Paranoia and Madness.

In Wen Yicong's memory, Mo Shaoshang had always been composed, restrained, steady, and calm.

But at this moment, as the man slowly stepped out of the shadows, he carried an air of extreme decadence and gloom.

Beneath the collar of his black shirt, his collarbones were sharp and severe. His hair was slightly disheveled, and those blue-black eyes were fixed on her, revealing a depth and focus that bordered on pathological.

Like an eternal night that yearned to devour the light.

Wen Yicong felt enveloped by that gaze, airtight, making it hard to breathe. Her entire body trembled uncontrollably.

He was so close, a hair's breadth away, as if another centimeter and his thin, moist lips would touch her skin...

Her heart pounded faster and faster. In a panicked glance, she noticed the wine glass in his hand and the dark red liquid inside.

His dangerous demeanor, his abrupt questioning, the rich scent of wine on his breath... A suspicion rose in her mind: he was drunk.

This realization loosened the taut strings of her nerves. She took a silent deep breath, steadied herself, then tried to turn her head slightly, creating a small distance between them.

When she spoke again, her soft voice carried a hint of stammering. "Mr. Mo, it seems you've had too much to drink. I don't understand what you're saying."

To her surprise, after hearing her words, Mo Shaoshang curled the corner of his mouth almost imperceptibly and let out a soft laugh.

In social settings, smiles often express pleasure and friendliness. But somehow, the faint smile on Mo Shaoshang's face at that moment only frightened Wen Yicong.

There was no warmth in that smile, only a faint, elusive mockery.

She even thought of a gaudy, venomous snake.

After a moment, the smile on Mo Shaoshang's face dissipated like mist blown away by the wind. He looked straight at her and spoke calmly, "I heard Teacher Wen went out today."

Wen Yicong froze. As a live-in rehabilitation therapist, she was theoretically obligated to inform her employer of her whereabouts, especially during non-scheduled rest hours.

Thinking this, she suppressed her unease, nodded, and answered honestly, "Yes."

"Where did you go?" he asked again, his tone flat.

Wen Yicong exhaled quietly, trying to keep her voice steady and natural. "Home."

"Who did you see?"

She answered instinctively, "My mother and father."

Seeming skeptical of this answer, Mo Shaoshang looked at her, his expression cool. "And?"

And?

Wen Yicong blinked blankly, not catching on for a moment. She lowered her eyes, thought for a few seconds, then seemed to realize belatedly.

"Ah, and Mr. Sebastian," she said truthfully. "This afternoon, my mother and I went to the supermarket to buy groceries. We ran into Sebastian and browsed together..."

She paused, as if worried he might not remember the name, and added, "Do you remember him? The Latino Frenchman from the gala at the Dome Club? He toasted you."

Mo Shaoshang pressed his thin lips together and said nothing.

The air solidified with his sudden silence, oppressive and suffocating.

His blue-black eyes stared straight at the girl before him.

Over the past few days, he had flown across four countries in Europe, busy without a moment's rest. Meetings followed one after another, and a mountain of documents awaited processing. He had been squeezing every minute of his schedule.

In every gap of his busyness, a thought grew like stubborn vines, wildly spreading, almost consuming his entire mind.

An urgent desire to return home, an urgent desire to see her.

After filing the flight plan in advance, Mo Shaoshang's private jet had taken off from the European continent at dawn today, breaking through clouds and fog, finally landing at Jinghai International Airport before evening.

Days of high-intensity work had left him exhausted.

During the flight, he closed his eyes to rest. It wasn't until he arrived at the airport and sat in the waiting car that he habitually lit up his phone screen to check messages.

And there he saw the message from Chen Jing.

Chen Jing's wording was precise and concise. In just a few seconds, Mo Shaoshang finished reading all the text.

Expressionless, he turned off the screen.

Since childhood, Mo Shaoshang had been calm, indifferent, rational to the point of pathology, with immense self-control. He was never someone easily swayed by emotions. But the moment he finished reading that message, he clearly felt a strong disturbance inside.

Like irritation, like unease, or like...

Jealousy.

