothing to ease Jiang Hansheng’s desire — his urgency only mounted further, wild and unrestrained, like an animal that could not hold itself back from biting.

He bit at the soft skin of her neck, her earlobe, taking it between his teeth in a slow, repeated pull.

Zhou Jin knew his composure and his refinement well enough — but what she felt clearly now was a different side of Jiang Hansheng entirely:

Hidden beneath that surface — a fierceness and a dominance uniquely masculine.

Zhou Jin’s face grew even redder. The light in the room was still on. Jiang Hansheng’s gaze deepened, studying her with intent, careful appreciation.

Zhou Jin couldn’t bear the embarrassment. She raised her arm to cover herself. “Can you turn off the light?”

Jiang Hansheng: “I want you to look at me.”

His eyes were dark as ink, their light slightly lowered — still that same entreating tone, yet Zhou Jin detected something beneath it that was just a little unyielding.

He gently moved aside the arm she had raised as a shield. His palm was scorching, his touch a soft caress. The world before Zhou Jin’s eyes grew hazy by degrees. She wrapped her arms around Jiang Hansheng and let her eyes fall closed.

The longing deep within her was kindled.

Zhou Jin searched without direction, kissing Jiang Hansheng back in a breathless, unguided way.

He raised a hand to cradle her face, drawing her gaze toward his. Zhou Jin had no choice but to open her eyes and look at him. Against the cool, composed calm of his features, Zhou Jin’s own face was flushed and burning, her breath coming in scattered gasps. “What?”

Jiang Hansheng’s voice was low and rough.

“…Look at me, Zhou Jin.”