Memories flowed like the dwindling tea in their cups…
"It was eight years ago. I'd just transferred to be the chairman's secretary. He was in his forties, but had the energy of a young man. Donghua wasn't as big then—caught between Zhengyang and local developers, he fought tooth and nail to keep us afloat. I was 25, married less than six months. Even married, I was still naive, like you now. Working close to him, I fell for his strength, his charisma. We were happy—endlessly so."
Rui Jie sipped her tea, continuing.
"My family hated it, but I divorced my husband anyway. But… he had another girl, 18, a KTV hostess he'd met. Gorgeous, sexy, with this aura. When I found out, I took to bed, sick with grief. I screamed, begged him to leave her, threatened to kill myself. He cared for me—couldn't stand my tantrums, feared I'd do something stupid. So one rainy winter, we went to end it with her. But… but…"
Tears choked her. Fang Tianzhuo handed her a tissue, pitying her.
"We never expected her to be so fierce. She refused to break up. I lost it, pushed her—and she fell down a long staircase, covered in blood. I panicked. We rushed her to the hospital in the rain. Then the shock: she was three months pregnant. The fall killed the baby. The chairman, drunk that night, had adrenal issues—doctors said his age made another child nearly impossible. Worse, she'd had abortions before. She was barren, at 18. It destroyed her. He aged overnight, devastated."
She couldn't go on, tears streaming. Fang gave her the whole box. "What happened to her?"
Rui Jie composed herself. "She lives with him now. Does nothing but drink herself silly at bars, stumbles home drunk. He lets her—can't bring himself to stop her."
"Why didn't you two work out?" Fang asked, curious.
"After that? I couldn't press for more. He carried that guilt. We stuck to work, nothing more. Years passed. Our hearts turned to stone."
Her eyes stayed sad, distant.
"Tianzhuo, you're the only one I trust with this. No one else knows. Please—keep it quiet." She pleaded.
"Of course, Rui Jie. You have my word." He meant it.
"So alike… even your tone." She murmured, more to herself.
Fang knew she meant him and Luo, eight years ago. Suddenly, he felt old—wiser, heavier.
"Tianzhuo, take me home? I'm tired." She said softly.
The car glided through the night. Rui Jie fell asleep on his shoulder. He hesitated—she'd never told him her address. Unwilling to wake her, he drove aimlessly.
The 27th night of the twelfth lunar month had few stars; the moon hung thin, dim. Thinking of Yanran, then Rui Jie beside him, he realized: beautiful women craved success, confidence. Would Yanran, years from now, have her own sad stories to tell?
A text jolted her awake. Fang checked: Li Xiaochan, asking when they'd head home for New Year. The hotel's night tea service ended tomorrow; she needed to pack. He didn't know how to reply.
"Where are we going?" Rui Jie asked.
"Nowhere. You never said your address." He smiled.
"Wasting company gas, huh?" She teased, a hint of playfulness.
At her apartment complex, she invited him up. He accepted.
Her three-bedroom felt empty, too large for one person.
"Drink?" she asked, gentle.
"Got any alcohol?"
"You're driving! No."
"Beer's fine."
"I don't drink at home. Just a few unopened bottles of red."
Unopened—likely expensive.
"Join me, then."
The wine was rich, smooth, no bitter bite. Fang, raised in a farming family, wasn't a connoisseur, but he knew it was good.
Rui Jie drank two full glasses, her cheeks flushing.
"Tianzhuo… hold me?" Her eyes glistened. The request nearly made him choke.
How could he refuse? He set down his glass, wrapping her in his arms.
She trembled, her breath hot against his ear—stirring something primal. The villa's earlier spectacle had left him simmering; now, with Rui Jie—mature, desirable, willing—he lost control.
Love and lust lingered everywhere, and alcohol fanned the flame.
His hands roamed; she arched into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, quickening his pulse. He tilted her face, kissing her deeply—their tongues tangling, hungry.
It had been too long for her. When his hand slid up her skirt, past silk and lace, he felt her heat, her wetness. A flick of his fingers, and she moaned, low and needy.
He stripped her then—dress, stockings, panties—revealing a thick thatch of hair, glistening. She covered herself, shy, leaving him free to worship her breasts: full, pale, nipples dark against the skin. The large living room felt suddenly intimate, glowing with their desire.
He carried her to the bedroom, laying her on the soft bed. The door drifted shut, muffling the sounds—her gasps, his grunts, pleasure sharp and sweet.
The next morning, CEO Yu Chongwen called, asking about the Huanghua officials. Fang smiled—he'd clearly recovered.
"All under control. We'll negotiate after New Year."
"Why wait? Edit the videos and photos today. Make them tear down those buildings." Yu sounded ruthless.
"It's almost New Year. Let them celebrate. They're cooperating, and we can't kick people out days before the holiday—it'd ruin our image." Fang reasoned.
"I'll check with the chairman." Yu hung up.
Rui Jie woke, her skin flushed, energized from the night.
Fang's gaze lingered on her curves, desire flaring. He reached for her, wanting more.
But she pulled away, firm.
"Tianzhuo, I'm sorry. I was reckless last night. We're not right for each other." She wrapped herself in a blanket, fleeing to the bathroom.