Words like "Sebastian" and "pleasant conversation" stung every nerve in Mo Shaoshang's mind.

Unbidden, scenes from that gala night replayed in his head: she stood by the champagne tower, holding a fruit wine glass, chatting sideways with that Latino man, her bright, gorgeous little face blooming with a smile, her tipsy eyes sparkling, more dazzling than the stars in the night sky.

Just imagining her curving her eyes and offering a sweet, shallow smile to another man made Mo Shaoshang feel an indescribable irritation and violence surging in his chest.

So after returning to the estate, Mo Shaoshang locked himself in this studio inside the Wine Cellar.

He picked up his brush but couldn't produce a satisfactory painting.

Staring at the blank canvas, Mo Shaoshang's expression was calm, but he fell into a paranoid and mad fantasy.

He fantasized that the first second he saw her again, he would touch her skin, tear her clothes, devour her lips, bite her wet, soft tongue until it bled, and make her body reek of his scent.

He fantasized that she was a work of art belonging only to him, not to be coveted by anyone.

He even fantasized about imprisoning her forever in this studio, in a world with only him...

Mo Shaoshang stared at Wen Yicong without blinking. The light in his eyes grew darker and darker, with turbulent undercurrents and surging desire, like a deep sea about to stir up a storm.

Wen Yicong grew more and more uneasy under his gaze, her palms sweating. Seeing that he remained silent for a long time, she tentatively called out, "Mr. Mo?"

Mo Shaoshang still didn't speak, just silently gazed at her. Then, he set down the wine glass in his hand, reached out, and his long, powerful arm wrapped around her soft waist like a vine or a snake's tail.

Without explanation, he pulled her into his embrace.

Caught off guard, Wen Yicong let out a soft gasp from between her lips, stumbling into his arms.

The man's cold, snowy pine scent, the rich, fruity aroma of wine, and the strong, undeniable male pheromones intertwined, weaving an invisible but firm net that completely enveloped and captured her.

Flustered and surprised, she looked up at him, her thick lashes fluttering like the trembling wings of a startled butterfly.

"Don't be afraid," Mo Shaoshang said, looking down at her, his voice low. "I won't hurt you."

"..."

He tilted his head slightly, his lips leaning toward her sensitive ear, his breath hot, his words almost gentle, incredibly tender. "I just want to invite you to dance with me."

Dance? Now?

Wen Yicong's eyes went blank for a moment; her brain couldn't process this abrupt invitation. Before she could react, her body was already guided by the force of his arm, involuntarily taking the first step.

No music, no accompaniment, only their intertwined breaths.

In the dim, enclosed studio, the air was thick with intoxicating wine. Outside the window, the cold moon cast a few stingy rays of light through the high, narrow window, outlining their tightly pressed figures.

One arm firmly encircled her slender waist, while his other hand held her cool fingers, his palm burning hot.

Wen Yicong's mind was completely blank, dazed, and she could only follow him in a muddle, moving, spinning, bending backward. Her body pressed tightly against his; through the thin fabric, she could clearly feel the rise and fall of his chest, the lines of his muscles, and the body heat that seemed to burn.

She swallowed unconsciously.

Her hand, which had been resting lightly on his shoulder and arm, was now damp with sweat from tension and the overly intimate contact. Beneath her fingertips were the taut muscles under his silk shirt and the surging power of his muscles every time he guided her movements.

He led her; his steps were sometimes gentle like a stream flowing under the moonlight, sometimes urgent like rain beating against the window. Every spin brought her closer to him, every backward bend felt like surrendering herself entirely to his control.

All her senses were magnified infinitely.

The temperature of his fingertips, the rhythm of his breathing, the vibration of his chest—all wove into a suffocating net. And she, like an insect trapped in the net, could only passively open herself, accept him, and yield to him.

In a daze, Wen Yicong had an illusion.

It felt as if this wasn't a dance, but a secret ritual led by him, something like a confirmation of sovereignty...

After what seemed like an eternity, or perhaps just a fleeting moment, this dance without a melody finally neared its end.

With a gentle but irresistible backward bend, Wen Yicong lay back into the crook of Mo Shaoshang's arm.

