Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Wen Yinong had always remembered Mo Shaoshang as composed, reserved, steady, and calm.

But at this moment, as the man slowly stepped out from the shadows, he exuded a decadent, roguish, and gloomy vibe.

His sharp collarbones were outlined beneath his black shirt collar, his hair slightly disheveled; those blue-black eyes fixed on her, revealing an almost morbid depth and intensity.

Like a perpetual night craving to consume the light.

Wen Yinong was enveloped by his suffocating gaze, making it hard to breathe, her entire body trembling uncontrollably.

He stood so close—just inches away—if he moved another centimeter, his thin, moist lips would touch her skin...

Wen Yinong’s heart pounded faster. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a panicked glimpse of the wine glass in the man’s hand and the dark red liquid inside.

His dangerous demeanor, his abrupt, random questions, and the rich scent of wine on his breath... a suspicion dawned on her: he was drunk.

This realization eased the tension in Wen Yinong’s heart. She took a quiet deep breath to steady herself, then tried to turn her head a little, putting some distance between them.

When she spoke again, her voice carried a hint of reluctance. Wen Yinong said softly, "Mr. Mo, you seem to have had too much to drink. I don’t understand what you’re saying."

To Wen Yinong’s surprise, after hearing her words, Mo Shaoshang barely curled the corner of his mouth and let out a quiet laugh.

In social settings, smiles often convey pleasure and friendliness. But for some reason, the faint smile on Mo Shaoshang’s face at this moment, in Wen Yinong’s eyes, only scared her.

There was no warmth in that smile—only a faint, almost imperceptible mockery.

She even thought of a gaudy, venomous snake.

After a moment, the smile faded from Mo Shaoshang’s face, like mist scattered by the wind. He looked straight at her and said in a flat tone: "I hear Teacher Wen went out today."

Wen Yinong paused. As a live-in recovery therapist, in theory, she was supposed to inform her employer of her whereabouts, especially outside of her scheduled breaks.

With that in mind, she could only suppress her unease, nod, and answer honestly: "Yes."

"Where did you go?" he asked, his tone still calm.

Wen Yinong exhaled quietly, trying to sound steady and natural: "Home."

"Who did you see?"

Wen Yinong answered instinctively: "My mom and dad."

As if skeptical of the answer, Mo Shaoshang looked at her, his expression calm: "What else?"

What else?

Wen Yinong blinked in confusion, not reacting at first. She lowered her eyes, thought for a few seconds, then realized belatedly what he meant.

"Ah, and Mr. Sebastian," Wen Yinong said truthfully. "This afternoon, my mom and I went grocery shopping and ran into Sebastian, so we walked around together..."

She paused, as if worried he might not remember the name, then added in explanation, "Do you recall him? He’s the Latino Frenchman from the Dome Club banquet, the one who raised a toast to you."

Mo Shaoshang pressed his thin lips together, saying nothing.

The air thickened with his sudden silence, oppressive and suffocating.

His blue-black eyes stared fixedly at the girl in front of him.

Over the past few days, he had flown to four European countries, working nonstop. Meeting after meeting, a mountain of pending documents—he had barely managed to squeeze every minute out of his schedule.

In every gap of his relentless schedule, one thought grew like a stubborn vine, spreading wildly, consuming almost his entire mind.

A desperate urge to go back home, a desperate urge to see her.

After filing his flight plan in advance, Mo Shaoshang’s private jet took off from Europe this morning, breaking through the clouds, finally landing at Jinghai International Airport by evening.

Days of intense work had left him exhausted.

During the flight, he had closed his eyes to rest until landing, only to habitually turn on his phone and check messages upon reaching the waiting car.

That was when he saw the message from Chen Jin.

Chen Jin’s words were precise and concise. In a few seconds, Mo Shaoshang had finished reading the entire message.

He turned off the screen with a blank expression.

Mo Shaoshang had been calm, indifferent, and pathologically rational since childhood, with immense self-control—never one to be easily controlled by emotions. But the moment he finished reading that message, he felt a strong, unsettling feeling inside.

It was like irritation, like unease, like...

Jealousy.

The words "Sebastian" and "pleasant conversation" grated on Mo Shaoshang’s nerves.

