The atmosphere in the hotel lounge was thick with an uneasy tension.
Jiang Ci leaned back into the velvet sofa, his posture deceptively relaxed, though his chin was lifted with a sharp, regal air. “Grandpa, how much exactly are you willing to pay for my shares?” he asked coolly.
Grandfather Jiang had requested this meeting to settle the matter of the Hengyuan Group’s equity. Now that Jiang Ci had taken the reins of the Sheng Group—a massive rival conglomerate—holding a significant stake in Hengyuan was no longer a matter of family, but a conflict of interest.
“You brat,” the old man grunted, his stern expression softening slightly as he saw that his grandson was actually willing to negotiate. “Name your price.”
Jiang Ci crossed his long legs, a ghost of a smirk playing on his thin lips. “Hengyuan’s stock has been performing exceptionally well lately; the momentum is strong. What’s the fair market value in your eyes, old man?”
“You little bai yan lang [白眼狼 – Literally ‘white-eyed wolf,’ a term for someone who is ungrateful or cold-hearted toward their own family]!” Grandpa Jiang snorted. “I’m your grandfather. Do you really intend to haggle with me over every cent?”
Jiang Ci merely raised an eyebrow, his dark, impenetrable eyes meeting the old man’s gaze head-on. He was a businessman now, and he wasn’t about to back down for the sake of sentimentality.
At that moment, a frantic knock shattered the silence of the room. The door swung open before permission was even given. The butler rushed in, his face drained of color. “Master, something has happened,” he gasped, his eyes darting toward Jiang Ci with a look of absolute dread.
Jiang Ci’s eyes narrowed instantly. His tall frame uncoiled from the sofa with predatory speed, and without a word to his grandfather, he strode out of the room.
In the grand ballroom, chaos had replaced the elegance of the gala. The madman in the black suit was pinned to the floor by several security guards, his face pressed against the marble. “Stay down! The police are on their way!” one yelled.
“Where is the ambulance? Everyone, move back! Give the injured some air!” the hotel manager shouted, frantically directing security to form a human perimeter to push back the curious, whispering crowd.
The pristine floor was marred by spatters of brilliant, terrifying red. The blood was a jarring contrast against the soft blue of both Su Yue’s and Jiang Xuan’s dresses—a sight that turned the stomach of everyone watching.
Jiang Ci cut through the crowd like a blade. His handsome face was a mask of cold stone, his lips pressed into a thin, white line. His presence was so overwhelming, so lethal, that the guests instinctively parted like a tide to let him through.
His heart constricted as his gaze fell upon Su Yue. She was deathly pale, lying there with the front of her shimmering blue dress soaked in blood. He was at her side in an instant, his knees hitting the floor.
“Where are you hurt?” his voice, usually so steady and commanding, betrayed a frantic tremor.
Su Yue’s delicate brows were knit in a mask of pain. She looked up, seeing the raw, bloodshot desperation in his eyes, and whispered his name, “Ao Ao…”
Jiang Ci’s hands shook as they hovered over her, terrified of causing more damage to her fragile frame. He carefully, almost reverently, scooped her into his arms. “Don’t move. I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” As he stood, his first step was unsteady, a rare moment of physical disarray for a man who always moved with such precision. He held her tighter against his chest, as if trying to shield her from the very air.
“Su Yue…” On the other side of the clearing, Jiang Xuan lay on the ground, her own dress stained and her face a ghostly white. She reached out a trembling hand, her voice small and filled with a desperate need to explain herself.
“Get out of my sight!” Jiang Ci roared. He didn’t spare her a single glance, his voice booming with a terrifying, cold fury before he turned and strode toward the exit.
“Xiao Xuan! What happened? Where are you bleeding?” Jiang Muhang, who had been in a private meeting, came charging through the crowd. Seeing his wife on the floor, her hands covered in blood, he felt a surge of pure shock. “Get an ambulance here, now!”
