His hand on hers was a manacle, cool and unyielding. Lin Wanwan felt a tremor pass through her as he led her from the velvet dimness of Booth 8, through a discreet side exit of The Crimson Pavilion she hadn't noticed before. The throbbing music and heady perfume of the club receded, replaced by the crisp night air and the low hum of city traffic. She felt exposed, as if every passerby could see the shameful bargain etched onto her face.
A sleek, black limousine, so polished it reflected the neon city lights like distorted jewels, waited silently at the curb. A chauffeur, dressed in a similarly severe dark suit, materialized from the shadows, opening the rear door with a bow that was both respectful and utterly impersonal. The man—her benefactor, her captor—gestured for her to enter.
Wanwan hesitated for a fraction of a second, her cheap heels unsteady on the pavement. This was another step into the abyss. But his grip on her arm tightened ever so slightly, a silent, irrefutable command. She ducked into the cavernous interior of the car, sinking into leather seats so soft they felt like clouds. He followed, settling beside her, the space suddenly feeling much smaller, charged with his powerful presence.
The chauffeur closed the door with a soft thud, sealing them in a world of hushed luxury and unspoken tension. A thick pane of glass separated them from the driver, ensuring complete privacy. The car pulled away from the curb with a smooth, silent glide, a phantom navigating the glittering streets.
Wanwan stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, a kaleidoscope of colors that did nothing to dispel the cold dread coiling in her stomach. She felt like a prisoner being transported to an unknown fate. She was acutely aware of him beside her, his stillness, the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne. He hadn't spoken since they left the club, his silence more unnerving than any words could have been.
"Where… where are we going?" she finally managed to ask, her voice barely a whisper.
He turned his head, his dark eyes glinting in the intermittent flashes of light from outside. "To a place where we can discuss the terms of our… arrangement without interruption." His voice was a low, even timbre, devoid of inflection.
The journey was short, but it felt like an eternity. The limousine purred through affluent neighborhoods, past gated mansions and high-rise luxury apartments, each building a monument to a world utterly alien to Wanwan. Finally, it swept into a private underground garage beneath a towering, modern skyscraper that pierced the night sky like a shard of obsidian.
The chauffeur opened the door, and the man alighted, then turned and offered Wanwan his hand. Again, she had no choice but to take it. He led her to a private elevator, which ascended with a silent, breathtaking speed. Her ears popped. When the doors slid open, they revealed not a corridor, but the entrance to a vast, minimalist penthouse apartment.
The space was stunning and terrifyingly impersonal. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic, godlike view of the sprawling city lights below. The furniture was sparse, modern, and exquisitely expensive—all clean lines, muted colors, and gleaming surfaces of glass and steel. There were no photographs, no personal trinkets, nothing to suggest the personality of its inhabitant, save for an overwhelming sense of power and cold, calculated taste. It was less a home and more a fortress, a gilded cage.
"Please," he said, gesturing towards a low-slung sofa that faced the breathtaking cityscape. "Make yourself comfortable."
Comfortable was the last thing Wanwan felt. She perched on the edge of the sofa, her worn handbag clutched in her lap like a shield. He moved to a sleek, built-in bar, pouring himself a measure of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. He didn't offer her one.
He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving her. "The sum you require for your brother, Miss Lin. What is it, precisely?"
Wanwan swallowed. "The initial deposit the hospital needs is… five hundred thousand," she said, the number feeling enormous on her tongue. "And then the ongoing treatments… the transplant itself… it will be much more."
He nodded slowly, as if the sum were inconsequential. He set his glass down and retrieved a slim, metallic tablet from a nearby console. His fingers moved deftly across the screen.
"Your hospital account details," he stated, not a question.
Her heart pounded. Was he… was he actually going to do it? Now? "Mingde Hospital," she supplied, her voice trembling. "Patient Lin Xiaoyu. I… I can give you his patient ID."
