Chapter 98: The Warmth of Love (For Yiyi Diamond)

"Don't worry," she said coolly. "In this state, I have no way of leaving."

As expected, she saw the corner of his mouth drop. He pinched her chin, studying her for a moment before planting a pacifying kiss on her forehead. "I'll have Tang Pei bring over a set of clothes shortly," he whispered.

At the mention of Tang Pei, a flash of apprehension crossed Linglan's eyes. "No!" The word slipped out, sharp and urgent. To do so would be to expose the relationship between her and Mo Zhicheng in the most naked way possible.

Sensing her hesitation, Mo Zhicheng released her and buried his face deeper into the crook of her neck, inhaling her faint, natural scent. "Are you shy?"

She turned her gaze away, staring blankly ahead. His voice was right by her ear, his breath still warm. "It is precisely because Tang Pei is someone I trust that I am having him bring them; he knows how to conduct himself. Secondly, you and he are quite close—that makes me uncomfortable." She froze, not expecting him to speak so plainly. "It’s only to let him know you are my woman."

"It seems your head has cleared, and your thoughts are sharp again," she said softly, brushing off his remark with a hint of mockery in her tone.

To her surprise, the man let out a light chuckle. He turned her body over, pinning her beneath him, his eyes deep as he stared at her. "Still blaming me for taking you while I was drunk, hmm?" His voice dragged out, laced with a certain seduction. It lacked his usual coldness and sternness, replaced by a playful, feigned teasing and a faint, indulgent tenderness.

Linglan bit her lip, turning her gaze away to avoid looking at him. Mo Zhicheng grabbed her chin, his brow furrowing in displeasure. "Look at me!"

His voice carried the weight of a command. Linglan looked into his pupils, which reflected her own image, her hair slightly disheveled—a state the man clearly found alluring. He leaned down, his thin lips lightly brushing hers, his breath cascading over her nose.

She shivered beneath him. He sighed low, "I want you; no one can stop that. You’re right—I haven't touched you or crossed any lines recently, but that doesn't mean I don't want you." He half-closed his eyes, gently pecking at the corners of her mouth. "Linglan, I love your body. What should I do?" he murmured, kissing her chin. The faint, elusive fragrance of her skin was like a fascinating spell.

She pushed against his chest, knowing full well it was futile, yet making a final, desperate resistance.

Feeling her provocative defiance, the man paused. He pressed a burning kiss to her jawline and whispered, "It was my fault for not considering your feelings. Fine, don't think about anything. I will still have Tang Pei bring the clothes in. He has always been decorous; he will accompany you out later. If anyone outside wants to gossip, I will not be lenient, nor will I let them stay in Nanjiang..."

Seeing his earnest expression, Linglan said nothing more. She merely clutched the quilt to her chest, covering her snow-white skin. She looked at his sturdy frame, silhouetted against the dim, backlight, and fell into deep thought.

The moment he had entered her, she had felt a sense of dread. It was because that intimacy, which should have belonged to lovers, was instead weaving and wandering between them.

When Mo Zhicheng returned to the lounge, he found her huddled with her knees pulled to her chest, the pure white sheet barely covering her. Her skin, soft and luminous, made the white fabric look dull by comparison.

He saw only her dark, glossy hair, not her face, but the lonely, desolate posture betrayed her thoughts. She was clutching herself tightly, her slender arms wrapped around her frame.

At a glance, the rumpled bedding, the woman half-exposed, and the lingering scent of their lovemaking added to the atmosphere of solitude. It turned out that while he was away, she had been protecting herself even in this way.

At this thought, Mo Zhicheng paused slightly. Looking at the clean outfit in his hand, he walked over and sat beside her. The mattress sank, causing her to look up abruptly. She caught sight of the man, and the black outfit was held out to her. Linglan took it, climbed out the other side of the bed, and, with her back to him, lowered her head to dress.

Mo Zhicheng didn't look back, but he inadvertently caught sight of the high heels lying askew on the carpet. He bent down to pick them up, only to realize they were made of cheap, coarse PU leather. Though the surface had been polished until it shone, the poor quality was obvious at a glance.

He didn't move, instead watching her bare feet, where a new adhesive bandage was stuck to her heel. She leaned down, retrieved the shoes from beside him, and sat on the edge of the bed to put them on.

When Mo Zhicheng looked up again, she was already composed. She brushed back her hair, smoothing it perfectly, and rose to her feet. Still facing away from him, she stood with a proud, defiant posture.

She said nothing more to him and simply opened the door to leave.

As Linglan stepped out of the lounge, she saw the man's tall shadow leaning against the edge of the desk, head bowed, lost in thought.