His mind involuntarily replayed scenes from that banquet night: her standing by the champagne tower, holding a fruit wine glass, her head turned sideways as she chatted with that Latino man, a bright and radiant smile on her delicate face, her eyes, misty from drink, sparkled brighter than the stars in the night sky.

Just imagining her curving her eyes and flashing that sweet smile at another man sent an indescribable wave of irritation and violence surging through Mo Shaoshang’s chest.

So after returning to the estate, Mo Shaoshang shut himself in this studio within the wine cellar.

He picked up the brush, but couldn’t create a satisfying painting.

Staring at the blank canvas, Mo Shaoshang’s expression remained calm, yet he sank into an obsessive, almost manic fantasy.

He fantasized that the moment he saw her again, he would touch her skin, tear her dress, devour her lips, bite her wet, soft tongue until it bled, saturating her body with his scent.

He fantasized she was a work of art that belonged only to him, that no one else could covet.

He even fantasized about imprisoning her forever in this studio, in a world that contained only him...

Mo Shaoshang stared unwaveringly at Wen Yinong, the light in his eyes fading, turbulent undercurrents and overwhelming desire rising, like a deep sea about to unleash a storm.

Wen Yinong grew more anxious under his gaze, her palms growing cold and sweaty. Seeing him silent for so long, she spoke tentatively, calling out softly: "Mr. Mo?"

Mo Shaoshang remained silent, still gazing at her. Then, he set his wine glass aside, reached out, his long, powerful arm coiling around her slender waist like a vine or a serpent’s tail.

Without a word, he pulled her into his embrace.

Caught off guard, Wen Yinong let out a soft gasp, stumbling into his arms.

The cool, crisp cedar scent of the man, the rich, fruity aroma of wine, and the intense, undeniable male pheromones intertwined, weaving an invisible but solid web that enveloped and trapped her.

Flustered and startled, she looked up at him, her dense lashes fluttering like a frightened butterfly’s wings.

"Don’t be afraid," Mo Shaoshang said, looking down at her, his voice low. "I won’t hurt you."

"..."

He tilted his head slightly, his lips leaning toward her sensitive ear, his breath scorching hot, nearly whispering, gentle beyond belief. "I just wanted to invite you to dance with me."

Dance? Now?

Wen Yinong's gaze wavered for a moment, her brain completely unable to process this abrupt invitation. Before she could react, his arm guided her body, and she involuntarily took the first step.

No music, no accompaniment—only their intertwined breaths.

In the dim, sealed painting studio, the air was thick with intoxicating wine fragrance. Outside the window, the cold moonlight passed through the high, narrow pane, stingily casting a few faint beams, outlining their closely pressed figures.

One arm was firmly wrapped around her slender waist, his other hand held her cool fingers, his palm burning hot.

Wen Yinong's mind was completely blank, dazed. She could only follow him dazedly as he moved, spun, and dipped her. Her body pressed tightly against his, separated only by thin fabric, she could clearly feel the rise and fall of his chest, the lines of his muscles, and the body heat that seemed almost capable of scalding her.

Wen Yinong unconsciously swallowed.

Her hand, which had been resting lightly on his shoulder and arm, was now sweaty from nervousness and the overly intimate contact. Beneath her fingertips were the taut muscle contours beneath his silk shirt, and every time he guided her movements, she felt the surge and flex of his muscles as they bulged and shifted.

He led her, his steps sometimes slow and gentle like moonlight flowing over a stream, sometimes hurried like sudden rain beating against a windowpane. Each spin brought her closer to him; each dip left her utterly surrendered to his control.

All her senses were amplified infinitely.

The temperature of his fingertips, the rhythm of his breathing, the vibrations of his chest—all wove together into a suffocating web. And she felt like an insect trapped in that net, passively opening up to him, accepting him, yielding to him.

In a daze, Wen Yinong had the feeling.

It felt as if this were not a dance, but a secret ceremony—one he initiated, something akin to a claim of ownership...

After what seemed like an eternity, yet also like a fleeting moment, the dance without melody finally drew to a close.

With a gentle yet irresistible dip, Wen Yinong leaned back into the crook of Mo Shaoshang's arm.

