Song Weiyi watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, her knuckles whitening around the chess piece. Female intuition hummed like a plucked wire.
"Are you quite sure you're alright?" Song Weiyi's question to Chenchen was velvet-coated steel.
"Perfectly fine," Chenchen murmured.
"Then carry on," Song Weiyi commanded, her voice saccharine-sweet as she turned back to Bai Yeqing. "Shall we resume, Mr. President?"
Chenchen chanced a glance at Bai Yeqing. His expression was unreadable, jaw rigid, radiating displeasure like winter frost. His irritation must be because of my clumsiness, she thought defensively. But it's not my fault! I wouldn't shell crabs for just anyone… except Dabai. The thought of her son anchored her, even as her wounded finger throbbed with renewed agony.
The crab's armored shell became a jagged battlefield. Chenchen gritted her teeth, wrestling with a stubborn leg.
A shadow fell across her workspace. She looked up, startled. Bai Yeqing loomed before her, an immovable monolith in the elegant room.
"Your hand. Show me."
Chenchen froze, momentarily paralyzed. Impatience flickered in his eyes. Without waiting, he grasped her wrist, his touch impersonal yet inescapable.
His fingers brushed hers. A jolt of electricity shot through her, making her breath catch. "It's nothing," she whispered, her voice trembling as much as her lashes. "Just a little scratch…"
"Clumsy." His tone was cool appraisal, though his gaze held no condemnation as he examined the wound. Her pale skin was marred by a stark crimson line. "Have a physician see to this. The Steward will send someone else for the crab."
Relief washed over Chenchen, sweeping away the sting of Song Weiyi's malice. "Of course," she breathed, gently extracting her hand. Long after, the phantom warmth of his touch lingered on her skin, a slow-burning ember that traveled up her arm and settled, unsettlingly, near her heart.
She dipped her head respectfully to Song Weiyi and retreated.
Song Weiyi's gaze followed Chenchen's exit, sharp and unwavering. A simple servant? The question coiled inside her. Then why does he look at her like that?
...
Outside the drawing room, Chenchen leaned against the cool wall, her pulse still hammering against her ribs. She stared at the bandage. Strangely, the pain had dulled to a whisper.
Was that… concern? The treacherous thought surfaced. Checking my injury right in front of his future wife?
The next instant, she mentally kicked herself. Don't flatter yourself, Xia Chenchen! His notorious fastidiousness was the obvious answer. Blood on the crab? Unthinkable for his palate. That explanation made perfect, logical sense.
"Miss Xia! Your hand!" Leng Fei's sharp eyes had caught the bandage immediately.
"Really, it's fine," she assured him with a practiced smile.
The Steward appeared, gesturing gracefully. "Please, Miss Xia, allow the physician to properly attend to it."
Chenchen followed. "Perhaps send someone more… adept inside?" she suggested lightly. "My clumsiness isn't suited to serving such distinguished company."
"My apologies for the indignity you endured," the Steward murmured, genuine remorse in his tone.
"Indignity?" Chenchen managed a rueful smile. "Serving our President and his future First Lady? It's hardly a burden." Her voice held a carefully calibrated lightness.
The Steward studied her for a long moment, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "It comforts me to see you understand so clearly. It confirms His Excellency's… discernment in selecting you."
Chenchen knew exactly what he meant. A wry curve touched her lips. "Please, don't worry. Having Dabai doesn't cloud my judgment. I know the chasm between his world and mine."
"My apologies, Miss Xia. I speak only from concern."
Chenchen remained silent. He was right. She needed to build walls around her heart, brick by brick. No impossible dreams.
...
The afternoon crawled. Chenchen stayed upstairs, a silent observer at her window. Below, Bai Yeqing played the perfect host to Song Weiyi. He guided her through the sprawling presidential gardens, escorted her to the private wine cellars, and finally, walked with her across the emerald expanse of the golf course.
They moved through the landscape like figures in an exquisite painting – the powerful President and his radiant, suitable companion. A pang, sharp and unexpected, pierced Chenchen. When this house has a new mistress… will Dabai be happy? And I… I'll have to leave.
Dinner came and went. Bai Yeqing saw Song Weiyi off. Soon after, the car carrying Dabai pulled up.
The boy stormed inside, a dark cloud of fury. He ignored everyone, slammed the door to his room, and refused to come out. Chenchen's coaxing hit a wall of stubborn silence.
Fresh from her shower, hair damp and tousled, Chenchen was blow-drying it when a firm knock sounded, followed by the door opening.
Bai Yeqing stood framed in the doorway. Chenchen hastily switched off the dryer, rising. "Mr. President."
"You've spoken with him?" His voice was low.
"I tried. He's locked himself in. Stubborn as a mule."
A brow arched. "A trait inherited perhaps?" His gaze held a hint of dry assessment.
Chenchen flushed. "I'm nowhere near that bad!"
"Stubborn? Perhaps debatable." His gaze dropped meaningfully to his own collar bone, visible above his shirt. "But fierce? Undeniably."
Heat flooded her cheeks. He remembered the bite. "I…" Words failed her.
"Come," he ordered, turning. "We'll see him together."
"Just a moment." Her hair was still damp, but there was no time. She grabbed a brush, pulling it quickly through the dark strands before the mirror.
Bai Yeqing waited by the door, his gaze lingering. Her pajamas were modest – a floral silk robe falling past her knees, lending her a quiet, demure charm. Her bare legs, pale as moonlight, gleamed beneath the hem. Damp tendrils clung to her neck, the contrast of innocence and unintended sensuality striking.
His eyes darkened, a slow heat kindling in their depths.
Chenchen turned, catching his look before he could mask it. The raw intensity in his eyes stole her breath. Her cheeks flamed.
"Is… is something wrong?" she stammered, self-consciously smoothing her robe.
"Nothing." He shook his head, his expression smoothing instantly back to its usual impenetrable calm. Only a casual afterthought: "Your hand?"
"Treated. Doesn't hurt at all now."
A curt nod. Chenchen stepped out into the hallway, falling into step beside him on his right. The corridor stretched before them, charged with the unsaid things hanging thick in the air.