My Husband's Eyes Have Been Looking Different Lately After Our Marriage of Convenience - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: “Do you guys… make much money doing this?”

The secretary paused, seemingly feeling that the location was inappropriate, but she had to continue: “I will send you the specific location via WeChat positioning in a moment. I apologize for the change of plans, but President Qian still hopes you can make it as scheduled.”

In the business world, breaking one’s word is a cardinal sin.

Having agreed to go just a moment ago, only to decline because the venue wasn’t “proper” would be beneath Lu Tingyun—both in terms of personal integrity and professional interest.

He suppressed the flicker of annoyance in his eyes and replied flatly, “I will be there.”

Hearing his voice, the secretary on the other end nearly dropped her phone in fright.

During the early stages of their cooperation, she had dealt with the young head of the Lu Group. He was decisive, efficient in meetings, and meticulous with details—serious, responsible, and steady, a natural-born leader.

To subordinates, a boss like President Lu was practically flawless… except for the fact that he never smiled.

The secretary had never seen a business partner whose lips were pressed as tightly as President Lu’s. She had privately labeled him: Devastatingly handsome, but lethally cold.

She hadn’t realized he was actually listening to the call!

“Right… okay! I’ll get back to work then. Uh, g-goodbye!” she stammered before hanging up.

Beep—

Lu Tingyun rubbed the bridge of his nose.

While he didn’t know exactly what M&C was, the word “Club” combined with a late-night meeting suggested it wasn’t exactly a place for a formal dinner.

Assistant Zhang, who traveled with Lu Tingyun constantly, knew his boss never frequented such places. Even if he didn’t “hate” them, he certainly didn’t like them. Seeing him forced to go for the sake of work, Zhang guessed his boss must be feeling incredibly irritable.

“So, President Lu… are we heading there now?” Zhang asked cautiously.

Zhang had worked for other CEOs before and knew that when powerful men were in a bad mood, they might snap—kicking things or throwing tantrums. While Lu Tingyun rarely lost his temper—usually a cold glare was enough to terrify anyone—Zhang knew the signs of his displeasure.

For instance, his voice would carry a distinct edge of restlessness.

However, Lu Tingyun simply closed his eyes and said without any inflection, “Yes. Let’s go see.”

Assistant Zhang: “??”

…

Near the entrance of M&C, President Qian’s secretary was waiting by the roadside. When the car stopped, she leaned in with a strained smile. “President Lu, shall I take you through the back door? There’s a long line for those without reservations.”

Lu Tingyun glanced at the crowd and nodded.

As they walked down the alley toward the back entrance, the secretary pulled two masks from her bag.

“Apologies, but this is the house rule…”

Lu Tingyun looked up at the neon sign above the door: Masquerade Club.

So that’s what M&C stood for.

Assistant Zhang looked at his boss uneasily, expecting a refusal or at least a show of displeasure. The secretary expected the same and didn’t dare say another word.

But Lu Tingyun calmly chose a mask, tied the string behind his head, and walked through the back door with total composure.

Zhang froze, realizing he might not know his boss as well as he thought. The secretary breathed a sigh of relief and even whispered, “Your President Lu… he can endure anything for work. Impressive!”

“President Qian’s booth is No. 111 on the second floor. Let me lead the way,” the secretary said as Lu Tingyun paused to look at the “special performance” on the dance floor.

Lu Tingyun pursed his lips.

The silver mask he had picked at random was surprisingly fitting. Its intricate patterns and metallic luster looked cold and regal under the flashing lights. A tassel hung from one side, swaying against his jawline like a knight standing guard in an ancient temple.

The secretary stared, dazed by the sight, nearly missing his quiet “Alright.”

…

Upstairs, President Qian was whispering to a beautiful woman. He wore a gold mask that matched his usual gaudy aesthetic, though his face was a bit too large for it, making it look cramped.

The woman noticed the newcomers first and nudged Qian. “Someone’s here.”

Qian squinted, not recognizing them at first through the masks. He thought they were “models” sent by the manager. He was about to wave them away when Lu Tingyun spoke with cold gravity: “Good evening, President Qian.”

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on Qian’s head.

Qian gaped for a second before regaining his composure. “President Lu! You’re here. Sit, sit! My apologies for the last-minute change of plans.”

Lu Tingyun sat down gracefully. “It’s no trouble. I had just left home when I got the message.”

“Hahaha…” Qian gave a forced laugh and ordered a drink for Lu Tingyun. Puffing on a cigar, he asked, “Is this your first time in a place like this?”

“Yes,” Lu Tingyun said.

“Then you haven’t truly lived!” Qian let out a lewd chuckle. “This place has its own charms… Tell you what, everything you spend tonight is on me! Consider it my apology for the change of venue.”

“You’re too kind.”

Lu Tingyun didn’t forget the purpose of the trip and signaled Zhang to bring out the contract.

But Qian waved him off. “Now, President Lu, we’re both men of significant means. Let’s not rush into the nitty-gritty details just yet.” He gestured toward the dance floor. “Look, the special performance isn’t over. I heard the owner imported these models specifically from abroad. Why don’t we… talk after the show?”

Lu Tingyun looked down. The performance was in full swing. Male models were displaying their physiques to high-energy music, surrounded by a crowd waving their arms in a frenzy.

He had only seen such scenes in soda or beer commercials. He had zero interest in watching a group of strangers in suits pose and preen.

