Chapter 17: Were You Expecting It?

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Hearing this, the old man was naturally overjoyed, beaming from ear to ear.
Jiang Zhi, however, felt her heart leap into her throat. She dared not show it, letting Shang Chi lead her upstairs.
Shang Chi’s room was the first one beside the staircase. Jiang Zhi was still reeling from his words. By the time she snapped back to reality, she found herself already inside the room.
The door clicked shut behind him. In the next instant, her back was pressed firmly against it by his body.
They stood mere inches apart.
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Only the sound of their breathing remained.
The air thickened with the potent scent of masculine energy. Jiang Zhi’s hands, hanging at her sides, clenched tightly. Even her breathing slowed.
With one hand, Shang Chi began undoing the buttons of his suit jacket. His well-defined fingers moved over the buttons with deliberate slowness.
With each button released, Jiang Zhi’s heartbeat grew heavier.
Time seemed to slow down.
The movement of his fingers on the buttons felt excruciatingly clear and unhurried.
Finally, he reached the last button. He shrugged the jacket off in one smooth motion and tossed it onto a nearby sofa.
Simultaneously, he lowered his head slowly towards her.
His scalding breath fanned across her face, his distinctive scent invading her nostrils.

Jiang Zhi’s hands clenched even tighter, her knuckles turning stark white.
As his thin lips neared hers, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Yet, several seconds passed. The anticipated touch never came. She cautiously opened her eyes.
She found him looking down at her, a trace of amusement playing on his lips. Behind the gold-rimmed glasses, his deep eyes were utterly devoid of desire—cold, distant, even aloof.
“Were you expecting it?” His voice was a low, detached murmur.
Jiang Zhi, “…”
She knew he was twisting her meaning again. Her reaction had been pure fear!
She’d simply thought, since she’d agreed this wasn’t a marriage in name only, that day would come eventually. Struggling pointlessly seemed futile.
She hadn’t expected him to interpret it as anticipation.
Jiang Zhi lifted her gaze to meet his directly. “President Shang, are we doing this or not? If so, get on with it.”
At her words, the eyes behind the glasses narrowed almost imperceptibly. The trace of amusement vanished from his lips.
He straightened up from his slightly bowed posture, looking down at her from his height. The lenses served as perfect camouflage, shielding his thoughts, making his mood impossible to discern.
He raised a hand and cupped her face. The slightly rough pad of his thumb brushed slowly, almost tenderly, across her skin. Yet, Jiang Zhi felt an immense pressure bearing down on her.
Somehow, she sensed his anger.
Regret washed over her for losing control of her temper. She pressed her lips together, remaining silent.
The large hand cradling her cheek felt like a serpent coiling around her, his thumb moving like a serpent’s flickering tongue.
Jiang Zhi’s eyelashes fluttered involuntarily.

After a long moment, Shang Chi looked deeply into her eyes. His voice was flat, devoid of inflection. “Provocation won’t work on me. I said I wasn’t in the mood today.”
Though his tone was cold, the overwhelming aura surrounding him seemed to recede slightly.
Hearing those final words, the knot of tension in Jiang Zhi’s chest loosened.
Shang Chi released her and walked into the walk-in closet.
His gaze swept over a few sets of pajamas tucked in the corner. After a brief pause, he selected a black dress shirt, held it in his hand, and walked back out.
He tossed the shirt onto the bed. Lifting his eyes to Jiang Zhi, he said coolly, “No spare pajamas. Wear my shirt for tonight.”
Jiang Zhi was momentarily taken aback. She’d thought he went into the closet to get his own clothes for a shower, not hers.
She hesitated for a few seconds, then walked to the bed, picked up the black shirt, and headed towards the bathroom.
She had little choice. She was wearing jeans—impossible to sleep in comfortably, and certainly not appropriate.
Besides, he’d offered it. They were legally married. Refusing would seem overly prudish.
The moment the bathroom door closed behind her, Jiang Zhi sagged against it, tension draining away.
She surveyed the bathroom. The décor of his room matched the overall vintage feel of the old residence—a French retro style from the 80s or 90s, possessing a lived-in warmth.
Unlike the icy sterility of the master bedroom at No. 7 Villa.
Jiang Zhi lingered deliberately in the bathroom for over half an hour before drying off and putting on the shirt.
She stood at 169cm, neither particularly tall nor short. The man’s shirt fell to mid-thigh.
Surprisingly long, she thought.

She suddenly recalled how, when he’d pinned her against the door earlier, the top of her head had reached roughly his chin. He was quite tall—easily nearing 190cm.
Several centimeters taller than Jiang Nian.
Jiang Zhi frowned as she realized she’d instinctively compared the two men. She forcefully severed that train of thought.
On another note, the past week, busy furnishing the man’s house, had been fulfilling.
It struck her that in these six days, she hadn’t thought about Jiang Nian once. Exhausted, she fell asleep instantly each night.
A good sign.
Gathering her scattered thoughts, Jiang Zhi adjusted the collar in the mirror, took a deep breath, and turned to open the bathroom door.
Stepping out on long legs, she saw Shang Chi lounging casually on the sofa, a cigarette held between his fingers, his other hand typing something on his phone.
Hearing her emerge, he glanced up briefly, then looked away. He leaned forward to stub out his cigarette and stood, walking towards the walk-in closet.
Wearing a man’s shirt was an inherently intimate act.
It was Jiang Zhi’s first time doing so. Even with Jiang Nian, she’d never worn his clothes.
She’d felt slightly self-conscious moments before, but seeing his utterly indifferent attitude eased her tension.
On reflection, a man of his status undoubtedly had women throwing themselves at him constantly.
He’d probably seen far more provocative and overtly seductive attire than this.
Her simply wearing his shirt wouldn’t even register on his radar.

Thinking this, she realized her deliberate lingering in the bathroom now seemed superfluous and almost conceited.
While she was lost in thought, Shang Chi emerged from the closet carrying a set of pajamas.
His eyes flicked to a small ceramic container on the desk. “Gen Shu brought this incense. Supposed to aid sleep. Your choice whether to light it.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and entered the bathroom.
Jiang Zhi picked up the incense holder. It looked unremarkable, similar to ordinary ones.
The scent was a light floral fragrance—quite pleasant.
Spotting his lighter on the desk, Jiang Zhi decided to light it. At the very least, it might soothe her nerves, ease the awkwardness of being alone together, and help her relax.
With a soft click, the lighter flared. The wick caught immediately, casting a warm golden glow that illuminated her face.
She had just placed the burning incense in the center of the desk when the bathroom door opened.
Shang Chi walked out, dressed in black silk men’s pajamas that accentuated his broad shoulders and long legs.
The top two buttons were undone, revealing the shadowed hollow of his collarbone peeking through. The line of his neck was sleek and subtly powerful.
His hair, no longer styled in its usual severe back-swept manner, fell naturally across his forehead, softening his appearance.
His expression unreadable, his gaze lingered on the burning incense for a fraction of a second before shifting away. He walked directly to the bed, pulled back the covers, and settled in.
Propped against the headboard, he glanced at her, his voice a low command in the dim light.
“Turn off the light. Get in.”