The city was quiet in the early hours—that exhausted lull before rush hour. But Yinlin hadn't slept. She had spent the night pacing the kitchen tiles, fingers curled around a cold cup of tea she never drank, staring at the rent notice again and again as if it might change.
By the time the city was beginning to stir, she washed up, changed into her uniform, and combed her long, black hair. Her eyes were swollen and shadowed, and she looked dead in the mirror. But the relentless despair of the night had hardened into a single, clear resolve: no one was coming to save her.
Not this time.
Not ever.
So she decided to show up at Xu Tao's office. Again.
Upon reaching the executive floor, reception had to call three times before she was allowed entry. Zhenqiang, Tao's assistant, met her at the elevator with a faint, unreadable expression. "He's in a meeting," he said, the words clipped and devoid of warmth. "But he'll make time. For you."
Of course he would. She waited in silence on a leather couch so plush it felt indecent, surrounded by glass walls and stock awards framed like masterpieces. Her palms were slick with dread, but her jaw was set like concrete.
When Xu Tao emerged, he wasn't surprised to see her.
He was a man built like a threat: tall, leanly powerful, dressed in a charcoal bespoke suit that looked both expensive and utterly effortless. His movements were precise—the coiled grace of a predator. He was handsome in a way that offered no softness, with eyes the color of night that rarely blinked. He didn't smell like simple cologne; the air around him carried the subtle, cool scent of an exceptionally rare aftershave—notes of sandalwood and old money, sharp enough to cut through the sterile air of the office.
He didn't smile, just inclined his head toward his private office. "Come in, Yinlin."
Behind the heavy, soundproof door, Yinlin stood stiffly across from his vast, polished desk. She didn't sit.
"I've thought about your offer," she said, her voice a low, steady current of pure resolve. "If it means I can keep a roof over my daughter's head, then I accept."
Tao leaned back in his black leather chair, folding his hands. His knuckles were smooth, his expensive watch a muted flash of platinum. "A smart decision, Yinlin. Took you long enough."
"But there are conditions," she said, cutting through his easy dismissiveness.
His brow, sharply defined, arched slightly.
"I won't do anything outside the public appearance. No touching, no expectation of more. And I will not change jobs just to be your night mistress." Her voice was steel-wrapped exhaustion, the final, desperate defense of a besieged soldier. "If you think I'll sell myself for rent money, you're wrong."
A pause. A silence so heavy the air seemed to crackle.
Then Tao laughed. It was a low, quiet sound, a dark vibration in his chest that held no humor.
"You still think you have the upper hand," he murmured, rising slowly from his chair. His height was suddenly overwhelming; he towered over her, a massive shadow against the sunlight filtering through the glass. "That's adorable."
Yinlin took a step back on instinct, but immediately forced herself to hold the ground. "I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be."
He didn't shout. He didn't make a sudden move. Instead, he moved deliberately, closing the space between them with the same dangerous, coiled elegance he wore like a weapon. He stopped just close enough that she had to tilt her chin back to meet his gaze. She tasted the adrenaline, but she didn't waver.
"You think this is about companionship? Appearances?" His voice dropped to a register so low it was a physical presence, sharp as broken glass. "I didn't buy your time, Yinlin. I bought you. Your desperation. Your compliance. And if I want you in my bed, you'll be there."
She flinched—the barest twitch of her eyelid—but she didn't back down an inch. Her eyes, though red-rimmed and tired, were blazing. "No."
He tilted his head, a gesture of cold curiosity. "No?"
"You can take my job. You can take my apartment. You can ruin my name," she said, the words coming out in a rush of pure, raw defiance. "But you won't take that from me. I've been poor before. I've begged. But I won't be yours. Not that way."
The air between them was suddenly thick, hot, and dangerous.
Tao stared at her, his dark eyes unreadable, absorbing her defiance without the slightest change in his own expression. He let the standoff stretch until Yinlin's heart hammered against her ribs.
Then, he smiled.
It wasn't amusement. It wasn't pleasure. It was the possessive, hungry, chilling smile of an apex predator.
"You'll come around," he said, stepping back and breaking the tension with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders. "Desperation, I've found, is a far better negotiator than pride."
Yinlin spun on her heel and walked out, her back stiff, before he could see the slight tremor in her hands.
That night, she came home to her daughter, Mei, drawing on the floor, Ah Jia grinning with a half-eaten cup of instant noodles in hand.
Yinlin didn't cry this time.
She just held her daughter for a long, long time, her heart pounding with a single, dangerous truth:
She might have entered the lion's den. But she still had teeth. And she would use them.