In an instant, her long hair cascaded like a waterfall, her breathing rapid and uneven, her chest heaving violently. In the dim, hazy light, she looked up at the man above her and met those blue-black eyes.

In that brief exchange of a few seconds, Wen Yicong saw that those usually deep, unfathomable eyes were now filled with the light of conquest and hunting, like a beast locking onto its prey, brimming with the most primal desire.

Her heart jolted slightly, almost burned by those eyes.

But before she could look closer, Mo Shaoshang used his arm to steadily help her up. Once sure she could stand on her own, he released his arm from around her waist. He returned to his usual restrained, aloof, and noble demeanor.

His expression calm, Mo Shaoshang said, "Thank you, Teacher Wen, for the honor."

Wen Yicong was stunned for a moment before realizing he was thanking her for accepting his dance invitation?

This man, outwardly cold and composed, unshakable, the most elegant gentleman, yet his inner conduct was so absurd and unconventional, so rebellious... truly...

Contradictory to the point of being frightening.

Wen Yicong's face flushed red, her skin felt as if it were on fire, burning hot. She lowered her head, not daring to look at him again, struggling to calm her chaotic thoughts.

After a while, she heard the clear sound of liquid pouring in the air.

She instinctively turned her head.

She saw that Mo Shaoshang now held an empty glass goblet in his hand. With one hand holding the opened bottle of wine and the other holding the glass, he was pouring wine into it. Then, with leisurely steps, he walked over to her and handed her the filled glass without a word.

Seeing this, Wen Yicong looked up at him, her eyes showing obvious confusion.

Mo Shaoshang's gaze was as still as still water. He said flatly, "It's low alcohol."

His tone revealed no emotion, as if it were just a host's ordinary gesture toward a guest.

Wen Yicong lowered her eyes to look at the wine gleaming in the dim light. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out with both hands, took the glass, and murmured, "Thank you."

Then she lowered her head and took a cautious sip.

The wine slid into her mouth, initially with a refreshing fruity acidity, then spreading a clear sweetness on her tongue and lips, with hints of floral and berry notes.

Indeed, as Mo Shaoshang had said, the alcohol content was low, the texture smooth, almost like a fruity juice drink with a hint of wine.

Across from her.

Mo Shaoshang's gaze quietly rested on Wen Yicong's lips. Two small petals, pink and tender, made even more moist by the wine, gently holding the rim of the glass as she took small sips.

Like a herbivore drinking by a stream, cautious and wary, afraid of a sudden attack from a predatory beast.

Soon, the herbivore's lips left the glass, parted slightly, and made a sound. Her voice was clear and soft in the silent, empty studio, and the faint sweetness of the wine seemed to spread into the air with her breath.

With a hesitant tone, she said, "This is the first time I've known there's such a large underground Wine Cellar down here."

Wen Yicong said this partly to ease the slightly stiff atmosphere and partly out of genuine surprise. She paused for half a second, then asked curiously in a low voice, "Mr. Mo, are you very interested in wine?"

Mo Shaoshang's gaze shifted from her lips back to her eyes. He replied, "This Wine Cellar was left to me by my grandfather."

"I see." Wen Yicong nodded in understanding.

She remembered reading a Forbes magazine article that mentioned for the world's top billionaires, a private Wine Cellar was not just a storage space but also a symbol of both material and spiritual enjoyment, a mark of their refined taste and noble status.

It represented both astonishing wealth and a deep cultural cultivation.

It was the sediment of time, carrying the family's emotions and memories.

Thinking of this, a trace of emotion welled up in Wen Yicong's heart. She continued softly, "Your grandfather left you this Wine Cellar. Every time you come here, you must think of him, right?"

At this, Mo Shaoshang also picked up his own wine glass. He took a light sip, leaned his tall frame against the edge of the nearby table, and looked at her sideways, his eyes carrying a hint of scrutiny and interest. "Is Teacher Wen curious about me?"

Wen Yicong choked on those words. Alarm bells rang in her mind as she remembered Principal Zhang Yao's solemn warning.