In an instant, her hair cascaded down like a waterfall, her breathing quick and uneven, her chest heaving. In the dim, hazy light, she looked up at the man above her and met his blue-black eyes.

For just a few seconds of eye contact, Wen Yinong saw that those eyes, usually deep and unfathomable, were now filled with a look of conquest and predation, like a beast locking onto prey, brimming with the most primitive desire.

Wen Yinong's heart jolted slightly, almost burned by his gaze.

But before she could look closely, Mo Shaoshang used his arm strength to steadily right her. Once he was sure she could stand on her own, he withdrew his arm from around her waist. He resumed his usual demeanor as a self-disciplined, refined, and aloof gentleman he usually appeared to be.

Mo Shaoshang's expression was calm. "Thank you, Ms. Wen, for the honor."

Wen Yinong was taken aback, then quickly realized he was thanking her for accepting his invitation to dance?

This man—on the surface cold and composed, unshaken by any storm, the most elegant gentleman. Yet deep down, his actions were so absurd, so unconventional and rebellious. Truly...

contradictory to the point of being frightening.

Wen Yinong's face flushed crimson, every inch of her skin feeling as if it had been set ablaze, burning hot. She lowered her head, not daring to look at him again, trying to calm her chaotic emotions.

After a long moment, she heard the distinct sound of liquid being poured in the air.

She instinctively turned her head.

She saw Mo Shaoshang holding an empty wine glass in his hand. He held the open bottle of wine in one hand and the glass in the other, then poured the wine into the glass. Then, he walked over with an unhurried stride to stand before her and handed her the filled glass without a word.

Wen Yinong looked up at him, a clear question in her eyes.

Mo Shaoshang's gaze was as still as water. "It's low in alcohol," he said flatly.

His tone carried no discernible emotion, as if it were merely a host's simple gesture of hospitality.

Wen Yinong lowered her eyes to look at the wine glowing in the dim light. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out with both hands, took the glass, and murmured, "Thank you."

Then she lowered her head and took a cautious sip.

The wine slid into her mouth—first a refreshing fruity acidity, then a pure sweetness spreading over her tongue and palate, with hints of floral and berry notes.

Indeed, as Mo Shaoshang had said, the alcohol content was low, the taste soft, almost like a low-alcohol fruit juice.

Across from her.

Mo Shaoshang's gaze rested quietly on Wen Yinong's lips. Those small, delicate lips were a tender pink, now even more moist from the wine, lightly pressing against the rim of the glass as she took small sips.

Like a herbivore drinking from a stream, cautious and wary, afraid of a sudden ambush from a lurking predator.

Before long, the herbivore's lips left the glass, and parted slightly again, producing a sound. Her voice was clear and soft in the silent, empty studio, and the faint sweetness of the wine seemed to spread into the air along with her breath.

Hesitantly, she said: "This is the first time I've known there was a wine cellar of this scale down here."

Wen Yinong said this partly to ease the slightly stiff atmosphere, and partly because she was genuinely surprised. She hesitated for half a second, then asked softly, "Mr. Mo, are you very interested in wine?"

Mo Shaoshang's gaze moved from her lips back to her eyes, and he replied, "This wine cellar was left to me by my grandfather."

"I see." Wen Yinong nodded in understanding.

She remembered reading an article in Forbes magazine. It mentioned that for the world's wealthiest billionaires, a private wine cellar was not just a space for storing wine, but also a symbol of both material and spiritual enjoyment, a marker of their refined taste and high status.

It represented immense wealth, as well as deep cultural refinement.

It was the sediment of time, carrying family emotions and memories.

Thinking this, Wen Yinong felt a surge of emotion she couldn't quite explain. In a soft voice, she continued, "Your grandfather left you this wine cellar. Every time you come here, you must think of him, don't you?"

At that moment, Mo Shaoshang also picked up his own red wine glass. He took a light sip, casually leaning his tall frame against the table edge, and tilted his head to examine her closely. His eyes held a hint of curiosity and interest. "Ms. Wen is curious about me?"

Wen Yinong was taken aback by his words. Alarm bells immediately rang in her mind as she recalled Principal Zhang Yao's serious advice to her.

