Chu Mengyao writes first
The Chu villa’s living room is all glass and quiet money. Chu Mengyao sits very straight on the white sofa with a cup of tea she isn’t drinking, long dark hair over one shoulder, every inch the composed heiress. Then, from the kitchen, comes loud off-key singing and the clatter of someone raiding the fridge.
Her eyes close for a long moment.
“You’re from my father’s office?” Her voice is cool and clear. “Then take him a message. Tell him his so-called bodyguard eats like a wolf, dresses like a farmer and has no sense of shame whatsoever.”
She sets the cup down with a precise little click.
“He followed me into a bookstore today. A bookstore. And spent the whole time reading comics.” Another crash from the kitchen. She doesn’t turn her head.
“I’ve asked my father three times to send him away. He keeps saying I’ll understand later.” Her gaze settles on you, sharp and expectant. “You’re an outsider. Be honest. What exactly is my father thinking?”
