What did he just say?
Celia blinked. "…?"
A soft pfft sounded in the room—either Wen Shaoqian or Zane Song had just stifled a laugh.
She met Nathaniel Fu's sharp, deep-set eyes. His face was as cold and serious as ever, yet the words he'd just uttered were utterly inappropriate. Vulgar, even.
A beast wrapped in a tailored suit.
Celia rose to her feet, voice clear and composed. "Mr. Fu, my father is dead. If I call you that—would you even dare to answer?"
Nathaniel's lips curled into the faintest of smirks. "Why don't you try and see if I dare?"
Back at home, Su Changrong sneezed hard for no reason, muttering to himself, "Who the hell did I offend today?"
Back in the room, the verbal duel continued, but this round, Celia lost. Her pale cheeks flushed, eyes turning red—not from tears, but from pure rage and humiliation.
Who the hell wanted to call him Daddy?
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down. "Mr. Fu, I came here to get the key. Can you just hand it over?"
Nathaniel gazed at her, those red-rimmed eyes and that delicate, youthful face—so easily flustered. She'd clearly never been teased like this before. With her, it was just too tempting not to push her buttons.
"The key's in my suit jacket," he said lazily. "Find it yourself."
Celia hesitated but then walked to the sofa and picked up his jacket. Her pale fingers reached cautiously into the pocket. His clothes always seemed to carry that cold elite scent, like cedar and expensive cologne—handsome and unapproachable. Her fingers lingered just above the fabric, hesitant to touch.
Across the room, a rich young man glanced over and nudged his friend. "Hey, who's the girl in the school uniform?"
His buddy elbowed him hard. "Are you blind? That's Nathaniel Fu's jacket she's holding. Keep your mouth shut if you wanna stay alive."
Realization dawned. The young man sat up straighter, face pale. Not a word more.
Celia searched the jacket's pockets but came up empty. She folded the blazer neatly and returned to Nathaniel. "Mr. Fu, I checked. The key's not in your jacket."
Nathaniel flicked a card onto the table. "Then I must've remembered wrong. Try my pants pocket."
He casually stretched one leg forward under the table.
Celia froze. He was definitely messing with her.
A man like Nathaniel Fu didn't forget something like where he put his key. He was playing her. The jacket had been a trap, and now the pants pocket? No way was she falling for that again.
She stared at him. "You have hands. Why don't you hand it to me yourself?"
"I'm playing cards," he replied without even looking up. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
Celia glanced down. His legs were long and didn't even fit neatly under the table. The cut of his black slacks was razor-sharp, outlining the powerful muscles beneath like a predator at rest—coiled and dangerous.
Her eyes unintentionally swept past his pants pocket… and landed near his zipper.
Too close. She quickly looked away.
Nathaniel caught the reaction and smirked. "What? Think there's something in my pants that'll eat you?"
Bang.
Her cheeks lit up scarlet.
Celia might be inexperienced when it came to men, but she knew exactly what he meant—and it wasn't appropriate in the slightest.
Zane Song let out a loud whistle, clearly enjoying the show. The pretty girl still sitting beside Nathaniel bit her lip, her eyes full of jealousy and barely hidden envy.
Nathaniel didn't even look at the girl next to him.
Because tonight, his eyes were already locked on the one across from him—his little school-uniformed flame.