When Principal Zhang introduced her to this high-paying job, she had specifically warned her that the most important thing when working for the Mo family was to keep to herself, not to be too curious, not to try to pry into the employer's family privacy.

She had indeed crossed a line just now.

Thinking this, a flicker of panic crossed Wen Yinong's face. She quickly cleared her throat and explained, "No, that's not it. Mr. Mo, please don't be angry. I really didn't mean to pry into your privacy. I just happened to mention it when you brought up your grandfather. I had no ill intentions, absolutely not."

Watching her flustered denial, a barely perceptible glimmer flickered in the depths of Mo Shaoshang's eyes. His tone remained flat. "I am not angry."

"…That's good." Wen Yinong responded nervously, masking her discomfort by taking another small sip of wine.

Mo Shaoshang watched her, then said slowly, "If Ms. Wen wants to understand me, I would actually be happy."

"…" Wen Yinong's eyes flickered slightly, her fingers tightening around the glass. Realizing that continuing this line of conversation would only make the atmosphere stranger, she immediately changed the subject, steering it back to work.

Wen Yinong: "By the way, Mr. Mo, I have a suggestion I'd like to discuss with you regarding Ari's rehabilitation plan going forward."

Mo Shaoshang didn't seem surprised by her subject change. He smoothly replied, "Go ahead."

When it came to work, Wen Yinong's expression immediately grew serious. She spoke earnestly: "The core symptom of autism spectrum disorder (ASD) is social impairment, especially social interaction with peers. Based on my observations and understanding, Ari's living environment is relatively isolated. He rarely has opportunities to interact with children his age. His daily life basically revolves around this estate."

"This is very detrimental to the development of his social skills and communication abilities. I think that in subsequent interventions, we should create a plan and proceed gradually. We should take him out of the estate more often to introduce him to a wider variety of environments, new people, and new things."

Mo Shaoshang listened quietly, gently rubbing the side of the wine glass with his knuckles. After a moment of thought, he nodded in agreement. "Alright. We'll proceed according to your plan from now on."

Having received the employer's approval and support, a smile spread across Wen Yinong's face, her eyes curving into crescents as she nodded. "Mhm! I'll draft a detailed outdoor activity plan as soon as possible for your review."

Afterward, Wen Yinong briefed Mo Shaoshang on Ari's minor progress in cognition and language imitation over the past few days, along with a few minor issues and her coping strategies. Mo Shaoshang watched her intently, listening carefully, occasionally adding a comment or two or raising a few questions.

Time slipped away amid their conversation. Outside the window, the night grew deeper, and before they knew it, the clock on the wall pointed to past ten o'clock at night.

It was truly inappropriate for a man and woman to be alone in such a secluded, dimly lit underground studio so late at night.

Thinking this over, Wen Yinong quickly found an excuse. She set down her glass and said softly, "Mr. Mo, it's getting late, and I have to give Ari his lesson early tomorrow morning. If there's nothing else, I'd like to head back and rest."

This time, Mo Shaoshang's blue-black eyes gazed at her for a long moment, but he didn't refuse her request.

He said, "Good night."

Hearing those words, Wen Yinong felt an immense wave of relief, the tightly pulled string in her heart finally slackened completely. She waved and said "Good night" in reply, turned around, and hurried away.

Her light, somewhat hurried footsteps gradually faded, until they eventually disappeared at the end of the wine cellar stairs.

*

The vast studio now held only Mo Shaoshang. The dim light carved out his tall, upright silhouette, casting a long, lonely shadow on the floor.

His expression was plain, revealing little emotion. After standing motionless for a moment, he picked up his paintbrush again and walked to the massive easel, stopping in front of it.

Then, without warning, he raised his hand and pulled down the fabric that was covered in chaotic lines, tossing it aside carelessly.

Beneath that canvas was another painting.

It was an unfinished portrait: a girl in a simple dress, standing in the sunlight, her lips curved, her features clear, her smile sweet—warmer than the March sun.

Mo Shaoshang gazed at the painting, mesmerized. After a moment, he reached out, with an almost devout tenderness, gently tracing over the girl's eyebrows, eyes, and nose on the canvas, finally stopping at the still-uncolored outline of her lips.