Inside the car racing toward the hospital, the world outside was a blur of city lights. Jiang Ci held Su Yue on his lap, his arms wrapped around her with a protective, desperate strength. “Don’t be afraid, Yue’er. We’re almost there.”
Looking down at the spreading crimson on her blue silk, Jiang Ci’s eyes filled with tears he couldn’t hold back. “Is it your back? Where does it hurt?” He reached out, his scarred fingers trembling violently as they hovered over her, wanting to touch her, to heal her, yet paralyzed by the fear that she might break under his hand.The first time this happend had been during that terrifying landslide, and now, Su Yue was injured again.
Jiang Ci knew with a haunting clarity that this woman had become his Achilles’ heel—his one fatal weakness. The mere thought of her being hurt sent a cold shiver down his spine, a sensation more jarring than any physical blow he had ever endured.
“Ao Ao, it hurts.” Su Yue’s brow knit together in a tight wince. The hand she had been pressing against her side fell away, revealing a jagged tear in her starry blue dress. Beneath the silk, a shallow, angry gash marred her porcelain skin. Because her complexion was so ethereally pale, the contrast with the bright, blooming crimson was stark and sickening.
Jiang Ci reached out, his slender fingertips barely brushing the edge of the wound. When he felt her tremble under his touch, he recoiled as if burned. His heart, which had felt as though it were being squeezed into a pulp moments ago, finally seemed to find its rhythm again, thumping painfully against his ribs.
“I’ve been cut… it really stings.” Su Yue pouted, her eyes glistening. She had always been terrified of pain, and lately, her body felt increasingly sensitive, as if every nerve ending had been set on a hair-trigger.
Jiang Ci didn’t offer a word of comfort. Instead, his fingers caught her chin, tilting her face upward. He leaned in, his thin lips catching hers in a bite that was more possessive than tender. It was only when he heard her soft groan of protest that the tension in his shoulders finally began to bleed away. Su Yue remained obedient, melting into him and allowing him to drink from her lips.
After a long moment, Jiang Ci pulled back just enough for his warm breath to fan against her nose. The color returned to Su Yue’s ghostly face, and she spoke, her voice slightly husky. “Ao Ao, don’t worry. I’m truly fine.” She noticed his dark gaze lingering on the blood saturating her skirts and added quickly, “Most of this belongs to Jiang Xuan. She was the one who was actually stabbed.”
In that chaotic, split-second crisis, Su Yue had tried to retreat, but her high heels had betrayed her. As she stumbled, Jiang Xuan had lunged forward—not to help, but to grab Su Yue and haul her into the path of the blade as a human shield. Jiang Xuan hadn’t anticipated Su Yue’s sharpened reflexes; the moment the stranger’s knife lunged, Su Yue twisted away.
The blade’s tip had merely grazed Su Yue’s waist, shredding her dress and slicing the skin before burying itself deep into Jiang Xuan’s abdomen.
The carnage on the floor, and the gore on her dress, belonged almost entirely to Jiang Xuan.
At the hospital, a female doctor treated the graze, prescribed a healing ointment, and gave strict instructions to keep the wound dry. As they prepared to leave, Jiang Ci dismissed the driver with a curt wave of his hand.
Su Yue watched him settle into the driver’s seat, her eyes wide with surprise. “You’re driving?”
“Yes.”
Jiang Ci’s suit jacket had been ruined by the blood when he carried her; knowing it was the blood of someone he despised, he had discarded the garment in a nearby bin with visible loathing. His shirtsleeves were rolled up now, exposing his powerful, corded forearms. He rested one arm casually on the steering wheel, his profile looking exceptionally sharp and handsome in the dashboard’s amber glow.
As the car pulled away, Su Yue watched the rhythmic shadows of the trees outside the window, her eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. However, the car soon veered off the main road, turning into a secluded, dimly lit alleyway.
“Ao Ao, we’ve taken a wrong turn,” Su Yue murmured, sitting up in confusion.
