The interior of the custom Maybach was completely silent, save for the soft purr of the engine.
Yan Ting sat as rigidly as a stone statue. His massive frame, honed from years in brutal warzones, took up a significant portion of the spacious back seat. His sharp, amber eyes automatically scanned the passing cars through the tinted windows, searching for threats. It was instinct. A habit burned into his blood.
But his mind was a chaotic storm.
He slowly shifted his gaze to the woman sitting beside him. Shen Ruoyin was leaning against the plush leather seat, her eyes closed, looking completely relaxed. The afternoon sun filtered through the window, catching the silver-white strands of her long hair. She looked so delicate, so ethereal, like a fairy that had accidentally wandered into the mortal world.
Yet, this was the same woman who had just dropped a fifty-million-yuan limitless black card on a billionaire's desk without batting an eye.
Boss, the chauffeur had called her.
Yan Ting's large, calloused hands curled into fists resting on his knees. For two years, he had watched her quietly endure Gu Yanchen's coldness. He had seen her wear cheap, shapeless clothes while Gu Yanchen bought diamond necklaces for his mistresses. He had thought she was a helpless bird trapped in a gilded cage.
He was wrong. She wasn't a trapped bird. She was a dragon resting at the bottom of a lake.
"You are staring so hard, Yan Ting," Ruoyin suddenly spoke, her voice light and melodic. She opened her striking eyes and turned her head to look at him. "If you have questions, you can ask them."
Yan Ting instantly lowered his gaze, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. "I do not overstep, Madam."
Ruoyin sighed softly. "I told you, I am no longer the Madam of the Gu family. My name is Ruoyin."
Yan Ting's jaw tightened. Calling her by her first name felt like a profound disrespect. She was a being of light; he was a man forged in blood and shadow. "Then... Miss Shen. My only duty is to ensure your safety. Your private matters are your own."
Ruoyin smiled, a genuine, warm expression that made Yan Ting's heart give a violent, unfamiliar thud. "You are too tense. You don't need to be on high alert anymore. No one from the Gu family can touch us here."
As she spoke, the Maybach turned off the main highway and approached a private mountain road. Yan Ting looked out the window and his professional instincts immediately flared to life.
They were entering the most exclusive, heavily guarded district in the city. The security gates they passed through were state-of-the-art. As the car drove up the winding, tree-lined path, Yan Ting noted the hidden cameras, the reinforced walls, and the strategic layout of the grounds. This wasn't just a rich person's house. This was a fortress.
The car finally glided to a stop in front of a sprawling, breathtaking modern estate. It was twice the size of Gu Yanchen's villa, surrounded by lush, manicured gardens and a sparkling glass conservatory.
A line of staff, dressed in immaculate uniforms, was already waiting at the front doors.
The chauffeur opened the door. Yan Ting stepped out first, his tall, imposing figure casting a long shadow. He immediately swept his gaze over the area, his hand resting near his waist, ready to draw a weapon he no longer carried.
Then, Ruoyin stepped out.
"Welcome home, Boss!" the staff bowed in perfect unison, their voices ringing with absolute, terrified respect.
An older man in a tailored suit, clearly the head butler, stepped forward. "Miss Shen, your rooms have been prepared. The security detail has been briefed on Mr. Yan Ting's arrival."
"Thank you, Uncle Chen," Ruoyin said, her tone much softer than the cold mask she wore at the Gu company. She turned to Yan Ting, whose face was a mask of pure shock. "Come inside. You must be tired."
Yan Ting followed her into the estate, his heavy combat boots silent against the polished marble floors. The interior was stunning. It was filled with natural sunlight, warm wood tones, and vibrant plants. It was the complete opposite of the dark, cold, and suffocating Gu household.
"Uncle Chen," Ruoyin called out as she walked toward the grand staircase. "Send some tea and pastries to the sunroom. And please have someone bring up the catalog for men's bespoke tailoring. The standard black bodyguard suits are banned in this house."
