WHEN THE PASTSTRIKES BACK

Inside the dim glow of Rosemary Nightclub, a hotspot owned by Huacheng Group, Mo Xiaoxi crouched low behind the front counter, her eyes scanning the room like a cat on the prowl. There he was. At the far end of the bar, under the flickering neon haze—Ye Zhen. Effortlessly suave, he raised a glass to his lips, his smile lazy and dangerous. His gaze drifted through the crowd, detached, coldly elegant—aloof, yet magnetic. Like he didn’t belong to the chaos but ruled above it. The infamous CEO of Jinyi Ventures. Good looks? Check. That jawline could probably get a tax deduction. They said he was polished, quiet, even celibate. But according to her boss, the flamboyant Young Master Lan—Ye Zhen was anything but. Tonight, she had one mission: wreck his reputation. All part of a scheme hatched by Young Master Lan, who claimed the so-called gentleman was actually drowning in champagne and women behind closed doors. Mo Xiaoxi grinned to herself, mischief lighting up her face. And right on cue, she watched as Ye Zhen slipped his arm around a provocatively dressed woman and swaggered toward the VIP suites. Nailed it. She had to admit, Young Master Lan might be insane—but he was never wrong. Of course, if she got caught, she’d probably be skinned alive. This felt less like journalism and more like a k******e mission. Was Lan secretly trying to get rid of her? Still, she was a top reporter for Tianyu Weekly. She had a reputation to uphold—and an exposé to deliver. No backing out now. Snatching a glass of red wine off the table, she downed it in one gulp. Liquid courage. She trailed behind Ye Zhen like a shadow, heart pounding with the thrill of the scoop—until she noticed something odd. He was leading her in circles. Crap. Something wasn’t right. Suddenly, heat flooded her body. Her skin flushed, her breath quickened. Her head swam with a strange, aching hunger—like her entire body had become a hollow vessel begging to be filled. She didn’t know what she’d drunk, but her instincts screamed: Danger. And she was right. She had no idea her cheeks had turned crimson, or that she was practically radiating feminine allure. Just as she turned to retreat, a strong hand clamped over her mouth. A low voice murmured near her ear, dark and amused: “Tianyu Weekly’s star reporter, Mo Xiaoxi?” Ye Zhen. She froze. Had she been set up? That wine—wasn’t that his? Oh no. That must’ve been laced with something. A designer aphrodisiac? A trick to seduce innocent girls? She was about to become tomorrow’s headline—and not in the way she intended. Her thoughts spun. Wasn’t Ye Zhen supposed to be some cold-blooded tycoon? Lan always said he was cunning, ruthless, and especially fond of breaking in “innocent little flowers.” Well then… maybe she was safe. She was no flower. She was a weed at best. He probably wasn’t even interested. Still, if he’d caught her snooping, he might just strangle her on the spot. That, at least, felt oddly comforting. She let out a wobbly laugh, cheeks blazing, her eyes sparkling like she’d caught fire. Every nerve in her body screamed touch him, kiss him, climb him like a tree. “Hey,” she said sweetly, “go easy on me, will you? I bruise easily.” Ye Zhen’s face darkened. “What the hell are you trying to pull?” Uh-oh. Should she tell the truth? That she was here to spy on him? Nope. Instant death. She shrugged, voice sultry from the heat building inside her. “Honestly? I don’t even know. I just feel… so hot.” Even her voice was seductive now, laced with the effects of the drug—an accidental siren’s call. Ye Zhen’s jaw tightened. “Your hand…” Oh. Right. Her hand was on his chest. When had that happened? She blinked, mortified. “Oh no. Am I… am I a pervert now?” “You better explain yourself—fast,” he growled. But she couldn’t. Her thoughts were melting. Her pulse raced. Her body trembled. Ye Zhen had always prided himself on his self-control, his discipline. But that control was slipping. There was fire in his veins—and she was feeding it. And then he realized something that sent a spike of rage through him: He had been drugged too. Someone had spiked his drink. And now this nosy little reporter had been caught in the same trap. Coincidence? Or bait? He stared at her—flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, body trembling. Her lips parted as if she were about to say something, but instead, she whimpered faintly. His resolve shattered. “Let me help you wake up,” he said through gritted teeth. With one swift motion, he scooped her into his arms, kicked open the nearest door, and slammed it shut behind them. Lock clicked. He pushed her against the wall and crushed his mouth to hers. Mo Xiaoxi burned. Her skin was fevered, her thoughts scattered like ash. She couldn’t stop it. She didn’t want to. Ye Zhen knew it was madness—but reason had already lost. The drug was burning through him. And she… she was the flame. He growled against her lips, furious and desperate. Someone had orchestrated this. Someone was playing a very dangerous game. And he was going to find out who. Later. But right now— She moaned as he bit her lip. Her eyes flew open, reality flashing through the haze. Oh god. This man wasn’t just dangerous. He was lethal. And by the time she realized it— It was already too late.