A faint tang of jealousy lingered in the narrow room,
and Vivian Wen could practically smell it.
“He’s just one of the hosts here,” she explained patiently.
“My friend insisted on booking him for her birthday. I said no, but she wouldn’t let it go. Don’t misunderstand.”
Her clear eyes met Simon Min’s head-on—open, unflinching.
He looked down at her, gaze darkening.
The delicate curve of her lips trembled slightly, making him ache to taste them.
Their breaths tangled in the silence,
the steady rhythm of two hearts filling the small storage room.
“Have you been drinking?” Simon’s low voice broke the stillness.
“You’ve seen me drunk before—do I look drunk now?” she countered, then leaned closer, sniffing lightly near his collar.
“But you, on the other hand, smell very… spirited.”
His Adam’s apple moved.
She had no idea how close he was to losing control.
If he hadn’t been drinking, he might never have allowed himself this moment—
the urge to pin her against the wall,
to finally claim what had been burning in him for weeks.
But Vivian’s wide, curious eyes were still innocent, oblivious.
“I’ve explained everything,” she said softly.
“Can we go now? It’s getting hard to breathe in here.”
Simon exhaled through his nose, fighting the pull between reason and desire.
If he stayed another minute, he really would kiss her.
He stepped back, let go, and pushed the door open.
Vivian followed, her gaze tracing his broad shoulders and lean frame.
The tailored suit, the clean-cut shirt—
he looked nothing like the casually dressed “ordinary man” she’d always seen at home.
More like the elegant stranger from her engagement night.
“I was here with my boss, meeting a client,” he said evenly, as if sensing her thoughts.
She nodded, relieved.
That explained the change in attire.
“Mr. Min,” she asked suddenly, curiosity piqued,
“what do you actually do for work?”
They’d been living together for days, yet she knew almost nothing about him.
“Odd jobs. I follow my boss around, help where I can,” he said, washing his hands at the sink.
Vivian tilted her head, half teasing.
“You’re not one of these hosts too, are you?”
Simon froze mid-motion, then turned with a look halfway between disbelief and amusement.
“You’ve got quite the imagination.”
Vivian giggled, scratching her cheek.
Truth be told, if he were a host, he’d definitely be the top one here.
They walked back toward the private rooms together.
But just as they turned a corner, a harsh voice rang out—
“Don’t touch me…”
A woman’s weak protest.
Ahead, a drunken man was forcing himself on a woman in a tight dress,
his greasy hand gripping her waist as she struggled feebly.
Vivian froze.
Then her eyes widened.
“That’s my supervisor!”
Sister Liang.
Without hesitation, she ran forward and planted herself between them.
“Who the hell are you?” the drunk snarled, face flushed.
“Let her go! She clearly doesn’t want to go with you!”
“None of your damn business!” he spat, eyes narrowing as he noticed her face—
too beautiful, too tempting.
He grinned, reaching out to grab her arm.
“Fine then. If she won’t come with me, you will. I promise you won’t regret it—”
His filthy hand reached lower—
—and was instantly caught in an iron grip.
Simon moved like lightning, twisting the man’s wrist and slamming him backward.
A solid punch cracked across the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor.
The man groaned, touching his swelling cheek, then roared,
“Do you know who I am?!”
Simon’s expression didn’t waver.
“I don’t care who you are.”
The man’s fury spiked.
“I’m the CEO of Joy Media, a VIP of this club! Someone call the manager! He hit me!”
The nearby waiters froze.
They recognized the drunk—the club’s frequent, untouchable client.
Terrified, they scurried off to fetch the manager.
The Joy Media boss pushed himself up, trembling with rage.
“You’re dead, you hear me? You’ll be in jail before sunrise!”
Vivian grabbed Simon’s arm,
her heart pounding at the cold, ruthless glint in his eyes.
She’d never seen him like this—
dangerous, protective, and utterly unyielding.