The doorway stood empty, washed in silence, with only a narrow strip of light lingering in the corridor like something left behind.
Bo Wang withdrew his gaze. He set the cup aside without a second thought, leaned back into the sofa, and closed his eyes, as though the moment had already passed and no longer deserved his attention.
Outside the door, Lu Zhiling hesitated.
She reached into her pocket and drew out the two woolen flowers. The music from the runway was still pounding somewhere behind her—sharp, chaotic, impossible to endure—so she hadn’t gone back to watch, hadn’t bothered to offer her support. Instead, she peeled away the adhesive backing and pressed the flowers gently onto the door.
“I hope you’ll be number one tonight,” she said under her breath.
“Become the King of the Spade Club.”
(King of the Spade Club: the symbolic champion of the club’s final competition, representing absolute popularity and dominance.)
When the flowers were in place, she didn’t linger. She turned and walked away, leaving the club without looking back.
Jiang Fusheng took her time coming out, her excitement still clinging to her like heat.
“So handsome, so handsome, so handsome,” she gushed the moment she appeared. “I’m going to die from how handsome they are—”
Lu Zhiling only shook her head.
“That’s really nothing.”
She wasn’t so easily dazzled anymore.
“If we’re talking about looks,” Jiang Fusheng continued with a sigh, “they’re just average. None of them can compare to the eldest young master. He’s handsome from every angle—neither the second nor the youngest even come close.”
Then, as if remembering something dangerous, she added regretfully,
“But even if I had eight hundred lives, I wouldn’t dare shout ‘handsome!’ at the eldest young master.”
So screaming at a few good-looking men on a runway was already indulgent enough.
Lu Zhiling said nothing.
This was the first time she had ever heard anyone mention Bo Wang’s appearance. They hadn’t taken wedding photos. She didn’t even have the marriage certificate in her hands—whatever existed, she assumed, had been edited beyond recognition. Hearing this now brought a strange, unexpected sense of reassurance.
At least he wasn’t ugly.
That was good.
She wouldn’t have to worry too much about the child’s looks.
Without realizing it, her hand drifted to her still-flat abdomen. She pressed her palm there lightly, forcing her thoughts in a brighter direction.
“Let’s go,” she said.
They left together.
—
Silence filled the space.
From the bathroom came the steady sound of running water, splashing against tile. Water traced its way over defined muscle, gathering and dripping to the floor in a slow, unbroken rhythm.
Bo Wang emerged and tore off the damp bandage from his hand, barely sparing a glance for the bloody whip marks beneath. He wiped them clean with a tissue, pulled on a black shirt, fastened it loosely, and stepped out.
The corridor lights cast a hazy yellow glow.
Mid-step, he stopped.
Slowly, he turned back.
Two velvet flowers rested on the door of his room, blooming soundlessly against the dark surface—soft, vivid, impossible to ignore.
Bo Wang stared.
Something in his gaze sank, darkened, as though stirred from below.
At that same moment, the deafening music inside the club cut off without warning. Flashing lights froze, then snapped to a stark white. The indulgent, chaotic atmosphere shattered, coming to an abrupt halt.
On the catwalk, the performers froze, confusion spreading across their faces. The audience, still riding the high of excitement, fell into stunned silence.
Just as Ji Jing and the remaining contestants were about to step onstage, the sudden interruption snapped his temper. He kicked the coffee table in front of him.
“What the hell is going on?” he shouted. “Li Shan, do you even want to keep this place running?”
Before the anger could fully spill over, Li Shan—the owner of the Black Spade Club—came hurrying down the stairs, several managers trailing behind him, all of them pale and visibly shaken.
Then the bodyguards poured in.
Without a word, they sealed off every entrance and exit. Screams rang out as contestants who had already left the stage were forced back onto the runway. Tonight’s guests were people used to privilege and respect; humiliation came hard, and curses erupted instantly, all aimed at Li Shan.
“Enough!” Li Shan shouted, his voice hoarse.
He felt like he was about to collapse.
And just as that thought crossed his mind, heavy footsteps echoed from above.
Everyone looked up.
Black leather shoes struck the glass stairs, one step after another—slow, deliberate, carrying an undeniable weight. Light slid over relaxed brows, traced the edge of a slightly loosened collar.
Bo Wang descended unhurriedly.
His gaze swept across the room, cold and indifferent. Between his fingers, two velvet flowers turned lazily, their petals spinning as though unaware of the tension they commanded.
The room fell into a deathly silence.
Ji Jing felt a chill creep up his spine.
Tonight—
something irreversible was about to happen.