‌Chapter 38: The Exhibitionist

"I get it. But I don't mind being used this way. For a woman as extraordinary as you, any man who doesn't fall for you must be blind—though most wouldn't dare dream of it." Ye Chenghuan tilted his head. "Sometimes I wonder why God spoiled you so. Power, wealth, beauty… What's left to chase? Yet you're never happy. Baffling."

Lin Peishan gazed out the window. "Those things mean little to me. I seek purpose. You wouldn't understand."

His smile faded. "Demand too much of yourself, and life becomes a burden. Even if Oriental International tops the world, what's the point? Purpose… is savoring every second of joy."

Surprise flickered in her eyes. This scoundrel had articulated her secret longing. But she was Lin Peishan—CEO, family heir, bearer of thousands' livelihoods. Joy was a luxury.

She turned away. "You'll never understand."

Ye Chenghuan clicked the car stereo on. Jay Chou's Snail drifted through the cabin: Should I shed this heavy shell? Search for skies unseen…

Lin Peishan's rigid posture softened. The melody carried her back—to struggles, sacrifices, the weight of crowns never chosen.

Midnight waves whispered against Victoria Manor's seawall. A lone light glowed in an upper room, curtains drawn.

Two hundred meters east, hidden by foliage, a police van crouched in shadows. Four officers shivered, shooting resentful glances at their commander.

Wu Xiao's leather jacket hugged her frame, wind teasing her cropped hair. The mole above her lip softened features hardened by years chasing criminals. Telescopic lenses magnified her focus.

One hour. Two. Her grip never wavered.

Two unsolved massacres—no wounds, no bullets, only carnage defying science—had led her here. To him. The man who'd reportedly punched through a vault.

The curtain snapped open.

"Contact!" Wu Xiao hissed. Officers fumbled for binoculars.

Ye Chenghuan stood framed in the window, cigarette dangling. His gray eyes sliced through darkness—directly at her.

Wu Xiao flinched, cheeks burning. Impossible. Yet when she raised the scope again, he smirked.

Then he began undressing.

Jacket. Shirt. Belt. Pants. Socks. Each garment discarded with theatrical slowness until only black briefs remained. Moonlight carved his torso—a sculpture of muscle and defiance.

Wu Xiao's breath hitched.

He hooked thumbs into the final barrier.

"No—" Her protest died as fabric pooled at his ankles.

Ye Chenghuan spread his arms, a dark god bathing in her shock. His lips shaped silent words: Enjoying the show?

Binoculars clattered to the van floor. Officers stared at their shoes.

Wu Xiao stood, trembling. "We're done here."

Morning sun gilded the Rolls-Royce as Ye Chenghuan strolled into Destiny Investments. The elevator doors slid shut—trapping him with Zhao Yalin.

Her pencil skirt strained as she pressed into the corner. "Did you plan this?"

He grinned. "Maybe fate wants us closer, Director Zhao."

"Customer survey time?" He whipped out a notepad.

"No!" She stabbed the button repeatedly. "Why's this thing so slow?!"

Metal shrieked. Lights died. Emergency bulbs cast hellish red as the elevator lurched.

Zhao Yalin crashed into him, fingers clawing his shirt. Her citrus perfume clashed with panic.

"We're going to die!" Ye Chenghuan wailed, arms locking around her waist.

"Let go!" She shoved him, back hitting cold steel. "This is your fault!"

He peeled off his soaked shirt, mopping sweat. "Should've dressed lighter, Director."

Her glare could freeze lava. "One more move, and you're fired!"

Ye Chenghuan slumped against the wall, fanning himself. "Relax. I prefer my audiences willing."

Heat thickened. A bead of sweat traced Zhao Yalin's throat, vanishing into silk.

His throat bobbed.

She crossed her arms. "Eyes. Front."

"Where else?" His grin sharpened. "Unless you'd rather I stare at your—

"Finish that sentence and I'll—"

The intercom crackled. "Maintenance here. Everyone decent?"

Zhao Yalin lunged for the speaker. "HURRY!"

Ye Chenghuan chuckled. "Pity. We were just getting cozy."