"Unnecessary. I have my ways of verifying." He typed for another moment, then turned the tablet slightly so she could see the screen. It displayed a banking interface, numbers that made her head spin. With a few more taps, a confirmation message appeared. "Five hundred thousand has been transferred to the Mingde Hospital general account, earmarked for the care of Lin Xiaoyu. You can confirm it with them in the morning."
Wanwan stared at the screen, then at him, her mind struggling to process it. Just like that. A sum that represented an insurmountable mountain to her, a sum that held her brother's life in the balance, transferred with a few casual taps. Relief, so potent it was dizzying, washed over her, followed immediately by a sickening wave of realization. The first part of the bargain was sealed. He had delivered. Now, it was her turn.
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the glittering city lights beyond the window. They were tears of gratitude, of despair, of profound, soul-crushing shame. "Thank you," she whispered, the words thick with emotion. "Thank you."
"Gratitude is a pleasant sentiment, Miss Lin," he said, his voice cool and even. He set the tablet aside and moved closer, standing before her. He was an imposing figure, silhouetted against the dazzling cityscape. "But our arrangement, as I mentioned, is transactional."
He reached out, his fingers gently tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark and intense, like pools of polished jet. "The initial payment has been made. Consider it a… gesture of goodwill. The remainder of your brother's expenses, including the transplant, will be covered. In return," his thumb brushed lightly across her lower lip, sending a shiver of mingled fear and an unwelcome spark of awareness through her, "I expect your… undivided attention. And your complete compliance."
Wanwan trembled under his touch, his gaze. She felt trapped, utterly at his mercy. The opulent penthouse, with its breathtaking views, suddenly felt like the most luxurious prison in the world.
"You said… my company for the evening," she managed, her voice barely audible.
A slow, knowing smile touched his lips. "Indeed. And the evening is still relatively young." He straightened, then extended his hand to her once more. "There are more comfortable rooms in this apartment, Miss Lin. Allow me to show you."
His meaning was unmistakable. The unspoken price was about to be exacted. Her stomach churned with a mixture of dread and resignation. This was the culmination of her desperate gamble, the moment she had both feared and, in a twisted way, prepared herself for. Xiaoyu's life had been bought, and she was the currency.
She looked at his outstretched hand, then into his cool, expectant eyes. There was no escape. No turning back. She had made her choice the moment she stepped into the Crimson Pavilion, the moment she agreed to his terms.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Lin Wanwan placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, firm and decisive. He drew her to her feet, his proximity making her acutely aware of the disparity in their power, their worlds.
He led her away from the vast living area, down a short, minimalist hallway. He stopped before a plain, imposing door and pushed it open, revealing a bedroom that was as large as her entire apartment. It was furnished with the same cold, luxurious taste: a massive bed draped in dark, silken sheets, more floor-to-ceiling windows offering a different, equally stunning vista of the city, and an ensuite bathroom visible through a frosted glass door.
He released her hand and stepped back, his eyes roaming over her, a slow, appraising look that made her skin crawl. "The bathroom is through there," he said, his voice a low murmur. "Freshen up. I will join you shortly."
It was a command, not a suggestion. He turned and left, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Wanwan alone in the opulent, sterile chamber. She stood frozen for a moment, the silence of the room pressing in on her. Then, her legs gave way, and she sank onto the edge of the enormous bed, burying her face in her hands.
The tears came then, hot and silent, tears of fear, of shame, of despair so profound it felt like it would consume her. She had sold herself. For Xiaoyu, yes, but the reality of it, the degradation, was a bitter pill to swallow.
But even as she wept, a small, stubborn part of her, the part that had always fought for her brother, for their survival, began to assert itself. She had made a bargain. She would see it through. For Xiaoyu. She would endure this night and whatever nights followed because his life depended on it.
Wiping her eyes with a new, steely resolve, Lin Wanwan stood up. She looked towards the frosted glass door of the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirrored wardrobe was a pale, haunted stranger. But in that stranger's eyes, a flicker of the fire Meili had mentioned still burned, albeit dimly. She was no longer just Lin Wanwan, the desperate sister. She was now a commodity, a possession. And she would play her part.
The devil had claimed his due, and the night was far from over.