The cabin smelled faintly of leather, ozone, and jet fuel—a sterile luxury designed to make people feel important while subtly reminding them that they were not. Xu Tao settled into his seat, precisely folding his jacket on the armrest, sliding the carry-on in with a deliberate ease. Business class, aisle seat, window view. Every variable controlled.
Zhengqiang, silent as always, stowed his own bag beside him, hands clasped neatly in front, eyes darting over the cabin in habitual vigilance. Tao allowed himself a small smirk. The man might appear invisible to most, but his presence was the kind of insurance one didn't realize was necessary until it failed.
Tao's phone buzzed.
Yuren.
Of course.
"Xu Tao," Yuren's voice said calmly, just short of dry irritation. "Welcome to Hong Kong. I assume the flight went as smoothly as your life always seems to—disruptively—managed."
Tao leaned back, allowing a hint of amusement to lace his voice. "I'm here. Alive. Efficient. No disruption worth noting. Yet."
Yuren allowed a pause, the sort that was long enough to convey both exasperation and calculation. "The Shanghai matters are resolved?"
"Fully," Tao replied smoothly. "Or at least as resolved as one could hope in such… a complex scenario."
"Complex scenario?" Yuren asked, tone flat, almost amused. "You mean the situation you refuse to discuss?"
Tao let a ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "If you mean personal matters, yes. Those are best left unexamined. One finds clarity in distance."
"Distance," Yuren repeated dryly. "Indeed. That's why I'm calling. Because I want to focus on things that matter. Business matters. You've kept me waiting for hours on critical decisions while you… whatever it is you do over there. So—update me."
Tao exhaled lightly, pretending to consider. "All partners briefed. Contracts drafted. Negotiations proceeding smoothly. Nothing actionable has been compromised. My mental inventory is intact."
Yuren's pause was calculated. "Inventory. Of course. I trust the inventory does not include—personal distractions?" His sarcasm was subtle, but sharp.
"Fully ethical," Tao said mildly, tilting his head. "Observational. Strategic. And entirely necessary."
"Ethical," Yuren repeated, dry as dust. "You make it sound so… respectable. And yet, I am here imagining you, Shanghai, midnight, scheming… and it's all entirely aboveboard. Naturally."
Tao allowed a faint laugh, soft and controlled. "I do not need your imagination. It is accurate. Not a shred of compromise."
Yuren sighed through the phone. "You're unbelievable. You've known me since high school. You've always found ways to turn everything into a… philosophical exercise in power and restraint. But Tao—don't let Shanghai blur your priorities. I don't need a repeat of last quarter."
Tao leaned slightly into the window, watching the faint shimmer of Victoria Harbour beneath them. "I assure you, the harbour remains unperturbed. I am not to be underestimated, nor distracted in ways that matter."
Another pause. Yuren's voice softened slightly, just a fraction, like a predator acknowledging another predator's instinct without condoning it. "I know," he said quietly. "And yes, I know about… her. But we do not discuss her. She is outside this conversation. Outside the boardroom. You… keep that in mind."
Tao's lips curved. "Acknowledged. As always."
"Good," Yuren said, voice flat again. "Now, let's focus. The Hong Kong meetings—investors, the Xu Group contracts, the preliminary budgets. You have Zhengqiang with you?"
"Yes," Tao said, glancing at the silent man beside him. "Every necessary hand is in place. No surprises expected."
"Good. Then let's proceed. I do not require commentary on… extracurricular activities, unless they somehow affect revenue streams."
Tao allowed himself a small smirk. "Noted."
The line went dead. Tao slid the phone into his pocket and reclined into the leather seat, eyes closing just a fraction. The hum of the engines, the low murmur of the cabin, the gentle tilt of the plane as it rose—it was the kind of environment where one could think in detail, without interference.
And think he did.
He remembered her clearly. Every detail he had observed.
The soft curve of her jaw in the dim light. The rise and fall of her chest. The small, unconscious exhalations as her body surrendered to sleep. The silk sheets brushing her skin. The faint, fleeting flush across her cheeks.
He had undressed her. Carefully. Observed. Catalogued. Stored. Nothing had crossed the line. Nothing had been violated.
And that was what made him better. Far better than any man with less patience, less restraint.
The humor in that thought was dark, sharp-edged, and private. Better to have watched and remembered than to have touched. The control was its own indulgence, a game, a victory of self over desire.
Zhengqiang shifted slightly in his seat, catching Tao's peripheral movement. Tao did not acknowledge him. He didn't need to. The man was quiet, present, and perfectly adequate at keeping the logistical aspects intact.
Tao pressed a hand to the window, letting the hum of engines vibrate through his palm. The memory of last night lingered like an aftertaste—sweet, potent, entirely his. He let himself replay it with exacting detail, appreciating each line, curve, sound, and shadow.
Better men might have yielded to temptation. But Tao had not.
A week would pass. Deals would happen. Meetings would conclude. Investors would be pleased.
And she—Yinlin—would remain in his mind, a perfect, controlled, vivid reminder of patience, restraint, and ownership that no one could dispute.
Tao reclined fully, letting the seat adjust automatically. The city below shrank into clouds. He let the hum of the engines carry him upward.
Better. Always better.
*******************************
Yinlin stood in the shower for nearly an hour.
The water ran cold long before she stepped out, her fingers pruned, her skin raw from scrubbing.
But the feeling hadn't left.
That crawling unease, like she'd been watched through glass. Like someone had written something across her skin in invisible ink. There was no bruise. No pain. No mark. But something inside her had shifted — and it was screaming.
She sat on the edge of the bed in her bathrobe, towel-wrapped hair dripping down her back, and stared at the silent phone on the nightstand.
It had vibrated once earlier — a message from Tao.
I hope you're feeling better. Let me know if you need anything.
Nothing more. Not a word about the fact she woke up in a stranger's bed, in his suite, after taking a single sip of alcohol. No questions. No apologies. Just polite, polished control.
That made it worse.
Ah Jia tiptoed around her that day, noticing the way Yinlin kept forgetting the stove was on, or how she stood in the hallway for a minute too long after Mei hugged her goodbye for school.
"You alright?" she finally asked.
Yinlin nodded.
Then shook her head.
"I think something happened last night," she whispered. "But I can't remember."
Ah Jia blinked. "You… don't remember at all?"
"I remember the club. The drink. Talking to him." Her hands curled into fists. "Then I was in his bed. Nothing happened, he said. And I believe that. But—"
"But you don't feel okay."
"No," Yinlin said. "I feel like I've been peeled open and stitched shut again. Like I lost something, but I don't know what it was."
Ah Jia sat beside her, eyes wide, voice gentle. "Do you want to report it?"
"I don't even know what to report." Her voice cracked. "He didn't… hurt me. Not the way people mean when they say that. But something's wrong. I feel wrong."
She stared at her hands.
Steady now.
Too steady.
As if her body was trying to cover up the panic her soul couldn't hide.
"I don't trust him," she said quietly. "But I don't know why."
Ah Jia touched her shoulder. "You don't have to know why. Your body knows."
Yinlin exhaled — shakily. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I think he's playing a game I don't know the rules to."
And in the pit of her stomach, she knew—
Xu Tao wasn't finished.
Not with her.
Not yet.
And she, in her exhaustion and confusion, was already trapped in something she didn't understand, didn't consent to, and couldn't easily escape.
She opened her eyes and exhaled slowly. "I have to… figure this out," she whispered. "Even if I don't want to."
The room remained quiet, indifferent.
And outside, Shanghai pulsed, waiting.