Zhao Jingshen finally left the ward to go home for a rest after much persuasion from Jiang Meilin. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, a transformation swept over her face. The facade of the struggling artist melted away, replaced by an aura of authority that seemed to fill the entire room.
She sat up, wincing slightly as she pulled the blanket to cover herself. Her eyes scanned the seemingly empty ward, piercing through the door as if it were made of glass. After a few seconds, her lips curled into a knowing smirk.
"Come in," she commanded, her voice dripping with a domineering tone that would make even the bravest souls quiver.
As if summoned by an unseen force, two men silently came into the room. They moved with the fluidity of water and the stealth of shadows, dropping to one knee before her bed. Their heads bowed low in a gesture of apology and remorse.
They were her shadow guards, insistent additions courtesy of her overprotective mother. She knew they would be waiting for the first opportunity to see her now that Zhao Jingshen had finally left. She could practically taste their guilt; whatever the reason, their master had been hurt on their watch. They had failed in their sacred duty.
But Jiang Meilin knew better. She had explicitly ordered them not to interfere, and they had followed her command to the letter. Their loyalty was commendable, even if it sometimes clashed with their protective instincts.
She looked at them, shaking her head slightly. "It's fine," she said, her voice softer now but no less authoritative. "It's just a scratch."
The guards remained motionless, awaiting further instructions. After a moment of tense silence, Jiang Meilin's eyes narrowed. "Who was it this time?" she asked, her tone deceptively casual.
The guard on the left, a thin man known simply as Seven, cleared his throat. "Mr. Zhao's fiancée, Lian Fei," he responded, his voice barely above a whisper.
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet several degrees. Seven and his partner, Eight, exchanged a nervous glance, steeling themselves for their master's reaction.
"Ha!" The sound that escaped Jiang Meilin's lips was more akin to a predator's snarl than a laugh. "Here I was, trying to stay away from her fiancé, and she's taking the jealousy thing to another level." She examined her nails with feigned disinterest. "Tsk, what a foolish little thing."
Eight, the second guard, dared to speak. "What are your orders, Young Miss?"
Jiang Meilin's expression suddenly transformed. Gone was the dangerous glint in her eye, replaced by an exaggerated pout. "What could I possibly do?" she asked, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "I'm just an orphan who happens to be a struggling artist. I'm not Rosie Blackwood but Jiang Meilin remember?"
The two shadow guards looked at each other, their faces a mixture of confusion and awe. A shared thought passed between them: 'She should just aim for the best actress award instead of the best artist award.' Their expressions, however, remained perfectly impassive.
Jiang Meilin, ever perceptive, seemed to notice their constipated looks. She shifted in the bed, wincing slightly at the movement. "I mean," she clarified, her signature seductive smile playing on her lips, "let Zhao Jingshen deal with his fiancée. She's not my problem."
Before the guards could inform her that Zhao Jingshen had already taken action, the door burst open. A whirlwind of designer clothes and expensive cologne swept into the room, bringing with it an air of mischief and danger in equal measure.
"Reggie!" Jiang Meilin called out excitedly, her face lighting up at the sight of her twin brother. She almost leapt from the bed to wrap him in a bear hug, but a sharp twinge from her stitches kept her grounded.
The two guards tensed at the newcomer's arrival, their bodies coiled like springs ready to snap. "Young Master," they greeted in unison, their voices tinged with a mixture of respect and terror.
"Leave us," Reginald commanded, barely sparing them a glance. The guards vanished as silently as they had appeared, leaving the siblings alone.
Reginald Blackwood was the very definition of a charming rogue. At 26 he cut a striking figure – tall and lean, with a mop of artfully tousled brown hair that looked like he'd just rolled out of bed (which, knowing Reginald, he probably had). His chocolate brown eyes sparkled with a perpetual glint of mischief, as if he was always in on some private joke.
He was dressed in a tailored Armani suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary, the jacket casually unbuttoned to reveal a crisp white shirt. A roguish smile played on his lips as he surveyed his sister's predicament.
"What have you gotten yourself into, sis?" he drawled, his tone floating somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "And they said I'm the troublemaker in the family!" He shook his head dramatically. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, What an embarrassing sight."
Jiang Meilin's nose scrunched up in feigned anger. "What are you doing here, Reginald?"
Reginald Blackwood was more than just Jiang Meilin's – or rather, Rosie Blackwood's – twin brother. He was a force of nature in his own right, a notorious playboy who left a trail of broken hearts and emptied champagne bottles in his wake. Women found him irresistible, men wanted to be him, and parents locked up their daughters when they heard he was in town.
But beneath the carefree exterior and revolving door of glamorous girlfriends lay a heart of pure steel. Reginald loved his sister fiercely, and God help anyone who dared to cross her. When angered, he could be just as dangerous and deadly as Rosie herself – a fact that had made more than one unfortunate soul regret their life choices.
"Me? Saving your bacon, as usual," he drawled, flopping into a chair. "Mom's on the warpath." Reginald's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "You're lucky I was home to quell Mom's anger, or she's the one you'd be having this conversation with."