Limited-Time Attachment - Chapter 19

In the riverside penthouse, two champagne glasses sat side by side on a minimalist European marble table.

The transparent liquid poured in, stirring a small ripple in the glass. The curved crystal wall reflected a graceful, beautiful silhouette. A wisp of hair flickered lightly at the rim of the glass before the heavy, textured bottle was set down on the polished surface.

Yu Zhaowan wore a dark green slip dress. The well-tailored fabric clearly traced her figure, clandestine yet sensual.

Having poured the champagne, Yu Zhaowan approached the other end of the long table, looking toward the spacious, open balcony with a beaming smile. “Aren’t you coming in?”

Curtains puddled on the floor at both sides of the French windows. Half the river was shrouded in mist, while the other half was ablaze with the city’s glittering lights. The night view burst into the room without obstruction. A tall, slender figure stood with her back to Yu Zhaowan at the railing, one hand gripping the metal and the other tucked in her pocket.

Amidst the swaying night breeze, Song Ming half-turned her head. The silent fireworks of the city fell behind her, her grey-green eyes shimmered like emeralds in the dim light, devoid of any warmth.

Song Ming was still wearing the same outfit from when she left the bar. Her sleeves were messily rolled to her forearms, revealing sharp lines. A brownish-black leather belt accentuated her waist. She looked somewhat decadent, yet sharpened to an extreme like a quietly resting blade with a slightly weathered leather grip.

Stray hairs fluttered, obstructing her vision. Song Ming used the motion of brushing back her bangs to hide the indifference on her face.

The living room was brightly lit. Song Ming scanned Yu Zhaowan’s elegant body from head to toe, indeed feeling a sense of sexual temptation within those meticulously designed lines.

Tonight, Yu Zhaowan looked like a piece of smooth, white sweet cake, warm, supple and supple enough to make one’s mouth water with desire.

Every frown and smile from Yu Zhaowan was full of charm. She walked lightly to Song Ming’s side, her slender finger hooking onto Song Ming’s button. “Don’t you want a glass of champagne?”

The two bodies remained at a delicate distance of about ten centimeters, neither too close nor too far. Song Ming looked down as Yu Zhaowan looked up. In the gap close enough to count each other’s eyelashes, the breeze flowed, and invisible sparks seemed to fly where their gazes met.

The distance remained a distance, but Song Ming reached out and placed a hand on Yu Zhaowan’s waist, feeling that shapely, lean midriff.

Though it was summer, the night air was cool. A thin dress was not enough to ward it off. Yu Zhaowan, whose skin was slightly chilled, shuddered at the heat from Song Ming’s palm.

Song Ming noticed and looked down at Yu Zhaowan’s waist, though the fabric blocked her view.

“Alright.”

Streetlights were bright, and the neon lights rising between skyscrapers dispelled the night. A black Audi pierced through the highway like an arrow.

“You mean… Song Ming went to that little starlet Yu Zhaowan’s house to spend the night?”

In the Jiaxin main workspace building, the lights burned bright. Two figures, one standing, one sitting remained in the CEO’s office. Zhou Jibai sat behind a wide, creamy-white desk. The screen in front of her displayed complex line graphs, and an unfinished document lay by her hand.

A young secretary in a stiff suit held a folder, standing respectfully before the desk. “Yes. President Song’s car is indeed parked downstairs at Miss Yu’s place, and she hasn’t come out yet.”

Before the secretary knocked, Zhou Jibai had been reading a paper document. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on her face. With her eyes downcast and expressionless, she looked cold and abstinent yet the natural hint of allure at the corners of her eyes would make anyone linger with distracting thoughts.

But the young secretary standing before Zhou Jibai dared not look. He kept his head lowered, his gaze not daring to wander in the slightest.

The lines on the screen fluctuated heartlessly according to the parameters. Zhou Jibai looked through the photos the secretary had handed over one by one with downcast eyes. Her movements froze when she reached the penultimate photo.

The entire photo was dim in tone. The greenery of the residential area and Song Ming’s arrogant car occupied nearly half the frame. The person arranged to take the photo only caught half of Song Ming’s body; by her posture, she had just stepped out of the car and was looking toward the nearby building.

In the last photo, two women stood extremely close on a stylish balcony. One had her hand on the other’s waist, looking as if they were about to kiss.

Zhou Jibai stared at that photo, her fingers tightening unconsciously. Her meticulously manicured nail left a gouge in the photograph.

The silence lasted only a moment. Zhou Jibai flipped the stack of photos face-down on the desk. “What use is it giving these photos to me?”

The secretary was stunned.

Zhou Jibai’s gaze was calm. “What are you standing there for? Give them to the entertainment reporters.”