"They looked happy," Eva finally muttered, voice like broken glass wrapped in velvet.
Shen poured the drink, crossed the suite with predator grace, and handed her the crystal tumbler. "No. They looked marketable. There's a difference."
Eva sipped. "It still hurts."
He knelt in front of her, one hand resting on the armrest, the other brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "Then let's make it hurt them back. Quietly. Elegantly. With dividends."
Her laugh was soft, bitter. "You sound like a villain in a soap opera."
"I am the villain," Shen said, tilting her chin up. "You, my dear, are just misunderstood."
For a long moment, she let him look at her—cataloging her like a painting he might buy just to hang in a rival's office.
"Tell me again why you're helping me," Eva asked, voice low.
Shen's eyes flickered. "Because I never liked being second choice either."
That shut her up.
