Nathaniel Fu paused as the girl blew smoke in his face. Her eyes were bright and unguarded in the lingering haze—clear, challenging, and impossibly vivid.
The tension crackled between them like live wire.
He felt an odd itch in his chest, something stirring in the depths where he'd thought himself untouchable. This girl... this so-called clown girl from the countryside—she was anything but ordinary.
From the side, Secretary Song spoke up, dutifully impressed. "Mrs. Fu, the President is fluent in over a dozen languages. He has an IQ of 200. He didn't even sit for the college entrance exams—he was directly admitted. At eighteen, he went straight to Wall Street, made his first fortune, and then took over the Fu Group. The rest is history."
Su Ci turned her gaze to the man before her. There was an appreciative smile in her cool eyes. "Mr. Fu, you're incredible," she said softly.
Nathaniel reached out to pinch her delicate cheek, half-serious, half amused. "And what about you?"
She poked him lightly in the shoulder with one soft finger. "I'm just an ordinary person. I can't compare to someone like you."
But he didn't believe her. Behind that calm, guarded expression, she kept everyone at a distance. And yet, he was tempted—desperate—to peel away every layer and see what she was hiding underneath.
Her playful tap lingered like static on his skin. He rolled his thumb against his own knuckle, trying to suppress a strange pull in his chest.
"You translated all those documents for me," he said. "Should I pay you?"
"No need," she replied simply.
"No pay?" he raised an eyebrow. "Then should I give you a reward instead?"
She was just about to ask what he meant when he leaned in—and kissed her.
Her breath caught.
The kiss was soft but firm. Her lips still carried the sweet scent of the milk she'd been sipping earlier, and Nathaniel deepened the kiss, greedy for the taste he'd been craving since she walked into that club.
Su Ci's mind went blank.
She instinctively pressed her palms against his firm chest, trying to push him away. "Stop… someone's here… your secretary…"
Nathaniel nuzzled her cheek, speaking against her skin in a low, rough voice, "No one's around. Everyone knows when to disappear."
Sure enough, Secretary Song had vanished.
"Don't do this…" she whispered, her resistance growing faint.
"Have you forgotten who you are?" he murmured against her lips. "You're Su Xue. You're my wife, Mrs. Fu."
Her heart clenched.
Yes. Right now, she was Su Xue. She had no right to resist him. If she did, he'd question her identity.
Sensing her surrender, Nathaniel wrapped an arm around her slim waist and pulled her into his embrace. "Why so tense? Relax. We're husband and wife—this is normal. It's my right as your husband, and your obligation as my wife. Understand?"
He was doing it again—pressuring her with the marriage contract she had no power to defy.
Su Ci clenched her fingers around the fabric of his shirt. He had already forced himself on her once. And now he wanted to do it again—thinking she was someone else.
She still didn't understand that night.
Why had he done it?
"I saw you," she whispered, "a few nights ago. You were with Su Ci's maid… You went into the presidential suite with her. Why?"
He narrowed his eyes slightly, then let out a cool laugh. "I was drunk," he said flatly. "I mistook her for you. That little maid—I don't like her. I hate her, actually. She's nothing compared to you."
He stared at her pointedly, as if the more he repeated the lie, the more it might become true.
"I like you, Su Xue."