While Zhao Tianlong was purchasing the gift he meant for Chen, Yu Xiang barely seemed to care about the pathetic apology of Zhao Chen.
Her attention was fixed on the Emperor's face as he, after looking towards his table, finally looked back at the woman in the doorway.
Once again, that expression returned. Soft. Warm. Loving.
The sharp edges of his authority melted away like ice in summer, replaced by something so tender it made Yu Xiang's chest ache with an emotion she couldn't name.
'Why are you making that face again?' she thought desperately. 'That weak, pathetic expression... are you kidding me?'
It felt like some joke.
How could this man—shrewd enough to orchestrate Chen's humiliation, calculating enough to see through her own manipulations, powerful enough to remake the political landscape of the entire continent—how could he simultaneously act like some lovesick fool?
The contradiction was maddening.