When recommending this high-paying job, the principal had specifically cautioned her that working for the Mo Family required discretion above all—no excessive curiosity, no prying into the employer's privacy.

She had indeed overstepped just now.

Thinking this, a flash of panic crossed Wen Yicong's face. She quickly cleared her throat and explained, "No, that's not it. Mr. Mo, please don't be angry. I really didn't mean to pry into your privacy. It just slipped out when you mentioned your grandfather. Absolutely no ill intent."

Seeing her eagerness to distance herself, a barely perceptible glint flickered deep in Mo Shaoshang's eyes. His tone remained flat. "I'm not angry."

"...That's good." Wen Yicong replied nervously, lowering her head to take another small sip of wine as a cover.

Mo Shaoshang watched her and said slowly, "If Teacher Wen wants to know about me, I would actually be happy."

"..." Wen Yicong's eyes flickered slightly, and her fingers tightened around the glass. Realizing that continuing this topic would only make the atmosphere more awkward, she immediately changed the subject, steering it back on track.

"By the way, Mr. Mo," she said, "I have a suggestion regarding Airi's future rehabilitation plan that I'd like to discuss with you."

Mo Shaoshang didn't seem surprised by her change of subject. He followed smoothly, "Go ahead."

When it came to work, Wen Yicong's expression immediately became more serious. She said earnestly, "The core symptom of Autism Spectrum Disorder is social impairment, especially in peer-to-peer social interaction. Based on my observations and understanding, Airi's living environment is relatively isolated. He rarely has opportunities to interact with children his age, and his daily life is basically confined to this estate."

"This is very detrimental to the development of his social and communication skills. I think in the subsequent intervention, we should make a plan and proceed step by step. Take him out of the estate more often, expose him to a wider environment, people, and things."

Mo Shaoshang listened quietly, his fingers lightly rubbing the wall of the wine glass. After a moment's thought, he nodded in agreement. "Alright. We'll implement it according to your plan."

Receiving her employer's affirmation and support, a smile appeared on Wen Yicong's face, her eyes curving. She nodded. "Mm! I'll draft a detailed outdoor activity schedule for your review as soon as possible."

After that, Wen Yicong briefly reported to Mo Shaoshang on Airi's subtle progress in cognition and language imitation over the past few days, as well as some minor issues she encountered and her coping strategies.

Mo Shaoshang watched her, listening attentively, occasionally responding with a word or two and asking a few questions.

Time slipped away in their conversation. The night outside the window grew deeper. Unnoticed, the hands of the wall clock had already passed ten in the evening.

A man and a woman alone, staying so late in such a secluded, dim underground studio, was truly improper.

Wen Yicong considered this and quickly found an excuse. She set down her glass and said softly, "Mr. Mo, it's getting late. I have to give Airi his lessons early tomorrow morning. If there's nothing else, I'd like to go back and rest."

This time, Mo Shaoshang's blue-black eyes gazed at her for a long moment, but he didn't refuse her request.

He said, "Good night."

Hearing those two words, Wen Yicong felt as if a great pardon had been granted. The taut string in her heart finally relaxed completely. She waved back at him with a "Good night," turned around, and walked away quickly.

*

Light, hurried footsteps gradually faded away, finally disappearing at the end of the Wine Cellar stairs.

The vast studio was left with only Mo Shaoshang. The dim light cut out his tall, straight silhouette, casting a long, lonely shadow on the floor.

His expression was indifferent, revealing no emotion. After standing still for a moment, he picked up his brush again, walked to the giant easel, and stopped.

Suddenly, he raised his hand, tore off the canvas covered in messy lines, and tossed it aside carelessly.

Beneath that canvas lay another painting.

It was an unfinished portrait of a girl: she wore a simple dress, standing in the sunlight, lips curved, eyes clear, smile sweet, warmer than the spring sunshine of March.

Mo Shaoshang gazed at the painting, mesmerized, lost in thought. After a moment, he reached out, his fingertips carrying a tenderness bordering on reverence, gently tracing the girl's eyebrows, eyes, nose on the canvas, finally stopping at the outline of her lips, which had yet to be colored.

In the dim silence, a name rolled over and over between his lips and teeth, carrying burning heat and obsession.

