Vio Mansello ran into an old acquaintance by chance.

When he had seen the person off and glanced at his watch, it was already three in the morning.

The entire Eleventh floor was as quiet as an empty city; only the dim, yellowish glow of the wall lamps lingered in the corridor, while the thick carpet muffled every footstep.

Vio pushed open the door to his suite.

The lights were off inside.

When he lived alone, he preferred the dark—at most, he’d leave just the small bedside lamp on, its wattage so low that the light barely sufficed to outline the room’s contours.

It had been his habit for years.

In the darkness, he was more at ease than anyone else.

The door closed behind him with a faint, muffled thud.

Vio stood in the entryway, motionless.

There was a scent—not the smell of his own room, but something else: faint, sweet, like grass dampened by morning dew.

He squinted, his hand reaching back without a sound to rest on his lower back, where his gun was holstered.

Vio continued stepping inward, his footsteps even lighter than before.

His eyes swept through the darkness like a nocturnal creature, leaving no corner unexamined.

The living room was empty: the sofa, the coffee table, the sea beyond the floor-to-ceiling window.

The bedroom door was open, but inside it was pitch-black—nothing could be made out.

His feet came to a halt at the bedroom doorway.

Qin Qinxi stood behind the door, her heart pounding so hard she felt it might leap right out of her throat.

She heard him enter. She heard him stop. She didn’t know whether she’d been discovered or not, nor whether he would simply pull the trigger.

All she knew was what Tuxi had said:

“Get close to him and hold him tight,” Tuxi had told her.

“Otherwise… the boss will definitely shoot you dead.”

The man stepped softly into the bedroom.

Qin Qinxi followed that shadowy figure, taking a deep breath.

And just as the man suddenly turned toward her—

Qin Qinxi closed her eyes and lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, rising onto her toes to press her lips against his.

Vio froze for a second.

His eyes widened, his mind going blank for an instant.

He’d seen women pounce before, but never like this—like an octopus, like taffy.

Vio had already drawn the gun from his waist.

In fact, the muzzle of his gun could be pressed against her right now, and in a split second he could fire, blasting her brains all over the place.

But he didn’t.

He still doesn’t know why he didn’t.

She was clinging to him too tightly.

Her whole body was draped over him, both arms locked around his neck, her lips sealed over his, blocking his very breath.

She wore almost no clothes—thin summer fabric—and he could feel the softness of her skin.

Vio still held the gun in one hand, and with both hands he pushed gently against her shoulders.

The moment his palm touched her skin, he paused.

Her skin was delicate and slightly cool, covered in fine goosebumps.

Qin Qinxi didn’t let go. She kept pressing forward, even pulling him toward the bed.

Something seemed to explode in Vio’s mind. He was pushed backward step by step, then another step.

Finally, he exerted force with his hand and shoved her away.

Qin Qinxi tried to lunge again, but then she stopped.

Because a cold, hard, round object was pressing against her forehead.

It was the muzzle of a gun.

In the darkness, Vio squinted at this woman who was practically begging for death.

He couldn’t make out her face—only a vague outline.

She was very thin, her whole body trembling. She was bare-armed and bare-legged.

Vio reached out with his other hand and clamped down on her neck, pinning her against the wall.

Qin Qinxi’s back slammed into the wall, and she let out a stifled groan of pain.

But she didn’t dare move—or cry—because the gun’s muzzle was right against her forehead.

Vio held her neck, not squeezing hard, just holding it like he would an ant he could crush at any moment.

His hand was large enough to completely encircle her neck.

Then he released his grip and went to turn on the light beside her.

The light came on.

He turned back and grabbed her neck again.

This time Vio could see clearly.

It was her.

At that moment, her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen, droplets of water clinging to her lashes.

Vio squinted.

How could it be that she was the one who forced a kiss on him, when it looked as if he were the one forcing her?

End of Chapter 15: Chapter 15