Chapter 20: Mr. Mo Invites You Into the Car

She gazed at the inky car window, unable to see the man inside; only the onslaught of the rain, sharp and cold as ice, reached her. The driver opened the door for her. "Please, this way."

Ye Linglan carefully slid into the passenger seat. She was drenched—her clothes, her hair, even her eyebrows and eyelashes were beaded with fine droplets, making her look like a stray cat fished from the water. This rain was unlike the summer downpours, already cold as a blade of frost. Linglan turned, glancing politely at the man in the back seat without lingering, offering a faint smile as she murmured, "Thank you, Mr. Mo."

"Hmm," the man replied lowly, a single syllable, his expression as distant and indifferent as ever.

Linglan withdrew her gaze, the slight smile vanishing, replaced by a furrow between her brows. Why had Mo Zhicheng allowed her into his car?

She leaned back against the seat, her pale face reflected in the rearview mirror, but in moments the image blurred behind rivulets of water running down the glass. The car was quiet, the heater turned up high, but her thin down jacket was soaked through, the mingling warmth and chill pricking her skin like a thousand needles—a tangle of wariness and exhaustion knitting her brow even tighter.

She turned quietly. Mo Zhicheng was absorbed in his laptop, his expression unchanged, busy and unapproachable.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the movement of his fingers over the keyboard—prominent knuckles, long and powerful. She could not deny these were hands skilled at bending fate.

"Have you seen enough?" the man asked softly.

Linglan started, looking up to find Mo Zhicheng's eyes on her. He closed his laptop and set it aside. Linglan said nothing, their eyes meeting. She felt she had crossed a line, yet could not keep herself from asking, "Mr. Mo—"

"Hmm?" He drew out the word, a note of intrigue in his voice.

At that moment, her phone rang abruptly from her bag—a cheerful tune, a catchy pop song that everyone knew.

—"I want to ask if your heart has ever stirred for me?"
—"I want to ask if your heart has ever stirred for me?"

The ringtone repeated the same line over and over. Ye Linglan bowed her head. "Sorry," she said, quickly fishing out her phone and answering, turning away to speak softly, "Manager, the document is ready. I left it on your desk. I saw you were asleep and didn't want to wake you, so I left a note. Yes, I was up all night, but I finished the data. Please check it, and if there's any mistake, just call me."

She hung up. Looking once more at Mo Zhicheng, she suppressed the question of where he was taking her.

At some point, the car had turned into the bustling city center. Though it was eight in the morning, the broad street was only sparsely populated with cars. With a gentle brake, the Bentley stopped in front of a shopfront styled in classic decor.

Ye Linglan glanced aside, seeing the driver readying an umbrella. She smiled. "Shall I do it instead?" The driver hesitated, then, after a brief glance at Mo Zhicheng's expression in the rearview mirror, handed her the umbrella.

Linglan hurried out, opened the door, and with a polite gesture invited him to exit. Mo Zhicheng stepped out, and she followed closely, holding the umbrella above him. Yet he was a head taller than her, and rainwater splashed from the edge of the umbrella, drenching his broad shoulders. As she reached out to brush away the droplets, he surprised her by pulling a handkerchief from his suit pocket and handing it to her. "Take care of yourself first."

Linglan stared, looking up into those deep, ocean-like eyes. She took the handkerchief, and Mo Zhicheng turned toward the shop. She hurried after him.

"I'm here to have a suit tailored. Help me choose the fabric," Mo Zhicheng said softly, then as if recalling something, added, "The outfit you picked for me last time—I liked it."

The rain roared outside. Ye Linglan could barely hear his words, but her heart was lodged in her throat.