"I'm going to give you a goooood massageeeee!"
I held the pose, my hands ready, trying to project an air of playful confidence, my cheeks puffed and my eyes gleaming with mischief.
Inside, my heart was hammering. What was I doing? This was Mo Yichen—the Tyrant. You don't just offer this man a massage; you offer him a business proposal.
And it's so childish of me to be doing this.
He didn't move. He just stood there, dripping water from his shower, his grey liquid eyes narrowed in pure, unadulterated suspicion. Why was he looking at me like this? As if I was going to eat him up.
"A massage?" he repeated, his voice flat, as if I'd just offered to juggle.
"Yes! You're clearly stressed," I pressed on, gesturing to the bed. "Lixuan, Zhu Ri, the debut... you're a mess. And I am a very, very good masseuse. Doctor Mo Yi is in."
He didn't smile. He glanced at the bed, then his gaze fixed on the small, black creature curled up on my pillow.
