Addicted after marriage - Chapter 5:
It was her second time stepping into the president’s office.
The room was huge, open, and meticulously arranged.
A massive desk dominated one side, while a sleek sofa set occupied the other.
Beyond the sofa, there was even a small space for tea quiet, elegant, perfectly measured.
If you’re tired, there’s a place to rest inside, he said, his chin tilting
slightly toward the inner room as he walked to his desk.
Luo Shu followed his gaze. Beside his desk, a door opened into a small adjoining suite.
It actually looked… livable. Unlike the place from that night.
She caught herself. What on earth was she thinking again?
I’m fine here, she said, backing away toward the sofa.
Suit yourself.
Yu Zhan sat down, pulled a file toward him, and began working without another glance.
Luo Shu chose a corner of the couch and waited quietly.
Minutes or maybe hours passed. The fatigue from last night caught up with her,
and before long, she drifted off to sleep on the sofa.
Yu Zhan, however, kept working. Documents, phone calls, signatures.
His energy seemed endless. It didn’t make sense.
They had both been through the same exhausting night,
and yet he looked as composed as ever, every movement precise and deliberate.
When she woke again, it was past one in the morning.
Yu Zhan stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the glittering city below.
Even from where she sat, she could tell his body was trained broad shoulders,
a trim waist, the veins on his forearms standing out under the rolled sleeves of his shirt.
She rubbed her stiff neck and groaned softly, unaware that
his black jacket had slid from her shoulders and fallen in a heap beside her.
You’re not sleeping? she asked. She’d assumed he would retreat
into that private room once his work was done.
The elevator’s fixed, he replied.
Oh.
I’ll take you home.
That’s not necessary. I can grab a taxi downstairs.
He picked up his coat and followed her anyway.
Luo Shu felt uneasy. He was like a shadow she couldn’t shake, quiet but unrelenting.
As she walked toward the parking exit, a sharp car horn sounded behind her.
She stepped aside, but the black car kept honking.
She turned, frowning.
Get in.
His voice was low, rich, with a trace of authority that made refusal difficult.
Behind his frameless glasses, his eyes were cold and unreadable.
Luo Shu hesitated, clutching her bag, but eventually opened the door and slipped inside.
Just then, a silver BMW with the plate 290 sped out of the garage, its tires screeching.
Both of them turned instinctively, watching as the car vanished into the shadows.
When she recognized it, Luo Shu’s fingers tightened on her skirt. Qin Heng’s car.
She sat down too quickly, the hem of her dress riding up her thighs.
She tugged at it nervously, trying to fix it, and then
Pop.
The button on her blouse came loose.
Yu Zhan’s gaze flickered to her for a split second before he looked away,
his Adam’s apple moving slightly.
Her cheeks flamed. She clutched the fabric to her chest, wishing she could sink through the seat.
The silence in the car grew thick and stifling.
He reached back and tossed her his jacket.
She caught it and slipped it on, the heavy scent of sandalwood and ink still clinging to the fabric.
Halfway through the drive, he pulled over near a quiet street corner.
A small dessert shop was still open, its neon sign faintly flickering.
He went inside and returned with a single paper cup labeled Gentle Lotus Sweet Soup.
The aroma was light, familiar.
She assumed it was for someone else a woman waiting at home, maybe.
But when he handed it to her as she stepped out of the car, she froze.
Take it.
Thank you, she murmured, startled.
The dessert was made from lotus seeds, black rice, lily, and donkey-hide gelatin her favorite.
The shop stayed open until three in the morning, often with a line at the door.
How did he know?
Her apartment complex, Meihua Court, was only a few minutes from the company.
When they arrived, he waited in the car, watching as she entered the building.
Less than a minute later, the light in her sixteenth-floor window flicked on.
Only then did he drive away.
The elevator doors opened.
Right outside her apartment was a bouquet of yellow tulips and a cup of coffee gone cold.
The sight was almost eerie like offerings at a wake.
Bad luck.
Her good mood evaporated.
There’s a saying, she remembered, something her mother used to quote.
Trash belongs in the trash can.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She picked up the coffee and dumped it straight into the bin.
Then she turned to the flowers, her eyes hardening. Her heel came down once, sharply,
kicking the bouquet toward the trash.
Fingerprint unlocked. Door open. Home.
Finally.
She shrugged off the oversized jacket, slipped into slippers, and headed for a long, scalding shower.
By the time she came out, it was two in the morning.
Light. Clean. Free.
Her phone powered back on with a cheerful chime. Miraculously, it still worked.
Within seconds, message notifications flooded her screen dozens of them.
She didn’t even look. Just marked them all as read.
Except one.
Qin Heng: You didn’t pick up my calls. I was worried.
The flowers were fresh today. Hope you like them.
He was always like this charming, gentle, romantic.
The kind of man who knew exactly what words could melt someone’s heart.
He was also an expert at recycling that same charm with other women.
Luo Shu had been raised by a single mother, a woman of sharp principles and quiet strength.
Under her influence, Luo Shu had learned restraint and respect.
Even after years of dating Qin Heng, their intimacy had gone no further than holding hands.
Until the National Day fashion show.
That evening, after the event ended and the staff began clearing out,
she had seen Qin Heng her Qin Heng on the street, laughing and
holding hands with Liao Xian.
The sight had burned like a thousand needles down her throat.
Yu Zhan and Shen Yan had seen it too.
Later that night, they had spoken about it privately.
Which, in hindsight, explained the champagne and the chaos that
followed at the celebration banquet.
Her mind drifted. Without thinking, she opened Yu Zhan’s WeChat.
His name sat there, quiet and steady on her screen.
She glanced at the jacket draped over her chair.
The cup of sweet soup still warm beside it.
And she remembered the absurd thing he’d said that night.
Want to try being Mrs. Yu?
Ridiculous.
Even if she were desperate, she wouldn’t be that desperate.
He was the president of Yuse Apparel. Why would a man like that fall for a lowly designer?
He wasn’t running a charity.
She set her phone down and opened WeChat Moments out of habit.
The feed was full of chatter coworkers commenting on her late-night work ethic,
joking that she lived at the office.
One notification caught her eye.
Yu Zhan had liked her post.
Her breath hitched.
No way. He hadn’t seen it and come down to find her, had he?
Impossible. Absolutely impossible.
She shoved her phone aside and reached for the dessert instead.
One small sip.
Sweet. Almost unbearably sweet.