"Have you put on the dress I asked for?"
Chen Nianchuan straightened the silk at her waist with hands trained to move without betraying panic. Her voice stayed steady because she had practiced it a thousand times. "Yes. The black one. The one with the low back."
Shen Jiayu watched her from the doorway with a smile that never reached his eyes. He stepped into the suite like he owned the air, and he did. "Good. Walk to the bed and take a seat. I want to see how you carry it."
She moved the way she was taught—slow, measured, the right tilt of chin, the right tremble in laughter. Every motion had a lesson behind it, every laugh a cue. She spoke her rehearsed lines when he leaned forward, low and dangerous. "Do you regret asking me to come?"
"Not yet." He circled her like an examiner. "Tell me why you're here tonight."
"To pay respects for the late Mrs. Chen," she said. "To—" She stopped. Training corrected her. She finished, "—to help the family."
Shen's lips softened into something that looked like approval and landed as an insult. "You make a convincing act. Convincing enough to make men lower their guard." His voice flattened. "But I don't like acting. I prefer results."
"Results?" Her practiced smile slipped. The word had teeth.
"Yes." He sat across and watched her as if a lab specimen might break at any moment. "If you are who you claim
