The room fell silent after the clash of bodies and her cries.
Chen Yuqi, glistening with sweat, lit a cigarette, lying across his legs, playing with him lazily.
Fang Tianzhuo, flushed and breathless, took the cigarette from her.
"Is this why you called? To fuck?" He asked, cold.
"Partly." She purred, softer now.
Women—tame once satisfied, their thorns turning to down.
"What else?"
"Look at you—so sweaty. Let's take a bath. Talk there." She pulled him up, both still naked, toward the bathroom.
In the warm tub, her skin soft under his hands, he felt like a king. Living with Yanran, they'd never done this—their tiny place had no bathtub.
Money fueled desire, and desire warped the heart.
"You said there's more. Spit it out." He relaxed, eyes closed.
"Curious why I know so much about Donghua?" She traced a finger down his chest.
"Not really. You know the secretary. Big deal."
"Cute. Rui Jie's quite a looker, isn't she? Hard to work with someone that hot and not want her, huh… Assistant Fang?"
He froze. She knew his title.
"Who are you?" He turned her to face him, searching her eyes.
"You'll find out. Relax—I'm here to help, not hurt. You're… interesting. And I need you." She smiled, confident.
"Help? You want to keep me as a toy?" He scoffed.
"Darling, I could. But you'd hate it. And let's be real—you're not happy in that little job, are you?"
He said nothing. The raise, the car—they meant nothing. He was still a nobody, renting a room.
"I can get you to the top. Trust me."
"Why? What's in it for you?"
"Soon. And when you find out… we might not be able to do this so freely." Her tone turned serious.
He opened his mouth to press, but she kissed him, her lips moving down, taking him in her mouth. He groaned, losing himself as she worked—slow, expert, making him burn.
He slipped out before dawn, uneasy. Work weighed on him, and so did her secrecy. Was she dangerous? Or his ticket up?
"Sweet Tianzhuo. We'll meet soon." She called as he left.
He smirked, heading out. Let's hope that's drunk talk. But her confidence, her knowledge—maybe she was his lucky break.
He took a taxi back to his new neighborhood, then drove his Passat to work. As he left the complex, his phone rang—Li Xiaochan, sounding worried.
"Tianzhuo? You didn't come home. Where are you so early?"
How did she know? Oh—she worked nights, got home by 4 AM. The morning tea shift was handled by another manager. Their apartment overlooked the parking lot; she'd seen him leave. Had she stayed up waiting? Guilt twisted him.
"Xiaochan? Why aren't you asleep? I was gambling with friends—all night. Heading to work now." A lie. He'd "played" all night, just not with cards.
"Good. Thought you hated the new place. Eat breakfast, okay? You'll crash otherwise." Her concern made his throat tight. A good woman—if she knew he'd spent the night with a vixen like Chen Yuqi, she'd collapse. His body ached—Chen Yuqi had been hungry.
"I will. You rest—you're exhausted too." He hung up, guilt burning. One more minute, and he'd drive into the Yangtze.
He reached the office before dawn, the first to arrive. No Rui Jie. Tianwei's hasty exit—had Zhengyang caved? Or were they planning something worse? The latter terrified him.
His head throbbed. At 6:30, he called Rui Jie—she was always up early.
"Rui Jie? Any news from Zhengyang?"
"Tianzhuo? You're in early. They want to settle. The chairman dined with their CEO and planners last night. He'll outline negotiations when he arrives."
Relief washed over him. No more drama—for now.
Thirty minutes later, Rui Jie appeared, bringing him breakfast. He smiled, touched.
Through the glass, he studied her. She looked lighter, no trace of yesterday's sadness. And her hair—short now, shoulder-length, wavy, auburn under the lights. It suited her, making her look younger, sexier, shedding the frumpiness.
He dialed her extension.
"Rui Jie? Love the new haircut. Looks great." He gave a thumbs-up through the glass.
She laughed, mouthed "thanks," and hung up.
Luo arrived early, as usual, followed by the board and executives. Rui Jie was right—Zhengyang wanted peace. The planners mediated, and both sides were drafting a deal.
Arguments flared over the lake project—villas or street? Luo wanted the street, his original plan, vital for foot traffic to the amusement park and stadium. But Zhengyang's villas were half-built; buyers had put down deposits. Scrapping them would tank Zhengyang's reputation, killing negotiations.
Then the marketing director spoke up. "Split it. Half villas, half street."
Genius. The street would boost villa values, making buyers happy. Zhengyang couldn't refuse.
"Perfect. Director, you draft it. Tianzhuo, assist." Luo declared.
The director beamed. Since Fang Tianzhuo's rise, he'd felt overshadowed. Today, he'd won back some glory.