"Give me your best wine." The young man demanded.
His dark hair was neatly styled, framing a face that appeared to be in its prime - likely in his late twenties. The expensive suit he wore outlined his broad shoulders and lean frame perfectly.
Despite being rather young, there was an undeniable aura of power and confidence exuded from him, commanding the attention of everyone around him.
"Right away, sir." The delicate waitress gracefully poured the recommended wine, presenting it to the customer with a practiced movement.
He couldn't help but lingered his eyes on her face, her hands and the curve of her body. His gaze was intense and unwavering as if trying to register something onto the woman.
He brought the glass to his lips, and she watched as he savored the aroma before taking a delicate sip. "Exquisite," he murmured, his voice smooth and rich. "This is an excellent choice."
The waitress, Wen Yinlin responded with a warm smile, her voice soft and inviting. "I'm delighted to hear that. Please, enjoy your meal, sir. I'll be here to attend to your needs anytime." She dipped her head in a polite bow before turning to leave.
An hour later, Yinlin was summoned back to the table, informed that the customer had specifically requested her presence. As she approached, he looked up, a satisfied smile playing on his handsome features.
Yinlin approached the table, her steps measured, polite smile in place. The customer — the one from earlier — looked up with a self-satisfied grin.
"Your service," he began smoothly, "has made this evening... unforgettable."
Before she could respond, he slid something across the table with a practiced flick of his fingers.
A hotel keycard.
Yinlin blinked. For a heartbeat, she said nothing.
"I was hoping," he continued, "your attention might extend beyond dinner." His eyes met hers — steady, amused, expectant.
Her fingers tightened subtly around the serving tray. "I'm here to serve meals and drinks, sir," she said, her voice calm. "Nothing more."
A pause. His smile didn't falter, but something in his eyes shifted — a flicker of annoyance.
"Playing coy?" he asked. "You always did like games, Yinlin."
Her stomach turned. Yinlin? She hadn't told him her name.
"I'm sorry," she said, more guarded now. "Have we met before?"
He gave a small, theatrical laugh. "You don't remember me?" He leaned back, arms crossed like a man watching a play he'd seen before. "Xu Tao. Shang High. Don't tell me you've forgotten that easily."
She stared at him, genuinely confused. "I don't recall anyone by that name. I think you've mistaken me for someone else."
His jaw twitched. "Don't lie to me."
Yinlin's mask cracked, just slightly — a crease in her brow, a coolness to her stare. "I'm not," she said evenly. "I'd remember someone like you."
There it was again — that note of challenge, soft-spoken but unmistakable. Xu Tao heard it. He studied her face, as if peeling back layers.
"You've changed," he muttered, mostly to himself. "But you were never good at hiding things. Even back then."
"I really need to get back to work," she said, inching away. "Enjoy your evening, sir."
He grabbed her wrist.
The grip wasn't violent, but it was firm — too familiar. Her body stiffened.
"Why are you pretending?" he asked, his voice low. "What are you so afraid of?"
She pulled free, sharper than before. "Let go."
He did, slowly, eyes burning with frustration — and something else. Confusion. Wounded pride.