The music boomed so loud it seemed to explode through the walls.
Bo Wang sat languidly on a sofa in the farthest corner, one arm draped over the armrest, a crystal wine glass dangling between his fingers. His polished leather shoes tapped against the marble floor in lazy rhythm, the faint light glinting off their pointed tips.
He was swallowed by darkness—his chiseled face half-shrouded in shadow, the sharp edges of his features hidden—but even from afar, an unapproachable chill radiated from him, like a warning that kept strangers away.
Through the shifting strobe lights, a tall, thin man walked toward him, his head covered by a black hood.
“Brother Wang.”
Li Minghuai stopped before Bo Wang, bowing his head with the cautious deference of someone standing before a god—or a predator.
Bo Wang was leaning against the sofa, half-asleep. When he heard the voice, he opened his eyes slowly, his gaze dull and unreadable.
“Brother Wang,” Li Minghuai said, lowering his voice, “we’ve interrogated both of them carefully. They swear that my sister-in-law hasn’t been with any other man since that night. The child she’s carrying—it’s definitely yours.”
He extended a small stack of photographs.
Bo Wang let the wine glass slip from his fingers and caught the photos instead.
Feng Chao and Hua Ping—faces bloodied, swollen, and barely recognizable. Under such beatings, even if they wanted to lie, they couldn’t.
“Tsk.” Bo Wang clicked his tongue softly, his voice low and rough. “You’re getting crueler these days.”
“I learned it all from you, Brother Wang,” Li Minghuai replied with a crooked smile. “Also, according to Feng Chao’s confession, my sister-in-law wasn’t the one behind the honey trap (a ‘beauty trap’ scheme in Chinese slang, often used to seduce or entrap someone for ulterior motives). She’s innocent. Actually, she’s been beaten and humiliated by that couple time and again. How about I avenge her?”
Bo Wang’s brows lifted faintly. A trace of confusion flickered in his cold eyes as he asked, “Sister-in-law?”
Li Minghuai’s heart clenched tight under that gaze. His throat went dry, and he felt as if something sharp were pressing against his neck. “W-Well, she’s married to you, right? Of course, I should call her sister-in-law…”
He’d followed Bo Wang for years—watched him live recklessly, sleep little, fight hard—but he’d never seen him keep a woman around. When he heard the rumors about this “sister-in-law,” he’d thought she might be different, someone special.
He was wrong.
“Really?” Bo Wang drawled, the corners of his lips curling into a half-smile that wasn’t a smile. “You keep calling her sister-in-law like she’s family. I thought maybe that broodmare (here referring to a woman reduced to a ‘childbearing tool’) had given you a red envelope (a traditional Chinese gift of money given on special occasions, often symbolizing favor or gratitude).”
His voice grew colder with every word, like frost creeping up a windowpane.
“…”
Li Minghuai felt his legs go weak. It was as if his body had been pierced through by invisible needles.
He finally understood. In Bo Wang’s eyes, Lu Zhiling was nothing—just a tool, a possession, not worth even pity.
Bo Wang tossed the photos aside and leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes again.
Li Minghuai stood quietly nearby, watching him.
In his eyes, Bo Wang was an enigma—someone who never went home, who thrived amid chaos, who surrounded himself with noise only to fall asleep in it.
What kind of man needed pandemonium just to rest?
Wouldn’t it be better to go home and fall asleep holding that sister-in-law of his?
Suppressing his sigh, Li Minghuai turned to leave, not daring to disturb him further. But just as he moved, a woman in a dripping bikini brushed past, her perfume thick and her skin still wet. She slid onto the seat beside Bo Wang, pressing her slick body against his arm.
Li Minghuai didn’t even have time to stop her.
“Mr. Bo,” the woman purred, her voice sweet and coy, “why don’t you come down and play with us?”
Her delicate fingers began to toy with the buttons of his shirt, the motion bold and teasing.
“…”
Li Minghuai sighed inwardly, covering his face with one hand. She really didn’t know she’d just picked the worst possible way to die.
Bo Wang’s shirt was damp where she’d touched him. The fleeting drowsiness in his eyes vanished as he slowly opened them again.
His eyes were black as obsidian, lashes casting faint shadows beneath his lids. Even in that half-lidded, sleepy state, the look he gave her carried an edge of danger—and a trace of something darker, something that made the woman’s breath hitch.
For a moment, she thought she saw desire in his gaze. Her bones went weak, her skin tingled. Maybe this infamous heir of the Bo family wasn’t as terrifying as the rumors claimed.
She’d worked hard to get into this private gathering tonight. If she left without gaining his favor, what a waste it would be.
“Mr. Bo,” she whispered, her lips curving into a practiced smile, “they say you always stay alone. Why so serious? Why so depressed?”
Bo Wang tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Guess why.”
His tone was soft—too soft.
But to Li Minghuai, who’d been with him long enough to read the hidden meanings behind that voice, the words might as well have screamed:
Because I was happy—until you interrupted my sleep.