"Bang!"
The door to the presidential suite on the 60th floor of the Cloud Sea Hotel was violently shoved open—the sheer force behind it practically screamed brutality.
Geng Yihan stumbled into the room, his head throbbing from the endless rounds of liquor his so-called friend Shu Zheng had forced on him at the banquet. That bastard was going to pay for this later.
Massaging his temple with one hand and loosening his collar with the other, he kicked the door shut behind him with a sharp backward swing of his leg. Without hesitation, he made a beeline for the bathroom.
But just as his fingers brushed the bathroom doorknob, he froze. His head snapped toward the massive bed in the bedroom.
Shit.
Since when was there someone else in here? And a woman, no less!
His sharp, sword-like brows furrowed. Shu Zheng had booked this room for him—so who the hell was she?
"Ding-ding-ding—"
His phone buzzed in his suit pocket at the perfect moment. "What?" he answered coldly after glancing at the screen.
"So, did you see my gift? Happy with it? Took me a lot of effort to get her for you—totally your type. Enjoy yourself, man. I won’t interrupt. Later—"
The annoying voice vanished, plunging the suite back into silence—so quiet that he could hear the faint sound of snoring coming from the bedroom.
Snoring. That woman actually had the nerve to fall asleep in his room.
A woman like her, here for *that* kind of work, and she didn’t even wait for her client before dozing off? Geng Yihan’s frown deepened.
After a brief pause, he turned and strode toward the bedroom.
There was no denying it—the figure wrapped in the white air-conditioned blanket was undeniably beautiful, alluring even.
Her delicate, porcelain skin, the flutter of her eyelashes like the wings of a cicada, and those slightly pouted lips—everything about her teased the senses.
Shu Zheng's taste wasn't half bad this time, but...
"Fits his type" was still an understatement. Though the woman was stunning, her seductive makeup couldn't mask the innocence beneath.
Geng Yihan might have a reputation as a playboy, his hands having wandered over countless women, but he had one hard rule—he never touched virgins.
And this woman was clearly the type he avoided.
"Get up!" Geng Yihan's voice was icy as he yanked the woman out from under the covers. She was barely dressed—the flimsy excuse for a dress slipped off her shoulders with the slightest tug, revealing smooth, pale curves.
A sharp inhale escaped him. His body reacted instantly.
"Mmm..." A soft moan escaped Yang Qingyu's lips. Her body ached with an unfamiliar heat. What was happening? She remembered covering a shift for her friend Zhou Lin at the bar, then her boyfriend Nie Shuangwen had shown up unexpectedly. He'd handed her a cup of milk tea, saying he'd bought it from the shop across the street because she looked exhausted...
That was it—after drinking that tea, everything had gone wrong.
What the hell had Nie Shuangwen given her? Her skin prickled as if ants were crawling beneath it, her entire body burning with need.
"Woman," Geng Yihan growled darkly, "you'd better disappear from my sight—fast." Otherwise, he couldn't guarantee he'd keep his hands to himself.
He wasn't a saint, nor some chivalrous fool. He was a man—a very, very normal man.
Yang Qingyu's ears rang faintly, but she caught the voice—a stranger's—speaking close to her.
"I..." Her voice came out hoarse, but she couldn't care less. The unbearable heat consumed her thoughts. "You... I feel awful... Please, help me..."
Geng Yihan's eyes darkened. Did this woman even realize what she was saying?
Frowning, he tried to push her alluring body away slightly. Swallowing hard, he spoke with difficulty, "You took something. Let me take you to the bathroom to cool off."
His large hands pulled the woman's body off the snow-white sheets.
Yang Qingyu stumbled against Geng Yihan like a ragdoll with no balance.
The firm, masculine body radiated a faint, distinctly male scent—one that was utterly intoxicating to Yang Qingyu in this moment.
"Help me..." The pitiful kitten-like plea escaped her lips again.
"You—" Before Geng Yihan could finish, a pair of soft lips sealed his, muffling all words into breathless murmurs.
After a heated entanglement, neither could remember who had started undressing first. By the time they were completely bare, Geng Yihan gazed down at the woman beneath him, his eyes glinting darkly as he panted, "Remember—you threw yourself at me."
The unspoken message was clear: Don’t blame me for this.
Yang Qingyu whimpered in response, eagerly seeking his lips again. Geng Yihan could hold back no longer. Cradling her soft body, he lost himself in her...
Morning light streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the pristine white sheets—enough to stir the imagination.
Light?
Yang Qingyu, who had been staring blankly, suddenly jolted upright as if stung.
She had spent years renting a dim basement apartment with tiny windows. The heavy curtains often made it impossible to tell day from night.
Turning her head in shock, a stranger’s face filled her terrified gaze.
Then, the memories of last night—each blush-inducing moment—flooded her mind.
She had been the one who initiated it... If not for the vivid marks of passion covering her body, Yang Qingyu would never have believed the bold, reckless woman had been her.
Biting her lip, she took a moment to steady herself.
Lifting the covers, she quietly slipped out of bed. The moment her feet touched the plush carpet, a deep, resonant voice came from behind her:
"Take the money before you go."
