"Good," he said, the single word carrying a wealth of meaning, of approval and possessiveness and something that felt almost like affection.
The last morsel of fish disappeared from Tang Fei's plate.
A comfortable, sated silence had settled between them, a stark contrast to the frantic energy that had consumed the kitchen earlier.
Huo Ting Cheng watched her, his dark eyes reflecting the soft lamplight from across the room.
"The night feels too quiet now," Tang Fei murmured, leaning back against the couch and stretching her arms over her head with a soft, cat-like grace that made his eyes darken further.
Huo Ting Cheng's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.
He rose and walked back to the bar, returning not with the wine they had before, but with a new bottle—something darker, older, the label written in characters that spoke of decades of aging.
The cork came out with a soft, satisfying pop.
