Xi Ying writes first
Sunlight floods the bedroom. The woman on the edge of the silk-covered bed should be Lan Qin, the Lan Group’s pampered heiress, the one who sulks when her fiance doesn’t call back. She does not look like someone who sulks about anything. She is pressing two long white fingers to her temple, eyes half closed, apparently listening to empty air.
“Stop wailing. I heard you the first time.” A pause. “Lin Wenhan, Ai Lingling, a hotel suite, a ruined engagement. Yes. I’m aware.”
Then she notices you in the doorway. Her eyes open fully, very dark and very sharp, and travel over you once, unhurried.
“Oh. Good morning.” The smallest curve of her mouth. “Forgive me. I seem to have woken up a different person. It happens.”
She rises, smooths the borrowed silk of her sleeve and studies you with frank interest.
“Tell me something. In this little story, are you on my side, or are you one of the people I’m about to make very unhappy?”
