Chapter 54 Part 1

Meng Ning read her novel for a little longer, then glanced at the time. It was time to make dinner.

She wasn’t particularly hungry after overeating at lunch and considered skipping the evening meal altogether. But she worried that Wen Zenian might call to “hunt her down” for it.

Wait a second—would Wen Zenian even come back for dinner?

Given Wen Zenian’s normal off-hours schedule, she’d probably still be taking the speedboat off the island by then. In theory, she definitely wouldn’t return for dinner.

But what if Wen Zenian left early?

Meng Ning picked up her phone and rubbed her thumb over it thoughtfully.

Actually, solving this was simple: she could just call Wen Zenian and ask, “Hey, are you coming back for dinner?”

But that sounded far too intimate.

It was the sort of conversation lovers might have, laced with a tender anticipation of the other’s return. Their current relationship defied easy categorization.

After some thought, she decided to make extra food anyway. She ate her portion and packed the leftovers into a thermal container, which she stored in the fridge.

If Wen Zenian showed up, she could heat it for her. If not, Meng Ning could reheat it herself tomorrow.

She read a bit more of her novel, but Wen Zenian never appeared.

She wanted to take a shower, but an awkward problem arose—the bathroom had cameras too.

Reluctantly, she dialed Wen Zenian. First, she listened intently to the background noise, trying to determine whether Wen Zenian was on the speedboat, in a car, or back in her hotel room.

It was easy to tell: Wen Zenian was still in the office, with someone nearby speaking English about work. The words came through indistinctly, jumping out one by one.

Wen Zenian’s voice sounded especially pleasant amid the ambient chatter. “Hello.”

Somehow, it took that backdrop of utterly emotionless business talk to reveal that her tone wasn’t purely rational. There was a hint of warmth there, a touch of softness.

Meng Ning zoned out for a moment.

Wait—Wen Zenian was in a meeting with the management team, and she’d just picked up so casually?

No wonder people schemed relentlessly to climb to the top of the pyramid. Once there, they could ignore every rule.

But under these circumstances, Meng Ning felt even more embarrassed about her question. She lowered her voice, sounding sneaky, like a thief in the night. “There are cameras in the bathroom.”

“Mm, so?” Wen Zenian was far too calm about it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Can I cover the camera with a towel?” After all, ever since they’d cleared the air, things weren’t like before. Wen Zenian even turned away when Meng Ning changed clothes.

Wen Zenian’s response: “Try it.” Then she hung up.

Meng Ning wanted to hurl her phone across the room, but she was in the bathroom with no soft sofa to cushion the throw. She held back.

God, she wanted to try dropping a line like that and hanging up herself. Wen Zenian made it look so effortlessly satisfying every time.

Suddenly, she deeply regretted making the call.

If she hadn’t, Wen Zenian—deep in her meeting—might never have thought to check the cameras. Now, it felt like she’d handed her the idea on a platter.

Wen Zenian sat primly behind her black rosewood desk, dressed in her formal uniform. Her long legs, sheathed in sheer stockings, were elegantly crossed to one side, the tips of her stilettos just touching the floor. Across from her sat the obsequious managers. Her expression remained impassive as ever, but she angled her phone away from the group and tapped open the app linked to the cameras…

Who knew Wen Zenian had this side to her in private?

Heh, how thrilling.

Meng Ning couldn’t stand her own thoughts anymore. She absolutely couldn’t shower now. But a stubborn conviction had taken root in her mind: Wen Zenian could do anything. If she actually covered the camera with a towel and bathed, Wen Zenian would burst into the bathroom within five minutes, rip the towel away, and catch her stark naked.

At that moment, Wen Zenian’s call came through.

The office noise had vanished; everything was quiet now. Yet her voice remained as captivating as before, carrying that subtle warmth and softness.

“You can cover the camera with a towel,” Wen Zenian said, “but you have to stay on the phone with me the entire time.” She added a suggestion: “The bathtub’s been disinfected. Why not take a soak?”

“You finished your meeting?”

Wen Zenian sounded faintly weary. “Mm.”

“Then I’ll fill the tub and call you back.”

Luxury homes lived up to the name—the water system rivaled that of the C Hotel. Ten minutes later, the bathtub brimmed with water.

Meng Ning called back. “I’m ready to wash up.”

Another soft “Mm” from Wen Zenian.

Meng Ning grabbed a towel and draped it over the camera before beginning to undress. Her movements were light and careful, as if she were embarrassed for Wen Zenian to hear the faint rustles.

She padded to the edge of the tub and stepped in.

Wen Zenian heard the quiet plop. She could picture Meng Ning’s slender, pale legs entering the water. Then came a larger splash as she settled in.

She could envision Meng Ning with her long, straight black hair pinned up at the back of her head, sitting in the tub with the water lapping right up to her straight collarbones. A loose strand would cling to the black mandala tattoo on her graceful neck, gradually dampened by the steam.

Wen Zenian could imagine this serene, beautiful scene. What she couldn’t picture was the expression on that delicately handsome face.