He was about to reject the proposal when his eyes accidentally brushed over a nearby booth. There sat a young man dressed as vibrantly as a kaleidoscope.

Unlike the other guests in elaborate masks, this youth wore only a pair of simple polarized sunglasses. His skin was incredibly pale, and he was nestled into the sofa with an air of lazy, scattered beauty.

The youth was currently staring through the gaps in the “knight’s” mask, his dark eyes pinned like cold blades onto the exposed collarbones where Lu Tingyun’s shirt was unbuttoned.

…

“Mediocre.”

That was Song Ai’s two-word answer to Li Shang’s question about the models’ physiques.

“Mediocre?!” Li Shang was shocked. “Ai-ge, did you see better specimens during your years studying abroad??”

Wang Ruijing added snidely, “Not necessarily abroad. His husband has a better build than these guys.”

“…” Song Ai’s lips twitched. “Are you two done?”

Irritated, he stood up, claiming the air was too stuffy and he needed some fresh air.

As Song Ai walked away, Wang Ruijing asked Li Shang, “Do you think he was actually drunk the day before yesterday?”

Li Shang toyed with a die. “With Ai-ge’s tolerance? Unlikely.” In all their years of partying, they had never seen him truly drunk.

“True.” Wang Ruijing fell silent, staring thoughtfully at the glass Song Ai had just emptied.

…

Song Ai went to the restroom to splash some water on his face.

Old Wang had been acting weird today, insisting on drinking games. Song Ai had initially refused, but Wang goaded him, saying he was “afraid to lose.” It worked every time.

Song Ai was a bit slow when it came to reading people’s intentions. After a few rounds, he’d downed at least half a dozen drinks, and his stomach was bloated.

He finished up and went to the sink. Just as he turned on the tap, a man half a head taller than him stepped up beside him.

Song Ai didn’t pay attention at first, but when the cold water hit his palms, he shivered. He caught a faint scent of cologne—subtle, familiar.

Wait… It smelled like the one Lu Tingyun used.

Song Ai lazily lifted his eyelids and glanced at the mirror, scrutinizing the man through his sunglasses.

Under the large silver mask, he could only see a sharp, chiseled jawline and thin, tightly pressed lips. The man was handsome, but that “cold face” expression was a dead ringer for Lu Tingyun…

Wait.

It couldn’t really be Lu Tingyun, could it??

The thought popped up and was immediately suppressed. Why would Lu Tingyun come to a place like this? Besides, this man’s attire…

He looked more like one of the models performing today.

Ah. That made more sense.

Song Ai nodded to himself, confirming his logic. He turned off the tap and shook the water from his hands. “Is your performance over?” he asked airily.

The man, who was also washing his hands, hesitated. He turned his head to look at Song Ai. His gaze drifted down to the youth’s shirt collar, which was pulled loose, exposing his entire collarbone.

“How much did you drink?” the man asked strangely.

Song Ai couldn’t hear him clearly. Even though the bathroom was away from the dance floor, the music was powerful. He could only guess the meaning by the movement of the man’s lips.

What does he care about?

Song Ai decided this “model” was a bit slow. He turned to leave but nearly walked into the wall.

Fortunately, the man grabbed him from behind.

“Thanks,” Song Ai mumbled. He tried to walk forward again but nearly toppled into the trash can next to the vanity.

The man sighed and steadied him by the shoulders.

Song Ai thought: This guy is actually pretty kind.

He looked up to say something, but the man spoke first in a flat tone: “You’re drunk. I’ll take you back.”

“I’m not drunk,” Song Ai insisted. “My legs are just a bit soft and my eyes are a bit blurry.”

Wait. Something was wrong.

He felt fine just a moment ago. Song Ai frowned, muttering to himself, “Why is it happening again?”

“What’s happening?” the man asked.

“Dizzy,” Song Ai said honestly. “I used to drink two dozen without getting drunk. Today I’ve only had half a dozen… and the alcohol content didn’t look that high. Why is my head spinning?”

He hammered his fist against the back of his head. It didn’t clear his mind; it just hurt.

Song Ai felt like he was dying. Luckily, the “model” stayed by his side. “Tell you what… please take me back to booth 000. I’ll tip you later.”

“No need.” The man leaned in closer, supporting his shoulders and arms. His voice was firm: “You should stop coming here.”

Song Ai squinted. “Why?”

“It’s not safe.” As the man spoke, he led him out, expertly navigating through the crowd and furniture.

“No way,” Song Ai shook his head, sounding like a rebellious teenager. “I like it here.”

The man asked, “Why?”

Song Ai, suddenly cautious, curled his lip. “You talk too much.”

“…”

They struggled to the top of the stairs.

Song Ai suddenly asked, “Do you guys… make much money doing this?”

The man remained silent.

Song Ai guessed he was too embarrassed to say. Men were proud, after all. Unless there was a desperate reason, no one would want to sell their… services.

“It’s okay,” Song Ai said, being uncharacteristically empathetic. He tried to pat the man’s arm to comfort him. “Things will get better…”

But he was weak. His hand didn’t make it to the arm and instead landed on the man’s abdomen.

That wouldn’t have been a problem, except that the spot his fingertips brushed—even through the shirt fabric—was startlingly hot.

Song Ai let out a gasp.

“Holy crap! Buddy… you wouldn’t happen to have a fever, would you?”