After leaving the hotel, Wen Xi first went to the hospital to settle the overdue medical bills. Only then did she return to the low-slung cottage behind the Mu family estate. It was Wen Xi’s home, a place perpetually cast in shadow, its sunlight choked off by the opulent, imposing Mu family villa that loomed before it. The cottage remained damp and cold year-round. Her father, Wen Congrong, had been Old Master Mu’s driver, and her mother, Jiang Wanyan, a housemaid for the family. After her father’s death, she and her mother had moved into this dilapidated little house. “Wen Xi!” As she passed the villa, Butler Zhang’s voice cut through the air, sharp and aggressive. “Where have you been all morning? Get over here and prep the vegetables, now!” In the Mu household, Wen Xi was nothing more than a lowly maid, someone anyone could order around. “Yes, sir,” Wen Xi murmured, heading toward the kitchen. Butler Zhang’s eyes fell on her fair face, and he frowned. “Why aren’t you wearing your mask? Are you trying to provoke the Young Miss on purpose?” Because Wen Xi bore too striking a resemblance to Mu Shuyu, the latter had established a rule: whenever Wen Xi was on the Mu family property, she had to wear a mask. If she dared to show her face, she would get a slap for it. She hastily pulled a mask from her pocket and put it on. Half of her delicate face was obscured, leaving only a pair of large, luminous eyes. The butler shot her a venomous glare. Only after seeing her dutifully begin her work did he turn and leave. Just then, a luxury sedan pulled up outside the Mu family gate. A man in a bespoke, smoke-gray suit stepped out. An expensive brooch on his chest glittered in the sunlight. His posture was impeccable, his features handsome, his entire bearing magnetic. Butler Zhang, just emerging from the kitchen, spotted him instantly. His face lit up with excitement as he hurried to greet him. “Mr. Lu, what brings you here today?” The visitor was none other than Lu Qinghan, the fourth young master of the Lu family—Beicheng’s wealthiest and most renowned clan, with a fortune in the hundreds of billions. Butler Zhang respectfully ushered Lu Qinghan inside, barking orders at a nearby maid. “Quickly, go and fetch the master and the Young Miss! And tell the kitchen to serve tea!” In the Mu family living room, Lu Qinghan sat on the sofa, his legs crossed casually. Yet, his imperious air filled the space, making everyone else feel a palpable pressure. Wen Xi approached with her head bowed, carrying the tea. She gently placed the tray on the coffee table. As she inadvertently lifted her gaze, she saw Lu Qinghan’s face. She froze. It was him. Memories of the previous night—of this man’s kisses—crashed over her like a tidal wave. The dull ache in her body felt suddenly fresh and sharp. His deep, husky voice seemed to echo in her ears. “I’ll take responsibility for you.” A jolt of panic shot through her, and her hand trembled. The tea in the cup she was holding sloshed over the rim. She instinctively tried to block the spill with her hand, a searing pain shooting through her palm, but a few drops still splattered onto the man’s trousers. The man’s pupils narrowed into cold slits. He looked at this clumsy little maid. Her head was down, her face hidden behind a thick mask. She wore a simple white shirt and jeans, her frame slender and frail. She was just a maid, yet there was something inexplicably familiar about her. “Wen Xi, what do you think you’re doing?” Butler Zhang snapped, his face dark. He quickly turned to Lu Qinghan to apologize. “I am so sorry, Mr. Lu. She’s a new maid, she doesn’t know any better. I’ll be sure to discipline her properly.” An intense gaze fell upon Wen Xi. She could feel the skin on her neck, on her collarbone—all the places where the man’s teeth had grazed her—suddenly burn with heat. She kept her head bowed, her slender shoulders trembling. The scalding pain in her palm was forgotten. Lu Qinghan said nothing, his eyes sweeping over her once more with detached coolness. Butler Zhang, a master of reading his superiors, immediately commanded, “Wen Xi, what are you waiting for? Thank Mr. Lu for his generosity!” “Thank you… thank you, Mr. Lu,” Wen Xi stammered in a small voice. Keeping her head down, she grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and bent over to blot the water stains from his trousers. Once she was done, Wen Xi let out a long, quiet breath and quickly picked up the tray, ready to flee. As she moved, a familiar, delicate scent of cherry blossoms drifted from her—the very same fragrance as the “Mu Shuyu” from that night. Lu Qinghan’s eyes narrowed. “Stop.”