Was she still smiling?

Or had she finally escaped the camera’s gaze, seizing a stolen moment of respite to let her upturned lips relax?

At first, when the house was empty save for Meng Ning, she stopped smiling altogether. Later, she seemed to grasp the cameras’ significance and would occasionally tilt her pale face upward, offering them a small smile.

In fleeting breaks from her work, Wen Zenian would open the app and sometimes catch one of those smiles. But she couldn’t bring herself to remove the cameras.

Meng Ning soaked in the tub.

She had assumed nonstop chatting during a bath would be exhausting. She’d grown more introverted over the years. Hanging out with Qi Xiao was fine—Qi Xiao always supplied the topics, and she could keep up effortlessly. But Wen Zenian was clearly an introvert too, so Meng Ning scrambled internally for things to say.

Yet Wen Zenian showed no inclination to chat.

She offered no small talk herself and never prodded Meng Ning with a “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

She seemed absorbed in her own tasks. Occasionally, Meng Ning caught the rustle of turning pages or the light, deft taps of keystrokes.

Otherwise, it was utterly still, save for the faint sound of Wen Zenian’s breathing.

Meng Ning’s tense shoulders gradually loosened, softening like the rest of her in the hot water.

About five minutes in, Wen Zenian murmured softly, “Meng Ning.”

Meng Ning replied in kind, just as softly. “Mm.”

Silence fell once more.

Meng Ning listened to her breathing and trusted that Wen Zenian could hear hers.

She closed her eyes. The water in the tub wasn’t like seawater—like warm tides that enveloped without overwhelming her.

Another five minutes passed. There was another rustle of paper, then Wen Zenian called again. “Meng Ning?”

Meng Ning could picture her perfectly.

Seated with that same elegant poise behind the black rosewood desk. But Wen Zenian often grew impatient at work, her brows knitting slightly as one pale wrist lifted and fell, scrutinizing the document in her hand against the one on the desk for discrepancies.

Even in that state, she’d spared a fragment of her attention to say Meng Ning’s name.

A touch of concern. Nothing overwhelming.

Eyes closed amid the warm water, Meng Ning breathed, “Mm.”

How long did the bath last? Twenty minutes or so. Wen Zenian called her name four or five times and said nothing more. When Meng Ning finally emerged, dressed, removed the towel, and spoke into the phone—”I’m done”—Wen Zenian replied simply, “Okay,” before hanging up.

No superfluous words passed between them.

Meng Ning returned to her room and propped herself against the headboard to read more of her novel. She checked the time: nearly midnight. From the nightstand, she took her water glass and two pills, swallowing them down.

These days, she dreaded facing midnight, so she always tried to fall asleep before it arrived.

Her sleep quality remained poor, but the hospital’s sleep aids helped—two pills delivered daily to her bedside. Now that she was discharged, Wen Zenian had arranged for the family doctor to bring them straight to the house.

Modern society had its perks. Sleep meds were a godsend.

Meng Ning drifted into a deep slumber.

By the time Wen Zenian finished work, it was well past midnight. She had intended to return to her Administrative Suite but paused, then headed to the dock instead and requisitioned a speedboat.

Once aboard, she thanked the staff. “You’ve had a hard evening.”

They smiled with professional polish. “Not at all. We keep someone on duty around the clock.”

Heading off-island now would mean a late-night trek back to the city district.

A prearranged car waited to ferry her home.

She unlocked the door with her fingerprint, moving quietly. Usually short on time and impatient, she’d kick off her heels—but this time, she slipped them off gently.

She knew the meds put Meng Ning into a deep sleep; she wouldn’t wake. Still, Wen Zenian lightened every motion, wary of disturbing her.

She eased open the bedroom door. Meng Ning, who once feared the dark not at all, now left a bedside lamp glowing softly.

Wen Zenian perched lightly on the edge of the bed.

During the bath, she hadn’t been able to see Meng Ning’s face.

Now she could.

Meng Ning’s expression was serene. No trace of sorrow or joy. Wen Zenian didn’t even have the chance to gently smooth the faint furrow between her brows. Only a subtle dampness stained the pillow nearby.

Meng Ning had cried in her sleep. Yet even her dream tears fell so quietly.

Wen Zenian watched her for a moment, drew a deep breath, and rose.

She returned to the entryway, donned her heels, and descended the stairs.

Into the waiting car, then onto the speedboat. She rode the first blush of dawn back to the island.

Her visit had lasted all of five minutes. The cameras conveyed no warmth, so she’d needed to see for herself: Meng Ning’s sleeping face when she wasn’t forcing a cheerful front.

The assistant stepped into Wen Zenian’s office. “Morning, Gwyneth.”

“Morning.” Wen Zenian rubbed her temples and ordered a triple-shot espresso.

She somewhat regretted her actions the night before.

Not because of the lost sleep, but because she shouldn’t have seen Meng Ning’s sleeping face.

Witnessing Meng Ning like that, she couldn’t help softening her own breath—how could she treat her as just anyone now?