A flash of golden silk swept into view.
The woman moved with effortless grace, her gauzy yellow gown rippling like liquid sunlight in the breeze. Beside Bai Yeqing, she tilted her head, murmuring words lost to the distance. His expression remained characteristically impassive, yet he offered occasional subtle nods.
A painting of perfection. Stunningly matched.
Chenchen withdrew her gaze, chastising herself. Stick to your own world. She bent to close the window, sealing off the impossible tableau.
"Who is that?"
The sharp inquiry sliced through the air just as the window clicked shut, leaving only a hairline gap. Chenchen froze, instinctively glancing down.
Every eye below was fixed on her window. Song Weiyi's face was alight with sharp curiosity. Bai Yeqing's gaze, heavy and unreadable, pinned her to the spot. Beside them, the steward mopped his brow furiously.
Chenchen's pulse leaped, then steadied. Offering a calm, practiced smile, she deliberately slid the window fully closed.
Downstairs, Song Weiyi's mind raced. Who dared reside unseen in the President's private wing? She stole another glance at Bai Yeqing, seeking clues, but his face was a placid mask, revealing nothing. Had he already secreted a mistress here?
...
Upstairs
Chenchen hadn't even reached for the buzzer before a flustered maid burst in.
"Miss Xia! The window! If Miss Song suspects…!"
"My mistake," Chenchen cut in briskly. "Get me a maid's uniform. Now."
"Uniform? But—"
"Now."
The maid scurried off, returning minutes later with the stark black-and-white attire. Chenchen shed her own clothes with swift efficiency.
"Miss Xia, you can't—!" the maid protested, aghast. She might not be the First Lady, but she was the heir's mother!
"Appearances must be preserved," Chenchen stated flatly, twisting her hair into a severe knot. "For now, I am a servant."
...
The Drawing Room
The heavy doors were shut. Leng Fei stood guard, flanked by security. His eyes swept over the maid approaching with a tea tray – then snapped back, widening in disbelief.
"Miss X—?"
"Shh!" Chenchen hissed, nodding towards the closed doors.
Nearby, the steward intercepted her, handing her the laden tray. "Miss Xia… our deepest apologies," he murmured, his meaning clear: Play the part.
Taking a steadying breath, Chenchen pushed open the door.
Song Weiyi's lilting laugh floated out. "...and you always beat me at chess! Surely you'll be merciful now?"
"Miss Song remembers such details," Bai Yeqing's low voice responded.
"Song Weiyi, please."
He inclined his head, his gaze drifting past her coiffed hair. The sapphire hairpin he'd gifted her was conspicuously absent. "The gift displeased you?" he asked, his thumb idly tracing a crystal chess piece.
"Oh! I adore it! Mother praised your exquisite taste." Song Weiyi leaned forward conspiratorially. "But it's far too precious to wear! Imagine if it were lost..."
A faint smile touched Bai Yeqing's lips. "Lost? Then we acquire another."
"That wouldn't be the same," she breathed, her voice rich with adoration. "Your first gift holds irreplaceable sentiment."
Chenchen hovered near the entrance, the tray suddenly heavy. Their exchange – intimate, effortless – carved a hollow space around her. Song Weiyi radiated worship; Bai Yeqing offered a gentleness Chenchen had never witnessed.
Stop it! Chenchen mentally slapped herself. Their world. His wife. None of your concern.
She forced her feet forward, silently placing the refreshments aside. They played on an ornate jade chessboard, figures locked in silent strategy. She turned to slip away.
"Wait!" Song Weiyi's command froze her. "You're the girl from the window, aren't you?"
Bai Yeqing's gaze lifted, sharpening as it took in her servant's garb, her lowered eyes. An unexpected tableau.
"Miss Song," Chenchen murmured, keeping her gaze subservient. "The steward anticipated rain. I was securing the windows."
"And you serve here?" Song Weiyi's scrutiny was razor-sharp.
"Yes, Miss."
"Excellent." Song Weiyi gestured dismissively towards the colossal king crab glistening on a platter. "You may attend me. Shell it."
Shell it? Chenchen blinked. She's serious?
Her eyes darted towards Bai Yeqing, a flicker of defiance rising. But the image of Dabai flashed – staying meant enduring this humiliation. Exile meant losing her son.
Fine. She retrieved the specialized tools, moving to the side table. Metal clinked softly.
"Hands only," Song Weiyi decreed without looking up from the board. "The noise disrupts our concentration."
Hands? Seriously? Chenchen stared at the armored monstrosity. This was naked malice.
Biting back a retort, Chenchen shot another glance at the silent President. His expression remained impassive. Resigned, she plunged her bare fingers into the icy, spiked shell.
Sweat beaded on her brow as she pried, twisted, and snapped. Jagged edges bit into her skin. After an eternity, a small mound of snowy flesh lay in a dish.
"Ah—!" A gasp escaped her as a razor-sharp shard speared deep beneath her fingernail. Blood welled instantly, vivid crimson against her pale skin.
The soft clack of a chess piece being placed ceased.
"What happened?" Bai Yeqing's voice cut through the room, low and edged with something unfamiliar. His gaze, suddenly intense, locked onto her hidden hand.
"Nothing! It's nothing!" Chenchen stammered, jerking her hand behind her back, the blood staining her borrowed uniform. Her gasp had been barely audible, a breath caught in pain.
Yet he'd heard.
His brow was furrowed tightly, his expression unreadable. Cold dread washed over her. Was he annoyed by the interruption?
...
Behind Closed Doors
Later, after Song Weiyi had departed in a cloud of expensive perfume, Bai Yeqing found Chenchen in the laundry room. She stood hunched over a sink, cold water running over her throbbing finger.
Without a word, he approached. A simple leather case appeared in his hand – the presidential medical kit, compact and unnervingly complete. He took her wrist, his touch impersonal yet firm, inspecting the jagged tear beneath her nail.
Chenchen flinched but didn't pull away. His proximity, even now, sent treacherous sparks across her skin. The clean, masculine scent of him – cedar and something uniquely sharp – was a potent reminder of the car, the bite mark, the whispered words.
He worked silently, disinfecting the wound with practiced efficiency, his fingers surprisingly deft. The antiseptic stung, a sharp counterpoint to the unnerving warmth radiating from his hand encircling hers.
"Why?" The single word escaped her, raw and unguarded. Why endure Song Weiyi's cruelty? Why play the servant? Why did he bother?
He didn't look up, focused on applying a sterile bandage. "Appearances," he stated, his voice devoid of inflection, echoing her earlier justification. "Are everything here." He secured the bandage, his thumb brushing the inside of her wrist for a fleeting, electric moment. "Especially," he added, finally meeting her eyes, the depths unreadable, "for those who wish to remain."
He released her hand, the sudden absence of his touch leaving her skin chilled. Turning, he left the room as silently as he'd entered, leaving Chenchen alone with the sting of antiseptic, the phantom warmth on her wrist, and the unsettling weight of his final, cryptic words. Was it a warning? Or a promise?