In the dim silence, he rolled a name over his lips, burning with intensity and obsession.

Wen Yinong.

Wen... Yinong.

The next morning, Wen Yinong didn't see Mo Shaoshang again.

*

The employer's whereabouts were not within the rehabilitation therapist's purview, so Wen Yinong didn't think about it. After breakfast, she proceeded with Ari's rehabilitation sessions as usual.

The morning passed in the blink of an eye.

After having lunch with Ari, Wen Yinong took the little boy's hand and led him upstairs for a nap, to build up energy for the afternoon's planned outdoor activity.

At breakfast, Uncle Heng had told Wen Yinong that there was a forest park in the southern suburbs, featuring not only various rare plants but also top-notch children's play equipment.

She planned to take Ari for a walk there, letting him connect with nature while observing how he adapted to the outside world.

A gentle breeze swept through the afternoon estate, carrying the dry freshness unique to autumn. The artificial lake rippled with blue waves, sparkling, reflecting the white clouds and blue sky.

Once Ari was fast asleep, Wen Yinong went to the living room and, together with the nanny, packed the items they would need for the afternoon outing. Water bottles, baby wipes, comfort toys, and a few small snacks Ari liked—all stuffed into a backpack.

Around 2:30 PM, the sunlight was even more gentle and warm than in the morning.

Wen Yinong went to the small bed, gently woke Ari, and helped him put on his outdoor clothes and shoes. Together, they headed downstairs.

A black Bentley was already waiting outside the main building.

Just as they reached the car, Ari was attracted by a few ants on the ground. He let go of Wen Yinong's hand, crouched down, and stared blankly, once again immersed in his own world.

"Ari, we're going to the park to play," Wen Yinong said, crouching to meet Ari's eyes with a gentle smile. "Say goodbye to the little ants!"

That day, the child was unusually obedient. He didn't speak but raised his little hand and waved it at the ground.

"Great job!" Wen Yinong's smile grew brighter. She took Ari's hand and led him toward the car door.

Just as they were about to get in, footsteps came from behind—steady and composed, clearly audible on the bluestone path.

Wen Yinong turned around instinctively.

Against the warm but not scorching afternoon sun, a tall, straight figure came into view.

It was Mo Shaoshang.

No longer in his immaculate formal attire, he was dressed in a light-colored casual outfit, with a pair of sneakers on his feet, white as fresh snow, spotless.

Wen Yinong was momentarily stunned.

She was used to seeing him in suits, but this was the first time she had seen him in such attire.

The light-colored clothes softened the cold, aggressive edge of his mixed-race features, brightening his entire demeanor, making him appear gentle and refined, tinged with a carefree yet casual youthful air. At first glance, he looked like an exchange student—the campus heartthrob from a university.

Stunningly handsome.

Wen Yinong stood there, staring at the tall figure, until he approached, his deep, unfathomable blue-black eyes meeting hers. She snapped back to reality, her gaze refocusing.

A slight flush crept onto her cheeks, and she greeted him somewhat flusteredly, "Mr. Mo."

She paused, glancing again at his outfit, so different from usual, and couldn't help asking, "Are you going out too?"

"Not exactly. You're taking Ari to the forest park, right?" Mo Shaoshang said lightly. "Let's go."

With that, before Wen Yinong could react, Mo Shaoshang bent down, lifted Ari with gentle yet swift movements, and securely placed him in the rear safety seat.

Wen Yinong's eyes widened slightly.

In her field of vision, the man was leaning down, buckling the safety belt for the little boy in the seat. His profile, silhouetted in the sunlight, was both cold and tender, his movements calm and practiced.

"W-wait." She couldn't hide her surprise, thinking she must have misheard. "Are you saying you're coming with us?"

She had assumed that with his busy schedule, him entrusting Ari's rehabilitation to her and supporting it was already more than enough. She never thought he would have time for such parent-child activities.

"Mhm."

Mo Shaoshang acknowledged, straightened up, shut the door on Ari's side, then looked at Wen Yinong and said casually, "Get in. Please sit beside me, Teacher Wen."