A week later, Xiaochen Yan found temporary cleaning work at another small hotel. The job was harder, the pay lower, but it barely kept her and her mother afloat.
That evening, as she dragged her exhausted body back to the alley, she saw it—the familiar, starkly out-of-place black Rolls-Royce Cullinan, lurking like a dormant beast.
The window rolled down, revealing Qiyu's sharply defined, expressionless face. He tilted his head slightly toward her, his tone leaving no room for refusal. "Get in the car."
Xiaochen's heart sank. It had come, after all. She tightened her grip on the strap of her worn canvas bag, her nails digging into her palms.
She didn't move, standing her ground, her voice wary. "Whatever you have to say, Mr. Qi, say it here."
Qiyu seemed to have little patience for arguing on the street. He pushed the car door open and stepped out, his tall frame instantly casting an overwhelming presence. In a few strides, he was before her, looking down at her with a gaze as sharp as a blade, as if trying to dissect her from the outside in.
He pulled a checkbook from his inner suit pocket, swiftly wrote a figure, tore out the check, and held it out to her.
"Here is one million," he said, his voice devoid of warmth, as if discussing the most mundane transaction. "Take it, leave Binhai City, and never come back. Or keep quiet and start over somewhere no one knows you."
Under the sunlight, the string of zeros on the check was particularly glaring.
Xiaochen looked at that flimsy yet immensely heavy piece of paper, at his long, clean fingers that seemed天生 destined to sign billion-dollar contracts, then raised her eyes to his cold, condescending gaze.
The faint, almost illusory hope she'd felt when she saw him outside her home days ago shattered instantly. He was still the same高高在上 Qiyu, accustomed to solving everything with money, treating her like dirt.
A humiliation deeper than being mistaken for an escort seized her heart.
She didn't take it.
Instead, she slowly reached out and, under Qiyu's slightly surprised gaze, took the check.
Just as he thought she had finally yielded—
Riiip—!
A crisp tearing sound cut through the air.
Expressionlessly, right in front of him, Xiaochen tore the million-yuan check in half, then again, until it became a handful of irreparable fragments.
With a flick of her wrist, she let the white scraps flutter down like snow between them, littering the dirty ground.
"Mr. Qi," she said, meeting his instantly darkened, icy eyes. Her voice was clear and firm, carrying a barely perceptible tremor yet ringing with defiance. "I don't sell my body."
Qiyu stared at the fragments on the ground, a storm gathering in his eyes. He slowly looked up, his gaze locking onto her pale yet stubborn face, a mocking, icy smirk curling his lips.
"Is that so?" He took a step forward, his powerful aura almost suffocating. "Then what are you selling?"
His gaze deliberately, slowly swept over her faded collar and her work-roughened fingers, every subtle movement dripping with disdain.
"Or should I ask—" He paused intentionally, his voice lowering yet striking like poisoned needles aimed at her last defenses. "What else do you have to sell besides this pitiful pride of yours?"
(End of Chapter 4)