Volume One, Chapter Seventy-Four: Taking Off Clothes

Hearing Jiang Wan’s approaching footsteps, the man who had been standing with his back to her turned around. Their eyes met. For a moment, Jiang Wan doubted her senses—was he just a figment of her imagination? But there Lu Wenzhou stood, conspicuously present at the entrance to her home, right by the elevator.

Unlike her surprise, he seemed perfectly calm. “You…” Jiang Wan began, intending to ask why he was there, when Lu Wenzhou stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He reached out and tucked her long hair behind her ear, his gaze skimming over the delicate line of her pale neck. Her usually smooth skin was now mottled with irregular patches of red. Lu Wenzhou’s eyes darkened.

“Upstairs,” he said, grasping her wrist and pulling her along with him. His movements were unwavering, his grip unyielding. He held her hand to the security panel, using the smart recognition system to unlock the door, then pressed the elevator button.

Inside the confined space, only the two of them remained. Jiang Wan could hardly believe this was happening. The elevator quickly arrived at their floor. The foyer lights flickered on automatically, revealing a wall adorned with photographs—wedding portraits of Jiang Wan and Gu Huaixu.

The elevator doors stood open, yet the air seemed to freeze around them. Lu Wenzhou’s grip on her hand tightened before he led her out into the hallway. More motion-sensor lights illuminated the space, casting the details of the sprawling four-hundred-square-meter home into sharp relief. Though not as opulent as Lu Wenzhou’s residence, its modern layout was crisp, and little touches everywhere spoke of warmth and homeliness.

Jiang Wan had no idea what he intended. Until, at last, Lu Wenzhou withdrew his searching gaze and uttered three terse words: “Take off your clothes.”

“Are you insane?” Jiang Wan blurted out, wrenching her hand free. He had come here uninvited, and now, as soon as he entered, he was ordering her to undress. What did he take her for? Some tool to satisfy his desires at any time and place?

Frowning, her irritation evident, Jiang Wan snapped, “You’re not welcome here. Please—” But before she could finish, Lu Wenzhou seized her by the waist and, with effortless strength, lifted her onto the low cabinet by the entrance.

The sudden elevation brought them even closer. He stood before her, tall and imposing, his long legs bracketing hers, keeping her trapped. “You’re allergic to mangoes—couldn’t you taste it?” he asked, producing a brand-new tube of ointment from somewhere.

At his words, Jiang Wan realized the egg tart she had eaten earlier must have contained bits of mango, their flavor masked by the custard. No wonder her back had been itching all the way home. She’d thought it was just the air conditioning in the car and had even removed her jacket because of the heat.

She made no move. His dark eyes fixed on her, he pressed, “Will you take it off yourself, or do you want me to do it?”

His voice was cold, tinged with displeasure.

Jiang Wan reached out. “I’ll do it—” But before she could take the ointment, Lu Wenzhou’s long arm intercepted her.

“It’s all on your back. How will you apply it yourself?” His tone brooked no argument. He knew her far too well.

Jiang Wan resented his control over her, as though she were some pet he had raised and whose every detail he had mastered. “It’s not serious. I don’t really need the ointment,” she retorted, trying to slide down from the cabinet.

But his leg blocked her way, forcing her to remain seated. His black eyes bore into her, as if reminding her of something.

Truth be told, Jiang Wan had never much liked mangoes. It was only a couple of years earlier that she’d discovered her allergy. It happened during a baking class at school, when she and a classmate made a fruit cake—half strawberry, half mango. She’d taken the leftovers home.

Lu Wenzhou had only glanced at it. He’d told her to save him the rest, but in reality, he didn’t leave her a single bite. That night, she tossed and turned in bed beside him, muttering under her breath, “It’s so itchy…”

After several complaints, the man said nothing, simply propped himself up on his elbows and leaned over her. He pressed kisses to her neck, teasing her, “Didn’t I satisfy you? My fault.”

Before Jiang Wan could reply, the faint light of the moon revealed something amiss with the skin on her neck. Lu Wenzhou stopped at once, turned on the lamp, and threw back the covers. In her nightdress, Jiang Wan’s neck and back were covered in irregular red patches and scratch marks left by her own fingernails—alarming against the pale fabric.

In the middle of the night, he summoned a local doctor for a house call, and only then did Jiang Wan learn of her mango allergy. The reaction wasn’t severe—just redness and itching on her back, treatable with ointment.

After the doctor left, Jiang Wan returned to the bedroom, took off her clothes, and bared her back for Lu Wenzhou to apply the medicine.

Her figure was graceful—just her silhouette was enough to captivate. But her usually flawless skin was now mottled with red marks. Lu Wenzhou, helpless, began to apply the ointment. The cool salve soothed her skin, but his warm breath against her made her even itchier.

Irritated, she turned to glare at him. “Lu Wenzhou, are you doing this on purpose?” She furrowed her brow, her lips pouting. “I’m already like this and you’re still thinking about those things?”

Lu Wenzhou, wrongly accused, could only laugh in exasperation. “What did I do?” He finished applying the ointment, then pulled her into his lap. “Is even breathing a crime now?”

Jiang Wan was at a loss for words. Realizing she’d trapped herself, she tried to wriggle free, but he held her by the waist.

“You’ve scolded me already—can’t let that go to waste,” he murmured, claiming her lips and slipping her nightdress off.

Jiang Wan’s eyes flew wide, her protests muffled between kisses. “You still say you’re not—”

“I never said that,” Lu Wenzhou replied, guiding her hand lower. “You reminded me—don’t forget about those things.”

His eyes glinted with laughter. He kissed her again, and though Jiang Wan was both angry and embarrassed, her body melted under his touch. The last shred of reason in her mind managed only a feeble protest: “You just put ointment on my back…”

Lu Wenzhou’s smile deepened, his kisses grew more insistent. “All the better. Let’s try something else.”

He showed her exactly what he meant. What should have been a night of suffering from her allergy became, under the guise of “making it up to her,” a night where he tormented her repeatedly.

And from that night on, Jiang Wan’s life was mango-free.

Until today.

The present scene slowly drew her from those distant memories, returning her to now. The face before her was as familiar as ever—yet both of them were changed, the softness of two years ago replaced by a colder edge.

Lu Wenzhou’s gaze remained locked on her, certain she’d been lost in that memory.

But before Jiang Wan could speak, the doorbell by the entrance suddenly chimed. Yan Yan’s voice cut through the silence.

“Jiang Wan, open the door for me.”