Wen Yicong.

Wen... Yicong.

*

The next morning, Wen Yicong didn't see Mo Shaoshang again.

Her employer's whereabouts were not within a rehabilitation therapist's scope of concern, so Wen Yicong didn't think much of it. After breakfast, she gave Airi his rehabilitation lessons as usual.

A whole morning passed in the blink of an eye.

After having lunch with Airi, Wen Yicong took the little boy's hand and led him upstairs for his nap, to build up energy for the afternoon's planned outdoor activity.

At breakfast, Master Heng had told Wen Yicong that there was a forest park in Nanjiao, which not only had various rare plants but also professional children's play facilities.

She planned to take Airi for a walk, let him connect with nature while observing his adaptability to the external environment.

In the afternoon, a gentle breeze blew through the estate, carrying the dry, crisp air of autumn. The artificial lake rippled, reflecting the blue sky and white clouds.

After Airi fell asleep, Wen Yicong went to the living room and helped the housekeeper pack the items to take out in the afternoon: a water bottle, baby wipes, a comfort toy, and some small snacks Airi usually liked... all stuffed into a backpack.

Around 2:30 PM, the sunlight was even more pleasant than in the morning.

Wen Yicong went to the small bed, gently woke Airi, helped him put on his outdoor clothes and shoes. The two went downstairs together.

A black Bentley was already waiting outside the main building.

Just as they reached the car, Airi was attracted by a few ants on the ground. He shook off Wen Yicong's hand, crouched down, stared blankly, and sank back into his own world.

"Airi, we're going to the park," Wen Yicong said, crouching down to meet his eyes, giving him a gentle smile. "Say bye-bye to the little ants!"

Today, the little boy was unusually obedient. He didn't make a sound, but raised his little hand and waved at the ground.

"Great job!" Wen Yicong's smile grew brighter. She took Airi's hand and walked toward the car door.

Just as they were about to get in, a sound of footsteps came from behind, steady and composed, clearly audible on the bluestone slabs.

Wen Yicong instinctively turned around.

Against the warm but not scorching afternoon sunlight, a tall, slender figure came into view.

It was Mo Shaoshang.

No longer in his immaculate formal wear, he was dressed in a light-colored casual outfit, with a pair of sneakers on his feet, the uppers as white as snow, spotless.

Wen Yicong was momentarily stunned.

She was used to seeing him in suits and ties; this was the first time she had seen him in such attire.

The light-colored clothes softened the coldness and aggressiveness brought by his mixed-race features, making his whole temperament appear clear, warm, and adding a touch of flamboyant, casual youthfulness. At first glance, he looked like the campus heartthrob exchange student at a university.

Dazzlingly handsome.

Wen Yicong stared at the tall figure, until he approached and those deep, unfathomable blue-black eyes looked at her. Only then did she snap back to reality, her eyes refocusing.

Her face slightly warm, she greeted him a bit hastily, "Mr. Mo."

She paused, then glanced at his outfit, so different from usual, and couldn't help asking, "Are you going out too?"

"Aren't we taking Airi to the forest park?" Mo Shaoshang said flatly. "Let's go."

With that, before Wen Yicong could react, Mo Shaoshang bent down, gently but swiftly picked up Airi, and securely placed him into the child safety seat in the back.

Wen Yicong's eyes widened slightly.

In her field of vision, the man lowered his head, fastening the seatbelt for the little boy in the safety seat. The lines of his profile were both stern and gentle in the sunlight, unhurried, his movements practiced.

"W-wait," she said, barely hiding her surprise, thinking she must have misheard. "You mean, you're coming with us?"

She had thought that with how busy he was, entrusting Airi's rehabilitation to her and offering support was already generous enough. She never expected him to have time for such parent-child activities.

"Mm."

Mo Shaoshang responded, straightened up, closed the car door on Airi's side, then looked at Wen Yicong and said casually, "Get in. Please sit next to me, Teacher Wen."

-----------------------

Author's note: Momo: Baby, don't be afraid. I can still hold back, for real, for real.

Nongnong: ...

——

Random 100 red packets~