(Michelle Lui's POV)
The drive home felt like floating.
Not in a dramatic, cinematic way.
Not in a heart-racing, pulse-thundering way.
Just… light.
Like someone had loosened knots inside me I didn't realize I'd been carrying.
Like I was breathing softer.
Like the world had tilted one degree toward warmth.
Steven drove quietly, the mellow sunset painting warm gold across his profile. Every so often he glanced at me — quick, soft checks — as if making sure I hadn't vanished.
Each one made my stomach flip.
Stop this, Michelle. Internal composure. Dignity. Elegance.
Then he said:
"So… the billionaire salted-fish housewife dream."
I nearly imploded.
"I TOLD you to forget that!"
His lips twitched — the faintest, smallest almost-smile.
"I can't. It was… very unexpected."
I clutched my seatbelt dramatically, as though offended on a spiritual level.
"Unexpected bad or unexpected funny?"
"A bit of both."
"Steven!"
