The ticking of the clock echoed across the office, its hands circling the dial again and again. Outside, the neon lights gradually came to life, while inside, a lone figure remained hunched over, utterly absorbed in his work.
Ren Qingyun tapped the tip of his pen against the paper, frustration mounting as he scribbled incoherent lines that even he couldn’t bear to look at. Damn it!
“I’m done!” With a sharp smack, he tossed the pen far across the room. His once-pristine face now bore every trace of impatience. Today, for some reason, he felt like a fire was burning inside him, impossible to extinguish.
“Maybe I’ve gone too long without… and that’s why I’m irritable?” He rubbed his roughened cheek, realizing his usual care for self and indulgence had slipped—no wonder he felt perpetually on edge lately.
“Forget it. I’ll skip the instant noodles and find something decent.” He glanced disdainfully at the few packets he had been hoarding and tossed them into the trash. After changing into a tight-fitting outfit that accentuated his dark, commanding aura, he checked himself in the mirror multiple times before stepping out into the night.
But once outside, Ren Qingyun realized he’d miscalculated the timing. At this awkward hour, the restaurants were running out of interesting dishes, and nightclubs hadn’t even opened yet. Damn—so what was left to eat?
Feeling the stares from passersby, he patted his stomach. “Man, I’m starving. When did I even last eat?” His legs felt like lead, and each step seemed to sink into cotton.
“Ah!” A sudden scream nearby jolted him, and he stumbled right in front of a car. A Rolls-Royce? Are you kidding me? Ren Qingyun froze, half-dazed, but couldn’t help thinking: this guy’s taste in near-misses is pretty high-class.
A black-clad bodyguard swiftly exited the vehicle. “Apologies, we didn’t notice you in time. Are you unharmed?” His composed face scanned Ren Qingyun, checking for injuries.
“I’m fine. Just a bit dizzy from hunger,” Ren Qingyun waved him off. Clear on who was at fault, he stood upright. The bodyguard, satisfied, returned to the car and reported back to the passenger.
A low, magnetic voice carried across, sending shivers down Ren Qingyun’s spine: “Careful.”
His instincts screamed that this was the same man from the car earlier. He turned, catching a glimpse of a face that seemed almost sculpted by the gods.
“Shit… he’s taken.” Any lingering suitors scattered, realizing they were outmatched by this tall, formidable man and his guardian.
Ren Qingyun finally regained composure and was escorted into the Rolls-Royce. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely smiling.
“No need,” the man replied, briefly glancing at him before returning to his documents. Silence filled the car, broken only by the rustle of papers. Fatigue overcame Ren Qingyun, and he drifted into sleep.
“Take us home.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man watched over the sleeping beauty, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. Tonight, for the first time, the estate saw a guest—a high, cold beauty—brought into the mansion.
The silver-eyed, gray-haired butler raised an eyebrow as he studied the newcomer in the master’s arms, unconcerned by age or propriety.
“Mine,” the man murmured, sitting at the bedside, fingers tracing Ren Qingyun’s cheek. His lips pressed softly to the sleeping angel’s lips.
“So sweet.”