As the moonlight hit the crystalline water, Nyx maintained her mask of cold indifference. But internally, she was reviewing the data she had gathered over the last six months.
She hadn't agreed to this 36-hour vacation for her health. She had agreed because she had hacked into the private booking system of the Amanpulo resort and saw the name Zhang Linghe on the manifest. She had watched Story of Kunning Palace three times, not for the plot, but to map the micro-expressions of the man now sitting across from her.
Every word she'd spoken tonight—the critique of his outfit, the dismissal of his fame—was a surgical strike. She knew that a man who was worshipped by millions would only be truly captivated by the one woman who seemed to find him... inadequate.
"You're very quiet again, Nyx," Linghe said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves. He reached across the small table, his fingers barely grazing the back of her hand. It wasn't a grab; it was a test of her boundaries. "Are you finally running out of legal precedents to cite?"
Nyx didn't pull away. Instead, she turned her hand over, allowing her palm to brush against his fingertips—a fleeting, electric contact. "I was just thinking about how much you look like your character in your last historical drama," she lied with the effortless grace of a sociopath. "The one who was so easily manipulated by the female lead. I wonder... is that art imitating life?"