A few days later
The hotel air was too cold, clinging to the skin like a shroud. Or maybe it was just her. She had returned back to work after her notice of absence due to the accidental cut on her hand a few nights ago. The scar was healing but it still stung when it came into contact with water.
Xu Tao stood by the front desk, speaking quietly to the concierge. He wore a three-piece charcoal suit, crisp and immaculately tailored, his watch gleamed with quiet, undeniable power under the lobby lights.
When Yinlin walked in through the staff entrance, her body didn't just tense—it seized. It was a visceral, chemical response before her eyes even confirmed him. She didn't need to look. She felt him.
That presence—heavy, aware, possessive in its patience. It didn't burn, but it clung to her skin like heat she couldn't shed. It was the knowledge that she existed entirely within the perimeter of his focus.
And when she finally crossed the corridor into view, his gaze found her.
It didn't just land. It arrested her.
It was a slow, deliberate drag from her face, tracing the slope of her neck, down to her bandaged hand, as if he were checking she was still real. Still present. Still his.
Her breath caught, shallow and sharp.
Nothing in his expression gave anything away; his face was a masterful mask—cool, composed, even polite. But there was something in his eyes—that unwavering, unblinking focus—that made her feel violated without being touched. Like he was watching her essence struggle and bleed out under invisible glass.
She swallowed the metallic taste of caution, lowered her gaze, and kept walking, moving with rigid professionalism. Her hands didn't tremble. She wouldn't let them.
"Miss Wen," he said, his voice calm and faintly amused, carrying a weight that made the marble floor feel thin. "I assume you're feeling better."
She turned halfway, the movement minimal. Her composure was a fortress built of habit. "Yes, sir."
"Good. There's a client dinner in the west lounge tonight. High priority." His eyes held hers for a beat too long. "I'd like you to lead the service."
"Yes, sir."
She didn't question the task—though she noticed it was one routinely assigned to the guest relations manager, not a server. Again. He was manufacturing proximity, and she knew it.
He watched her a moment longer, head tilted slightly, as if reading the micro-expressions of her fear. And maybe he could. Maybe he saw the hairline crack she guarded so fiercely.
"Are you still angry with me about the other day?" Asked him calmly.
She looked up to his taller profile, slightly annoyed at the lack of remorse in his tone. "You must think this is all fun because I can't do anything to you."
His lips slightly curled with quiet amusement, before looking down. "Please, I'm truly ashamed of my behavior under the influence of alcohol. It won't happen again, Miss Wen."
She didn't buy it and started to walk away, ignoring his pathetic attempt at apology. He called out, softly, the words a velvet hook. "I'm glad you're back. It wasn't the same without you."
She stopped. Just for a second. The small pause was an involuntary confession of how deep his words had sunk. She knew the statement was a lie of manipulation, designed to destabilize, but it made her throat tighten nonetheless.
She didn't look back. She simply walked away faster, chasing the anonymity of the staff elevator.
******************
Later, during the high-stakes dinner service, she didn't just feel his gaze—she felt its pressure. Sharp, measured, quiet as a blade in silk, it tracked her across the room. Every time she refilled a glass, adjusted a plate, or bowed politely, she could feel him watching her with that same studied, consuming hunger.
It was a constant, calculated presence designed to remind her of her own visibility, her vulnerability. He spoke to his clients, laughed, and gestured with the ease of a titan, yet every moment felt channeled toward her.
And though he didn't address her again that night, his presence clung like a perfume she couldn't wash off, a stain she couldn't scrub away.
This wasn't about charm. This wasn't about a professional misunderstanding. It was a conscious campaign of psychological domination. Whatever game Xu Tao was playing—she was no longer an observer. She was a captured piece on the board.
And if she wanted to survive it, she would need to stop pretending it wasn't happening and start learning the rules of his obsession.
***********************
12.30 PM
The lobby was an echo chamber past midnight, the marble floors hushed under low lighting. Yinlin tugged her coat tighter, the exhaustion a dull ache in her feet, her mind already halfway home—to silence, to the illusion of safety.
She pressed the elevator button. The doors slid open with a soft chime.
And she froze.
Xu Tao was inside.
Not alone. Two women flanked him, both shimmering, glamorous in an exaggerated, disposable sort of way. Glittering heels, perfume too thick for enclosed air, short skirts clinging to their hips. They were accessories, laughing as one whispered, a simpering sound, "Handsome ge~ are we really going to the top floor?"
Tao leaned against the mirrored wall lazily, the faint flush on his cheeks betraying the drinks he'd had. But his eyes—those were clear. Cold. Focused.
On her.
"Miss Wen," he drawled, his tone mock-formal, treating the space like a boardroom, not a prelude to a tryst.
She stepped back instinctively, a jolt of revulsion hitting her. "I— I'll take the next one."
The girls barely glanced at her, their attention solely on the man who held the key to the top floor. One giggled, eyeing Yinlin's simple uniform with lazy disinterest. "Is she a staff?"
"She's my favorite," Tao said, voice mild, yet the words felt like a violation.
Yinlin stiffened, every muscle locked.
He tilted his head at her, amused by her obvious distress. "Long shift?"
She nodded curtly, hating that she had to acknowledge him. "Just finished."
He smiled, a slow, predatory tightening of the lips.
"Well," he said, pushing off the wall, filling the space with his presence. "We were just about to have a drink in my suite. You're welcome to join us."
The air in the elevator was poisonously silent. The girls giggled again, one sliding a manicured hand down Tao's chest, claiming him.
Yinlin looked at him. And for the first time, she let the mask slip.
It wasn't fear she showed. It was revulsion. It was the corrosive, bubbling disgust at his blatant arrogance, the sliver of anger in her chest that couldn't be swallowed anymore.
"I'd rather jump off," she said, her voice even, the steel beneath the velvet.
One of the girls gasped in genuine shock. Tao just smirked, a flash of pure satisfaction in his eyes.
He didn't look offended. He looked gratified. She had reacted. She had pushed back. That was a win for him.
As the doors slid closed between them, separating her from the intoxicating, dangerous air inside, he gave her one last parting look—lingering, knowing.
A reminder. He didn't need to touch her to make her feel cornered. And she knew that the walls of her life were shrinking every time he showed up.
Back in the staff hallway, Yinlin stood still, staring at her own reflection in a framed safety poster. Her chest heaved once, a silent, ragged breath.
She hated that she felt something. Jealousy wasn't the right word; it was a hot wave of shame and self-recrimination that he could so easily make her feel displaced, replaceable, even while he was focused on her.
But more than that—she hated the way his gaze had burned through her, a proprietary flare of dominance, even when he was with someone else. Like he was daring her to react.
And she had. That made her furious.
She needed to find out who he was, beyond the money and the name. Before he peeled her apart entirely and left her with nothing but the echo of his presence.