It should have ended there.
A glance. A moment. A mistake of interest.
But when Liang Zhen looked out that window again, she was still there—bent at the waist, scrubbing the final tile like it mattered, like someone was watching.
Maybe she knew he was.
Maybe that's why she didn't look up.
He hated that. Hated being ignored. Or worse, dismissed.
"Your tea, Mr. Liang," Meihua said sweetly, sliding closer, fingers ghosting toward his sleeve. "I personally steeped it with imported black ginseng. Very good for stamina... and other things."
Zhen didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't speak.
His silence was louder than thunder, and Meihua's fake smile faltered.
From the corner of his eye, she saw him glance again. Meihua followed his gaze.
And her lips twisted.
"Oh... her?" she said, with a bitter laugh. "That's Yanli. Just the stepdaughter of this household. No status. No brains either. But she's pretty enough if you like the orphan-servant type."
Liang Zhen said nothing.
But something cold flickered across his eyes.
Outside, Yanli finished the last tile, rose to her feet, and stretched her fingers. She felt the twinge in her spine from too many hours hunched over—too many nights treating strangers in alleyways, too many mornings pretending to be nothing.
She turned—just for a second.
And her eyes met his.
From the second-floor window, behind a wall of glass and shadows, Liang Zhen was watching her.
He didn't look away.
Neither did she.
A beat passed. Then another.
He was testing her.
She knew it.
So Yanli tilted her head—ever so slightly—then turned away and walked off without another glance.
Later That Night
"Don't touch that bottle, idiot!" Meihua shrieked as Yanli silently cleared the wine glasses from the dinner party. "That's Château Lafite. Do you even know what that means?"
Yanli didn't reply. She wiped the glass, careful, elegant, slow.
Zhen watched from across the room, bored by the socialite small talk. The Wens had been circling him all evening like flies around meat.
Yanli was the only one not pretending.
She hadn't spoken to him once. Not even acknowledged him.
It was irritating. And... interesting.
She moved like she had nothing to prove—and nothing to lose.
So when he stood, straightened his tie, and approached her directly, the whole room paused.
"Miss," he said calmly, "this isn't the wine I ordered."
The glass in her hand stopped mid-polish.
She glanced at him, her face unreadable. "I don't work here."
"I know."
His eyes were colder up close. Sharp, like black ice.
"Then why address me?" she asked, her voice soft but firm.
Zhen studied her.
The room was silent. People were staring now.
He leaned in slightly, speaking only for her ears.
"Because I don't like being ignored. And you seem very good at pretending I don't exist."
Yanli met his eyes—and something in hers flickered. Not fear. Not awe.
Boredom.
"You're not nearly as interesting as you think," she whispered.
She set the glass down, turned, and walked away.
Leaving behind a billionaire who'd just been dismissed by a girl scrubbing wine stains an hour ago.
And for the first time in years—
Liang Zhen smiled.
A real one.
Dangerous. Sharp.
This girl wasn't just mysterious.
She was a challenge.
And he'd never been able to walk away from a challenge.