Fatal Desire

Chapter 100 Love is real, hate is also real

last night.

From the bathroom to the bedroom, Song Xi sobbed from beginning to end. When the overwhelming feeling of being soaked almost overwhelmed her, she clung tightly to his broad shoulders and called out Zhao Yansen's name in a delirious voice.

He, who was always calm and restrained, was briefly freed from his restraints.

"Don't touch me." Song Xi recalled the wet and hot entanglement, wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face in his firm chest muscles.

Like I'd been drugged, my head was spinning, and I slowly drifted off to sleep.

The person in his arms gradually regained her breathing. Zhao Yansen glanced at her, stopped teasing her, and held her as she took a nap.

When Song Xi woke up again, it was already noon. She rubbed her eyes, got up to wash, put on the new clothes that had been delivered, and went to the dining room for lunch.

After dinner, she sat on the sofa, holding a gold-embroidered cushion in her arms, her eyes fixed on the man standing in front of the French windows making a phone call.

Zhao Yansen was tall and slender, like a sword yet to be drawn, sharp and steady. His shoulders and back were straight, his suit fit him perfectly, and a section of pale wrist bone was visible at the cuff, with a discreet watch on his wrist gleaming coldly.

She noticed that the person who called him was the head of the Ho family on Hong Kong Island. She had read Mr. Ho's all-English Financial Times interview, and learned that his ancestors were compradors, shipping magnates, and real estate tycoons, with the Ho family genealogy tracing back to the 19th century.

The power of Hong Kong's wealthy families primarily stems from their colonial history and international capital, while mainland tycoons are rooted in their revolutionary heritage and monopolistic industries. The century-old traditions of Hong Kong's old money families typically carry the aristocratic airs of the British colonial era, combined with a blend of Chinese and Western rituals.

These powerful figures can influence the stock market or policies with a single word; marriage is often a resource integration process, and their prenuptial agreements are thicker than marriage certificates.

Song Xi had just vaguely heard the other end of the phone mention an engagement banquet, and it seemed that the He family was inviting Zhao Yansen to attend.

Zhao Yansen never attends meaningless social gatherings, but once he does, everyone automatically gives up their seat of honor.

Song Xi pondered, nestled on the sofa, and used her tablet to browse industry news from Nature Biotechnology, STAT News, and FDA announcements.

My phone rang.

Caller ID display time sequence.

Remembering Qin Fanghao's comment about Shang Shixu asking her if she and Zhao Yansen were related, Song Xi paused for a second before casually answering the call.

On the other end of the phone, Shang Shixu asked, "Qiao Kun wants to discuss the patent lawsuit with us in person. Is that convenient for you?"

Qiao Kun is his biological father, and Shang Shixu, considering his mother, will not refuse to meet with Qiao Kun.

"When?" Song Xi swiped her fingertip across the tablet screen, her clear eyes reflecting the dense text.

"Three o'clock this afternoon," Shang Shixu said.

“Sure, send me the location.” Song Xi readily agreed.

After hanging up the phone, she looked up at Zhao Yansen as he walked back with steady and composed steps.

"Brother, I have work to do at 3 pm, and it won't be finished until at least 5 pm, so I won't be going back to Beijing with you."

His private jet was scheduled to depart at five o'clock, which meant she wouldn't have enough time.

Zhao Yansen's gaze swept over the exposed section of her slender, fair leg, and he asked casually, "If not with me, then with whom?"

“It could be with my assistant and partner, or it could be by myself,” Song Xi replied earnestly.

“I’m fine with anyone, just not your brother.” Zhao Yansen’s tone was meaningful.

Song Xi's eyelashes trembled slightly, and hesitation flickered in her pupils: "Weren't your schedule already set? I can't let you be delayed because of me."

"You know you can't do it."

Zhao Yansen's long, slender fingers entwined a strand of her hair, caressing it intimately between his knuckles. He suddenly leaned in, his warm breath brushing against her lips, "Song Xi, don't you trust me at all?"

His question was like a sharp arrow, piercing precisely into her most vulnerable spot. Song Xi's breath hitched, a sudden sense of panic washing over her as if her thoughts had been laid bare. She let out a soft "Ah," and met his gaze without flinching: "I believe you."

As if to support his answer, he added, "You're my brother, of course I believe you."

Her expression was calm and innocent, and her bright eyes only reflected his image, but Zhao Yansen knew her too well.

Nowadays, Song Xi almost distrusts him. Whether it's his promise to marry the old lady this year or his statement that he hasn't had a relationship with anyone other than her, she seems happy and believes him on the surface, but in reality, she can't withstand any test.

Like a rose growing vigorously under the moon, it sways and shines brightly, yet its long shadow is dragged out, boundless and desolate, the calm lake no longer ripples.

Zhao Yansen stared at her expressionlessly, which was met with Song Xi's bright and cheerful smile.

"Ding dong."

Shang Shixu sent over the address of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel where they were to meet. Song Xi glanced at it and stood up from the sofa.

"Brother, I'm going to change my clothes now."

Zhao Yansen watched her figure until she disappeared from sight before he looked away.

When it was almost time, the driver of the villa took Song Xi away to the Waldorf Hotel.

She sat in the back seat, her head resting against the car window, her eyes unfocused as she gazed at the villa's large garden.

Deep within her heart lay a seemingly endless, turbulent ocean, with undercurrents surging, yet it could never stir up any more surging waves.

The accumulated emotions are like a school of fish swimming, their scales shimmering in the sunlight, but when she tries to catch them, they quickly disappear into the darkness, leaving only a cold memory in her heart.

If Song Xi's feelings for Zhao Yansen in the past were extremely vivid and captivating, now all that can be seen is a pale, soft gray.

Do you believe him?
She truly didn't trust him; she didn't know how to trust him again.

The liking is real, and so is the hate.

While she was pondering this, Virginia's office sent her an email asking how she was doing.

Song Xi's fair and slender fingers tapped the keyboard, quickly typing a reply to the email, and indicating that she could meet with him when she went to the United States next month.

Meanwhile, in the villa's spacious and luxurious living room...

Zhao Yansen leaned back in his chair with a relaxed posture, casually biting a cigar with his thin lips. He tilted his head, held a lighter with his fingers, and lit the cigar with a click.

The smoke dissipated and dissipated, revealing his pale, thin black eyes.

A laptop is on the coffee table, and a video call is taking place on the screen.

Virginia described the situation over the past four years in American English in great detail, while Mr. Zhao opposite her showed no impatience whatsoever, but also no other emotion, remaining indifferent throughout.

"The above is Ms. Song's medical record and results."

“Ms. Song’s situation is rather special. Logically speaking, the aftereffects of the bombing should have disappeared once she was able to enter the laboratory normally, but she still suffers from insomnia.”

Virginia paused for a moment, then spoke boldly despite the pressure: "It cannot be ruled out that she did it for other reasons."

Zhao Yansen flicked the ash from his cigarette. "What do you mean by 'other things'?"

Old money families typically refer to families that possess wealth, social status, and influence accumulated over generations.

It's not a typo!

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(End of this chapter)