Hearing the sound behind him, Tang Pei startled, then turned to see her. After changing, a trace of shyness remained on her face. For some reason, this scene, this encounter, felt awkward. Tang Pei stood up, and as Linglan walked toward him, she whispered softly, "Thank you..."

"You're welcome," the man replied, his tone calm, devoid of any discernible emotion. The atmosphere between them had shifted subtly, seemingly cooling to the freezing point.

Linglan remembered their first meeting in the men's restroom. From the very beginning, this man had always given her a sense of warmth and security.

She remembered his help and the way he would guide her at the venue during the preparations for Mo Zhicheng's birthday party whenever he finished work. She had learned many lessons about life from him, too. As she reflected on this, Linglan sighed softly.

Tang Pei looked at the purple-red love bites trailing from her neck to her collarbone, standing out vividly against her fair skin. He averted his gaze, refusing to look at her again, and said, "Button your collar."

Linglan looked down and noticed the marks the man had left. She hurriedly buttoned it up. Just then, Mo Zhicheng stepped out of the lounge. The moment he emerged, he saw the scene. He narrowed his star-like eyes, his grip tightening on the doorknob, but he remained silent, merely watching.

Perhaps sensing the gaze from behind, Tang Pei instinctively turned. "Mr. Mo..." he said, and Linglan looked up as well.

Mo Zhicheng approached and handed a file to Linglan. While his eyes remained on her, his words were directed at Tang Pei: "Take her downstairs."

"Very well, Mr. Mo," Tang Pei replied.

This display was enough to assert Mo Zhicheng's claim over her, as if in the competition of the male world, there were lines that could not be crossed.

"Go ahead," Mo Zhicheng nodded. Tang Pei glanced at the cup of honey water that had gone cold on the desk and said, "Mr. Mo had to drink at lunch. I'll have Xiaoqing bring you another cup of hot water. Your stomach perforation hasn't fully healed; the doctor said you need to take good care of it."

Tang Pei was indeed the person Mo Zhicheng trusted most, attending to his work and daily life with meticulous care. But what piqued Linglan's curiosity was why someone of Tang Pei's talent would be so subservient to Mo Zhicheng, to the point of being unfailingly loyal. Since Mo Zhicheng kept his past a closely guarded secret, perhaps Tang Pei knew deeper, darker secrets.

"It's nothing serious," Mo Zhicheng said simply, though his eyes flickered toward the woman. He had been too indulgent, and she didn't look well.

Tang Pei led Linglan out of the office. He walked ahead, and she followed. "Director Tang..." she called out, using his title during office hours. Tang Pei paused and stopped to walk beside her. "Yes?" His tone held a deliberate distance. Linglan asked, "When did Mr. Mo have a stomach perforation?" She wanted him to think she was genuinely concerned about the man, hoping to uncover more information about Mo Zhicheng from Tang Pei later.

But whether the concern was feigned or real...

Tang Pei felt the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. "You can ask Mr. Mo yourself." The simple statement left Linglan with no room to reply.

*** ***

In the evening, as she was leaving 'Tiancheng,' Linglan received a text message from Mo Zhicheng: "Wait for me in the underground parking garage after work."

It was a brief command she could not refuse.

Outside the corporate headquarters, she watched the sky being stained by ink. There was a slight chill in the night breeze. All of Tang Pei's words swirled in her mind.

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring into the vast underground parking lot. She wondered: why would a man as self-controlled as Mo Zhicheng ever get so drunk?

Mo Zhicheng was waiting in the Bentley. The driver, Master Chen, tactfully switched on the headlights, and Linglan climbed into the car.

Throughout the ride, she sat as far from him as possible, resting her chin on her hand and looking out the window. For the most part, she remained silent.

Mo Zhicheng leaned over, reached out, and pulled her into his arms. "We're eating out tonight..."

"Mhm," Linglan replied softly, yielding to his mood.

"Don't you want to ask where?"

"You've already decided, haven't you? Is there any need for you to ask my opinion?"

He paused, then let out a soft laugh. "Talking back to me—that proves you've recovered your spirit."

In his arms, she looked up at him. The man held her from behind, closing his eyes to rest. As the car moved along, she could hear his low, steady breathing. Linglan glanced sideways; the man was dozing off while holding her.

"Mr. Mo, we've arrived..." Master Chen said, glancing into the rearview mirror as the Bentley came to a stop.

Linglan nudged him. "Mr. Mo... Mr. Mo..." The man stirred slightly.

Linglan looked out the window and realized it was a Japanese restaurant. "Mr. Mo..."

The man ignored her, his hand tightening around her waist. She finally called out, "Zhicheng..." As the word left her lips, she realized the name had slipped out with surprising ease.