“I didn’t take a wrong turn.” Jiang Ci killed the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt, and leaned across the center console toward her. “Little Yue’er, take off your dress. I’m going to apply your medicine.”
Su Yue’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Here? It’s too dark.”
“Take it off,” he coaxed, his clear, magnetic voice dropping into a low, persuasive velvet.
“I don’t need to be… undressed just for some ointment,” she stammered, but Jiang Ci’s large hand was already finding the zipper at her back.
“This dress is filthy. It’s soaked in someone else’s blood. Don’t you find it revolting?” he scoffed, his fingers moving with an agile, practiced grace.
The interior of the car was cozy and warm, but the moment the silk slipped away and her skin met the cool air, Su Yue was overcome by a wave of shyness. She wrapped herself in the long black trench coat Jiang Ci had handed her. It carried his crisp, signature scent, but the heavy fabric was a bit coarse against her bare skin, making her feel even more exposed.
She buried the lower half of her face in the collar of the coat. “Hurry up and just… wipe it on.”
Jiang Ci’s initial intent had been purely born of his obsession with cleanliness and the bloodstains, but as he watched her pull the coat aside to reveal the curve of her soft, slender waist, his gaze darkened. The shallow red scratch stood out like a brand against her milk-white skin.
He leaned in closer.
Su Yue clutched the lapels of the coat with white-knuckled intensity; she was wearing nothing underneath. As his shadow fell over her, she felt a dizzying rush of embarrassment. “Hurry, I want to go home—”
Her breath hitched. A damp, searingly soft touch met her side, causing her entire body to turn to stone. Jiang Ci wasn’t just applying medicine. He was kissing the wound—tracing the line of the scratch with his tongue.
Su Yue’s face erupted in heat, the flush spreading even to the tips of her ears hidden beneath her hair. Oh, this is… so scandalous.
Back at the hospital, Jiang Xuan was in the midst of emergency surgery for her abdominal wound.
Song Xiaoqing turned to her younger son, whose face was a mask of grim anxiety. “Muhang, I’ll stay here and watch over her. You need to go back and finish the gala.” Today was the group’s annual meeting, and the violent outburst had left the elite guests rattled. As the President, Jiang Muhang needed to maintain appearances and offer reassurance.
“Mom, I’m worried about Xiao Xuan,” Jiang Muhang replied, his brow furrowing with genuine distress.
“The doctors are doing the work, not you. You’re useless here,” Song Xiaoqing countered. While she was concerned for her daughter-in-law, she prioritized her son’s corporate standing above all else. He was the face of the company; he couldn’t afford to be seen falling apart over personal drama.
“You also need to find out how that madman got past security. The housekeeper mentioned that Jiang Ci has already seized the surveillance footage.” Song Xiaoqing’s frown deepened.
The rumor that Jiang Xuan had used Su Yue as a human shield was already beginning to circulate. If Jiang Ci—a man known for being willful, reckless, and pathologically vengeful—found out that his wife had been used as a target, there would be hell to pay. Song Xiaoqing felt a headache throb behind her eyes. Was this a genuine act of a madman, or something far more calculated?
“Mom, I’ll head back as soon as she wakes up,” Jiang Muhang insisted.
Seeing that his mind was made up, Song Xiaoqing dropped the subject, but her secret irritation with Jiang Xuan only grew.
The night deepened into a heavy silence.
It was nearly midnight when Jiang Xuan finally drifted back to consciousness. A sharp, searing pain radiated from her midsection. She blinked, the sterile white of the ceiling slowly coming into focus.
“You’re awake.” Jiang Muhang was sitting by her side. He had just stepped back in from a tense phone call with his subordinates.
“Mu Hang…” Jiang Xuan turned her head weakly. The memories of the ballroom—the flashing blade, the cold panic, and the way she had reached out for Su Yue—came flooding back. Tears spilled over her cheeks as she whispered, “I think… I think I did something terrible.”
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