Elena glanced at Ethan Jiang, her expression open and guileless, like a younger sister earnestly answering her elder brother's question. Her voice carried no hint of defensiveness as she replied, "A senior from my department."
"You see him often?" Ethan asked, his tone smooth but probing.
She shook her head, brushing off the implication with a dismissive flick of her hand. "We've only bumped into each other a few times," she said lightly, though something in Ethan's steady gaze made her wonder if he truly believed her.
He didn't press further. Silence settled between them again, heavy and unbroken, save for the rhythmic hum of the Maybach gliding through the city's evening traffic. The headlights cast fleeting shadows across the dashboard, their glow momentarily illuminating fragments of Elena's face before vanishing into the darkened streets. At a red light, the stillness grew palpable, pressing against Elena until she finally gave voice to the question that had been nagging at her since his unexpected arrival.
"When did you get back?"
"Today," he replied, leaning back slightly in his seat. His posture was relaxed, yet there was an undeniable tension in the surrounding air. Half his face was cloaked in shadow, which softened the usual sharpness of his features, making him seem almost approachable. Almost.
"My flight landed at five," he continued, his voice measured, as though delivering a report rather than sharing personal details.
The light turned green, and Ethan shifted his gaze back to the road, accelerating smoothly. He turned slightly toward her, his profile illuminated briefly by the passing streetlights. Their eyes met—and for a moment, it felt as though something invisible collided within the space between them. There was an intensity in his gaze that held her captive, his dark eyes unreadable, like twin pools of ink reflecting neither warmth nor hostility.
Just as she felt the need to look away, he asked, his voice low and deliberate: "I heard you haven't been home in nearly six months?"
The question hung in the air, deceptively casual but laced with an undercurrent of curiosity or perhaps something more.
Ethan didn't elaborate on the query, treating it as though it were nothing more than a passing observation. Instead, he explained matter-of-factly, "The head office needed me to handle something in person. Huaihai University isn't far from the company. Since tomorrow is Mid-Autumn Festival, I figured I'd take you home."
Elena murmured a quiet thank-you, her fingers absently curling around the edge of her seatbelt.
Huaihai never truly slept. The later it got, the more alive it seemed to become, its pulse quickening with every neon sign that flickered to life. And nowhere was it more alive after dark than Nightfall—the city's most lavish and notorious club. As midnight approached, the air outside pulsed with music and electric energy, decadent and intoxicating.
The Maybach pulled into the private parking lot, its sleek frame blending seamlessly with the opulence of the surroundings. Elena unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to speak, her voice soft but firm. "Brother, I can go in by myself. It's just a quick errand for a friend—"
But Ethan was already stepping out of the car, his movements fluid and unhurried.
"Nightfall at night isn't safe," he interjected, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll go with you."
They entered through the gold-trimmed revolving doors, the club's bass-heavy soundtrack thrumming through the floors like a heartbeat. Ethan didn't hesitate, leading her directly to the VIP corridor. When they reached the elevator, he paused and looked down at her. Against the backdrop of the smoky glamour of Nightfall, Elena stood out—not because of extravagance, but because of her simplicity. She wore no pretense, no adornment, her quiet composure a stark contrast to the surrounding chaos.
"What floor?" he asked, his hand hovering above the panel.
"Eighth," she replied simply.
The elevator rose smoothly, the silence between them broken only by the faint ding of each passing floor. On the third floor, a sharp ringtone sliced through the stillness. Elena didn't move, but her eyes instinctively flicked toward his phone. An English contact name lit up the screen—a name she didn't recognize.
Ethan glanced at it briefly, neither answering nor silencing it. The call ended just as the elevator doors slid open on the eighth floor.
Elena stepped out quickly, her voice brisk. "You are waiting here. I'll just grab the USB."
Ethan gave a low hum of acknowledgment and finally answered the call—but his eyes never left her slim figure as she disappeared down the corridor, scanning door numbers.
He didn't stay behind.
Instead, he followed at a distance, his steps unhurried yet steady, always keeping her within sight. His voice remained low as he spoke on the phone, his words clipped and efficient.
At the end of the hallway, she stopped at Room 8A02. Inside, she searched briefly before spotting the white USB drive wedged between the couch cushions. Retrieving it, she turned and stepped back into the hallway.
Ethan was already there, leaning casually against the wall across from the door. When she appeared, he ended the call and nodded at the flash drive in her hand.
"Got it?"
She nodded silently.
He straightened, then gestured forward. "Let's go home."
The corridor curved in a wide arc. Room 8A02 was near the far end, and the nearest exit was on the opposite side. They walked quietly, their footsteps muffled against the plush carpet.
Until—
A voice drifted out of the half-open door they passed. The words were unmistakable, laced with soft mockery:
"Elena? Sure, she's obedient."
There was a lazy laugh, sharp at the edges.
"But too obedient. So obedient, it's boring."
Elena's steps faltered for just a second. Then she kept walking, as though she hadn't heard anything at all.
Behind that door, the air was thick with cigarette smoke. Ice clinked in crystal glasses. On a velvet couch, Frank Fang frowned.
"Adrian, that's harsh. Elena's been close to you since childhood. Out of all of us, she's always followed you around. And don't forget—there's still a marriage agreement between the Jiang and Shen families."
Adrian Jiang chuckled slowly, his eyes lowering to veil the disdain in his gaze, though the cold curve of his lips betrayed everything.
Close?
She had only clung to him because he was a Jiang. Because he was the one chosen for the engagement. Strip away the name and the family, and that so-called affection?
It wouldn't have been his to begin with.