The morning sunlight pierced through the curtains, casting a golden haze over Xiang Nuan's porcelain face. She winced at the glare, burrowing deeper into the blankets. Sleep, however, had already abandoned her.
The shower in the bathroom stopped. Moments later, Shen Yanshi emerged, his tailored suit and polished demeanor restoring him to the image of a refined, ruthless heir—a wolf in gentleman's clothing. He fastened his cufflinks, his gaze settling on the figure curled in bed. "Awake?"
Of course. You made sure of that, she thought bitterly.
Xiang Nuan sat up, her sleep-softened eyes blinking at him. "Leaving already?" Her voice carried a drowsy nasal lilt.
The movement caused the blanket to slip from her shoulders, pooling just below her chest. Her bare skin, marked by faint bruises from the night before, glowed in the morning light. Shen Yanshi's cold, detached eyes darkened as they traced the lingering evidence of his possession.
She hooked a finger around his, pleading with a pout. "Stay a little longer? Who knows when I'll see you next…"
Shen Yanshi was a man of unshakable discipline. Once resolved, he never wavered. He'd already decided to leave; no whimsical plea would delay him. Besides, she'd checked his schedule with his assistant yesterday—today's board meeting was nonnegotiable.
His thumb brushed her slightly swollen lower lip. "Why are you so clingy?"
"It's been two weeks," she murmured, tilting her face into his touch. "Is that clingy?"
He gripped her chin, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. Xiang Nuan froze, unprepared—then he shoved her back against the mattress, his weight pinning her down.
"Mmn…!" She turned her head, breathless. "Your meeting—"
"It can wait."
He silenced her again, his hunger erasing all pretense of restraint.
By the time Shen Yanshi left, an hour had slipped away.
Xiang Nuan lay boneless in the tangled sheets, fumbling for her phone on the nightstand. Notifications flooded the screen, topped by a furious message from her agent, Zheng Xuanlin: CALL ME NOW.
She dialed. The line connected instantly. "Where the hell are you? The magazine shoot started an hour ago!"
"Tending to my patron saint," Xiang Nuan drawled.
A beat of disgusted silence. "Get here in twenty. Or I'll skin you alive."
The call died. Xiang Nuan exhaled, dragging herself out of bed. A rushed shower, a hasty layer of clothes, and she was out the door—sunglasses and mask shielding her face.
The penthouse, a gift from Shen Yanshi, sat in the city's heart. Convenient, yet rarely visited. They only met here when he summoned her. Every two weeks, like clockwork, he'd arrive, take what he wanted, and vanish back into the labyrinth of corporate empires and dynastic responsibilities.
As the heir to the Shen Group, Yanshi had little time to spare for his indulgences. Yet he'd been generous. In two years, he'd propelled Xiang Nuan from obscurity to rising star—a second-tier actress with first-tier buzz. The world envied her luck: plucked from nowhere, polished by a prince.
But Xiang Nuan knew better. Luck had nothing to do with it. She'd been chosen for her face—a face that mirrored the one etched in Shen Yanshi's past. A face that belonged to his untouchable white moonlight.
To survive, she'd molded herself into a mimic: playing the naive ingénue, the pliant companion. Her finest performance, reserved for him alone.
It had worked. Two years, and he hadn't discarded her.
But time, like all his whims, would run out.