Fresh from her bath, Jiang Zhi reached for her phone—Jiang Qinian's message popped up:
"Zhi Zhi, it's not the same without you. Like before… come stay with me?"
Once, she'd followed him everywhere—shoots, shows. Half a year ago, his Best Actorwin meant more work, less time together… and she'd missed Wen Nian's betrayal.
She started typing—when Shang Chi emerged from the walk-in closet, pajamas draped over his arm.
He tossed the pajamas on the bed, opening his arms. "Help me—hand's Not convenient."
Jiang Zhi paused, eyeing his bandaged left hand—recalling Jiang Qinian's past struggles dressing.
She'd helped him then—now, she nodded. "Okay."
Putting down her phone, she reached for his buttons—proximity intensifying, their scents mingling.
The air turned thick, charged.
His breath fanned her face—memories of today's kisses flooded back, cheeks flushing.
She hurried, unbuttoning his suit, then shirt.
His shirt buttons always fastened to the top—revealing a sharp jawline, Adam's apple.
Her fingertips grazed the top button—his throat bobbed.
Collarbones: women's allure. Adam's apple: men's—subtle, irresistible, a hit of testosterone.
Her throat felt dry—she focused on the buttons.
Head bowed, lashes hiding her thoughts—but he read her like a book, every shy twitch noted.
She seemed innocent, inexperienced—adorable.
Realizing this, his eyes darkened, pupils dilating.
As buttons fell, his toned torso emerged—chest, abs, the "mermaid line" disappearing into his pants.
Jiang Zhi, blushing, helped him out of the shirt—thinking it was over.
Then, his low voice: "Pants too."
Jiang Zhi: "!!!"
Jiang Qinian had always dressed himself—this was new.
But nobles were used to being served—she hesitated, then reached for his belt.
Never having unbuckled a man's belt, she fumbled—nervous, his heated gaze not helping.
Sweat slicked her palms—his large hand covered hers, guiding.
"Can't?"
His veins pulsed under her touch, palm warm and dry. She nodded.
He led her fingers to the hidden clasp—click, the belt loosened.
"Remember—only once."
Leaning close, his breath tickled her ear—tingling, intoxicating.
Jiang Zhi whispered, "Got it."
She hung the belt on a hanger.
His pants, now loose, sagged on his hips—veins faintly visible, provocative, stirring desire.
She crouched, inhaling, pulling the pants down—his muscular thighs revealed.
She averted her eyes, quickly folding the pants.
"Done?"
Before Shang Chi could reply, her phone rang—Jiang Qinian's message:
"Zhi Zhi, I miss you. Booked your ticket—come?"
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A cold glint flashed in his glasses.
Jiang Zhi, facing away, didn't see—reaching for her phone, his hand caught hers.
"No underwear before bathing."
He placed her hand on his waistband—hesitation, embarrassment.
Shang Chi: "We're married—if you struggle, I'll help."
A pause, then: "Besides… you've seen me before."
Gentle persuasion, then dominance—no room to refuse.
Jiang Zhi's face burned, recalling that night.
Reluctantly, she pulled down his pants—too forcefully.
Shang Chi groaned, "Trying to kill your husband?"
She panicked, "Sorry! Did it hurt?"
Half-kneeling, face flushed, hair messy, strands clinging to her skin—lips tempting.
He looked down—captivated by her unconscious allure.
Eyes darkening, throat bobbing.
The air grew thick, charged with lust—Jiang Zhi felt his gaze, realized her posture, and stood.
The phone rang again—video call from Jiang Qinian.
"Incoming: Jiang Qinian" filled the screen.
The ringtone echoed in the quiet room.
Jiang Zhi's heart raced—she met Shang Chi's eyes. "I'm his agent—we can't cut ties."
He glanced at her phone—lust replaced by coldness.
Grabbing her wrist, he said, "Hand's hurt—wash my back?"