The nightclub corridor was dim, lit only by wall lamps that flickered whenever the bass from the main hall boomed through the floors. A heavy man in a tight gray suit paced back and forth, his shoes squeaking every time he turned. Sweat rolled down the side of his face even though the hallway wasn't hot—he was nervous, impatient, and very aware that his boss did not tolerate delays.
He wiped his forehead again, muttering under his breath. "Mr. Fan personally arranged a stage for Mr. Zhao tonight. Just one girl. One. And she still isn't here."
The young waiter beside him kept his head low, fingers twisting around the tray he held. "She arrived yesterday. They call her 'Number One Jewel'. She should already be on her way up, Manager Chen."
"'Should'?" Chen Yu shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through glass. "If she makes Mr. Zhao wait, who's going to deal with Fan Yujing's temper? You? Me? Can you even afford your own funeral?"
The waiter swallowed hard, ready to apologize again—when a soft thud echoed down the hall.
Both men froze as a woman pushed herself away from the wall she had been leaning on. Her steps were uneven, her hair slightly messy, and her eyes half-closed as if she were still dreaming with her eyes open. She glanced at the door in front of them, then at the two men, confusion clouding her face.
"You two don't wanna go in?" she asked, her voice slow and lazy, like someone struggling to stay awake.
They stared. She squinted back.
"Fine," she said, waving them off. "If you won't go, I will."
Only then did Chen Yu find his voice. "Miss—wait—are you Number One Jewel?"
The woman blinked at him as if the words took a moment to reach her brain. Then she gave an unsteady laugh, tilting her chin proudly.
"Number One Jewel? Hah... of course I'm number one. Everyone in Zinhai knows—"
"That's her!" Chen Yu shouted before she could finish. "Open the door! Mr. Zhao has been waiting long enough!"
The waiter scrambled to obey, pushing the door open as the woman staggered inside.
*
Zhao Wang sat alone in the private room, surrounded by the scent of cigar and polished wood. The noise from the nightclub outside was faint here, reduced to a low hum that barely touched the edges of his patience. He disliked these appointments—he disliked waiting even more.
The girl was late.
He checked his watch one last time. Ten minutes past the agreed hour. Enough.
He pushed himself up from the sofa, loosening his tie and picking up his keys. If she didn't value his time, he wouldn't waste another second on her. He reached for the door, and a body stumbled through the doorway before he could even step out.
Softness collided with his chest, and Zhao Wang instinctively pushed the person away. A muted gasp, then the sound of someone falling onto the sofa behind him. When he turned, the sight of a dazed, drunken woman blinking up at the ceiling made his brows tighten.
Before he could open the door again, it swung shut on its own—click—locking from the outside.
Zhao Wang exhaled slowly. "Fan Yujing what now?"
Behind him, the woman slowly sat up, looking around as if she'd entered a foreign land. Her eyes lit up with sudden joy.
"Wow, when did the bathroom get a sofa? Fancy ah, my stomach," She pressed her palm to her belly, wobbling as she stood and made her way toward him, step by unsteady step.
He moved forward and caught her wrist, not gently. "This isn't the bathroom."
She stared at him for two whole seconds.
Then her face blossomed into a warm smile, the kind that made her look like she was seeing someone she missed dearly.
"Zhao Wang, you came back."
Before Zhao Wang could correct her, she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her cheek pressed against his chest like she had found the safest place in the world. He stiffened, trying not to touch her more than necessary as he grabbed her hand to pull her away…
And the moment his fingers brushed her skin, something flickered in his mind.
A flash.
A woman in his arms. A familiar scent. A feeling he couldn't place.
Then it vanished.
He barely had time to blink before she rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his.
A quiet electric shock ran down his spine.
Her lips were warm. Soft. Sweet. Like something he had no business tasting.
His thoughts tangled, heat flaring under his skin.
Shit.
Her voice drifted up to him, small and trembling. "Zhao Wang, please don't hate me."
*
Elsewhere on the 33rd floor, Lan Xia steadied herself against the wall, trying to clear her head. The alcohol she'd been forced to drink earlier still burned in her throat, but her mind was slowly sharpening. The corridor felt colder here, quieter. But she knew exactly which room she needed—3340.
And she knew exactly who she expected to find behind that door.
Lan Jingyi.
Sure enough, the door opened, and Lan Jingyi stepped out, pretending to be startled.
"Sister? What are you doing here?"
Lan Xia didn't bother reacting. This game had been going on for years—ever since Lan Jingyi entered the family. Jealousy disguised as innocence. Schemes hidden behind smiles.
She had always assumed Jingyi would one day try something with Zhao Wang. But she trusted Zhao Wang. Trusted him enough not to be scared.
"Where is he?" she asked quietly.
Jingyi's fingers brushed back her hair, and the faint red marks on her neck became visible. She made no attempt to hide them.
"Sister, are you looking for Zhao Wang?" she said sweetly. "He just finished showering. He might come out soon."
And she smiled—like she had already won.
Lan Xia didn't flinch when Lan Jingyi blocked the doorway. Her expression stayed calm, almost bored, as if she were listening to a child nagging about something trivial. Without slowing down, she brushed past Jingyi and stepped into the suite.
The scent of perfume hit her first—sweet, cheap, and aggressive. Then she noticed the scraps of lace on the floor. A heel lying on its side. A crumpled dress was tossed carelessly over the arm of the sofa. The whole room had the unmistakable look of someone trying too hard to leave behind "evidence."
Her fingers tightened around her bag until her knuckles whitened.
So she really dared to go this far.
Lan Xia turned back to Jingyi, who stood in the doorway with a look of smug triumph—like a peacock showing off its feathers. Slowly, Lan Xia let a cold smile stretch across her lips.
"Lan Jingyi, I always knew you didn't have much self-respect," she said quietly. "But I didn't think you'd actually offer yourself to your future brother-in-law for free. That's impressive, even for you."
Jingyi gasped, her hand fluttering to her chest. "Sister, don't say that. Actually, brother-in-law and I—"
"Enough." Lan Xia's voice cut like a blade. "The act doesn't suit you. Besides, hasn't history shown that sisters sometimes serve one husband together? You don't need to be shy. I'm very open-minded."
A flicker of shock crossed Jingyi's face. She hadn't expected Lan Xia to speak so lightly, as if none of this mattered in the slightest.
Lan Xia walked farther into the room, paused, and glanced back over her shoulder. "If anything, you should be proud. You helped Zhao Wang 'gain experience.' You saved him the cost of hiring a professional. I should thank you for thinking of my future so thoughtfully."
That finally broke Jingyi's composure. Anger rushed into her face, her eyes turning red. "Don't pretend you're fine! You always act above me, like you're better. What right do you have? Why is your life better than mine?"
Lan Xia's gaze sharpened, though her expression remained calm. "Because unlike your mother, I wasn't born to be someone's shadow," she replied. "She chose to live low. And now you're following her path perfectly."
Jingyi trembled, humiliated fury twisting her face.
Lan Xia continued in a light, almost conversational tone. "But I'm generous. You've already slept with him—you can do it again. A hundred times, if that's what you want. Once Zhao Wang and I are married, you can be his little mistress. I won't stop you."
Her smile was soft. Her words were poison.
"And of course, you understand how mistresses are treated. As the official wife, I'll hold all the power. Children live lowly lives, you know. Like you."
The insult hit deep.
Before Jingyi could scream back, a cold voice came from behind them.
"Who says it won't change?"