Yan Ting blinked. "Miss Shen, my current uniform is highly functional for combat—"
"You aren't going into combat today," Ruoyin interrupted smoothly, pausing on the stairs to look down at him. "Today, you are going to rest. Go wash up. Uncle Chen will show you to your room."
His room? Yan Ting was used to sleeping in the cramped security barracks or on a stiff chair outside his employer's door. When Uncle Chen led him to a massive, luxurious guest suite on the second floor—right down the hall from Ruoyin's master bedroom—Yan Ting felt completely out of his depth. The bed was huge and soft. The bathroom was larger than his first apartment.
He stood in the center of the room, a lethal killer suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands.
Half an hour later, after splashing cold water on his face and trying to calm his racing heart, Yan Ting found his way to the sunroom.
When he stepped through the glass doors, he froze.
Ruoyin was sitting at a small, elegant white table. She had shed the dowdy beige dress she wore to the divorce. Instead, she was wearing a luxurious, jewel-toned ruby dress that clung perfectly to her delicate curves. Her silver hair was completely unbound, cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. She looked breathtaking. Untouchable.
"Come sit," she said, patting the delicate, wrought-iron chair across from her.
Yan Ting swallowed hard. He stepped forward but stopped two paces away from the table, clasping his hands behind his back in a rigid parade rest. "I will stand guard, Miss Shen."
Ruoyin paused, setting down her teacup. She looked at his towering, tense figure. He was a giant, scarred beast of a man trying to shrink himself down in her bright, sunny room. Her heart ached slightly. She remembered the warmth of his jacket and the safety of his umbrella two years ago. Gu Yanchen had treated him like a dog. She was going to treat him like a king.
"Yan Ting," she said, her voice dropping lower, adopting the firm tone of a CEO. "Look at me."
He immediately met her eyes.
"I am not Gu Yanchen," she said clearly. "You are not a piece of furniture in my house. You are the only person in the world I trust. When I tell you to sit with me, it is not a test. It is a request."
Yan Ting's breath hitched. The only person in the world I trust. Those words slammed into his chest harder than a bullet. He slowly unclasped his hands, stepped forward, and lowered his massive frame into the delicate chair. It creaked dangerously under his weight, making him stiffen, terrified he would break it.
Ruoyin let out a soft, highly amused laugh. It was a beautiful sound.
On the table between them was a three-tiered silver tray filled with delicate, colorful French pastries. Ruoyin reached out, her pale fingers picking up a small, bright pink macaron.
She leaned forward and held it out toward his lips.
Yan Ting's golden eyes widened. He stared at the tiny pink pastry, and then at her fingers. "Miss Shen... I do not eat sweets."
"It's strawberry," she coaxed, her lips curving into a playful smile. "And you need to eat something. You've been tense all day. Open."
He was a man who had eaten stale rations in the mud while under enemy fire. He had survived interrogations without making a sound. But looking into Shen Ruoyin's striking eyes, his iron will completely crumbled.
Slowly, carefully, Yan Ting leaned forward and parted his lips. He took the macaron from her fingers. As he did, his slightly rough lips brushed against her soft fingertips.
A jolt of electricity shot through both of them.
Yan Ting immediately pulled back, chewing the sweet pastry blindly, his deeply tanned face flushing a dark, noticeable red. He tasted sugar and strawberry, but all his brain could process was the lingering warmth of her skin.
Ruoyin's own heart did a strange little flutter, but she expertly hid it behind a teasing smile. So the terrifying Mad Hound is actually shy, she thought, entirely delighted by this discovery.
"Good?" she asked, resting her chin on her hand.
Yan Ting swallowed heavily. "Yes, Miss Shen."
"Good. Because you are going to eat the rest of them while we look at suit fabrics," she declared, pushing the entire tray toward him.
For the first time in his thirty-five years of life, Yan Ting felt completely and utterly helpless. He looked at the mountain of delicate, sugary pastries, and then at the beautiful, wealthy woman who had claimed him.
He was in terrible danger. Not from assassins, but from a woman with silver hair and a mischievous smile. And as he picked up a second pastry, Yan Ting realized with absolute certainty that he didn't want to be saved.