Jiang Meilin's room basked in the warm glow of the setting sun, turning everything golden. She stepped back from her freshly finished painting, the first since her hospital stay. Her eyes swept over the canvas, taking in every detail.
The painting told her story without words. A gnarly old tree stood strong against a stormy sky, its branches reaching for a single ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Meilin's paint-stained fingers hovered over the canvas, trembling slightly. Pride swelled in her chest.
"Not bad for a rusty artist," she mused, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.
The tree trunk was a mess of scars and breaks, but that's where the magic happened. New leaves and cherry blossoms burst from those very wounds, screaming hope and second chances.
Jiang Meilin's eyes drifted to the massive bouquet taking up half her workspace. Ninety-nine roses, a mix of soft peach and pure white, filled the room with their sweet scent. Zhao Jingshen's doing, of course. Peach roses were for forgiveness in the language of flowers. Did he really think she was still holding grudges? Hmm, a small smile danced on her lips as she caressed the fresh petals.
"Damn you, Jingshen," Meilin muttered, her smile widening traitorously. "How am I supposed to quit you when you keep pulling stunts like this?" As she counted each flower, memories of their morning sparring match flashed through her mind. Her heart did a little flip, betraying her attempt at staying aloof.
She thought about her conversation with her mother and an even brighter smile blossomed on her lips. With a contented sigh, she glanced at the clock. 11:30 PM. It was time to embrace the night.
Meilin's heart raced as she approached her closet, anticipation thrumming through her veins. Her fingers trailed over the hangers before settling on an ensemble that perfectly balanced danger and allure. She slipped into a pair of dark-wash jeans that hugged her curves like a second skin, then donned a crisp white sleeveless top that accentuated her toned arms. The pièce de résistance was a waist-length black leather jacket, its buttery softness a stark contrast to the hard edge it lent her appearance.
She'd borrowed Li Jimin's motorcycle for the night, and the thought of the powerful machine waiting for her sent a thrill down her spine. Meilin stepped into a pair of black leather boots, their sturdy heels adding an extra swagger to her stride. As she zipped them up, her phone chimed with a message from Shadow Guard Seven: "Boss, we're ready: It's time."
Her fingers flew across the screen, her reply as terse as her suddenly taut nerves: "On my way."
Meilin turned to the full-length mirror, drinking in her reflection. The woman staring back at her was a perfect blend of seduction and strength, a combination she hadn't embraced in far too long. Unbidden, memories of past adventures flickered at the edges of her mind, but she shook them off, her jaw set with determination. Tonight was about the present, about the adrenaline pumping through her veins and the mystery that lay ahead.
With a deep breath, she snatched up her helmet and keys. As the door clicked shut behind her, Meilin felt the familiar rush of excitement. She was looking forward to laying hands on the unlucky young master Jun, a perfect opportunity to test her recovering skills.
As Meilin emerged from her house, the cool night air kissed her skin. She turned to lock the door, the familiar click echoing in the quiet street. When she pivoted back, she was met with the eager faces of Shadow Guards Seven and Eight, their typically stoic demeanors cracking with barely contained excitement.
"Boss!" Seven's voice carried a rare note of enthusiasm, a grin breaking through his usually stern facade. "It's so good to see you back in action."
Eight nodded vigorously, adding, "We've missed this, truly."
Meilin quirked an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and surprise coloring her features. "Don't tell me you two have gone soft on me," she teased, her voice carrying a hint of challenge. "I hope you didn't forget how to handle yourselves in the field."
Seven straightened, his posture snapping back to attention. "Never, Boss. We're always ready."
"Good," Meilin nodded, satisfaction evident in her tone. "Because tonight, you're not coming with me. I need to remind myself how to handle things. You can go ahead and do a recon..."
Her words trailed off as her gaze caught on a familiar silhouette leaning against a sleek black car at the curb. Zhao Jingshen stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans, a forest green hoodie pulled over his head. His presence was unexpected, to say the least.
Meilin's expression hardened as she turned back to her Shadow Guards. "What's he doing here?"
Eight cleared his throat, offering only a noncommittal shrug.
A hiss escaped Meilin's lips, her eyes narrowing. She had indeed told Zhao Jingshen to join her for tonight's activities, but she hadn't truly expected him to show up. She wondered how he would feel when he found out where she was going.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Meilin took a steadying breath. "Let me know once I can go in. For now, make yourselves scarce. I'll handle this."
The Shadow Guards dissolved into the night, their silhouettes melting away like wisps of smoke. Meilin squared her shoulders, each step towards Zhao Jingshen a deliberate percussion against the pavement. Her approach was a symphony of leather and determination.
"Well, well," she called out, her voice a velvet-wrapped blade. "I didn't think you'd actually show up." She halted a few feet from him, her stance a perfect balance of allure and authority.
Zhao Jingshen peeled himself off the car with feline grace. "Surprise," he purred, his grin a moonlit challenge. "You should know by now, Meilin. When you call, I'll be drawn like a moth to your flame."
His words shimmered in the space between them, heavy with unspoken promises. A flush of heat bloomed across Meilin's cheeks, but she tamped it down, steel returning to her gaze.
"This isn't a game, Jingshen," she warned, eyes narrowing to obsidian slits. "What I'm about to do... it's not just skirting the law, it's actually criminal. If I'm caught..."
"Oh, please!" Zhao Jingshen's smirk was positively devilish. "Darling, what depths could you possibly plumb that I couldn't navigate blindfolded?"
Meilin's arms crossed, a barricade of resolve. "And what makes you think I need a sidekick, Zhao Jingshen? I've been orchestrating these activities solo for years."
He closed the gap between them, his gaze a caress that traced her silhouette. "Oh, I've no doubt about your capabilities. But two maestros can compose a far grander symphony, no?" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Besides, I couldn't resist the chance to witness the legendary Rosie Blackwood in her element."
A chuckle escaped Meilin's lips despite herself. "You're waltzing into a hurricane, Jingshen." She was talking about being in a relationship with her.
"Then be my eye of the storm," he challenged, swinging open his car door with theatrical flair. "Shall we embrace the tempest?"
Meilin arched an eyebrow. "Who would believe the ice-cold CEO of Zhao Corporation could melt so thoroughly?"
"Well!" Laughter danced in his voice. "What's a man to do when his wife decides to play runaway bride? I'd turn myself inside out if it meant keeping you in my orbit."
A blush painted Meilin's cheeks crimson, her fierce facade cracking to reveal a softer core. "Wife, huh?" she murmured, biting back a smile.
Zhao Jingshen pulled her close, his gaze an anchor in the stormy sea of the night. "I told you, we're cosmic bodies locked in an eternal dance. Devil or angel, it doesn't matter. I'm all in, Rosie Blackwood, come hell or high water." His words reaffirmed his resolve to be with her, no matter the consequences.