Beyond abstinence

Chapter 2 Breath，Grace

F1 races require the team to travel to different countries around the world, and during the racing season, the entire team is constantly on the move.

During the winter, which is the off-season, the team typically resides at Ferrari’s headquarters in Italy.

Chen Sirong was staying with an Italian girl named Chloe during her time there. Chloe’s parents had left her a house, and she didn’t mind bringing men home often.

Chen Sirong sometimes listened to the sounds from next door and m*********d with a small toy.

After finishing, she would curl up in bed, naked and wrapped in the sheets, overwhelmed by a deep sense of emptiness. She would close her eyes and cry silently.

She had no regrets about coming to Italy alone to pursue her master’s degree.

She had worked hard to escape from a broken village. Her two older sisters had left home early to work, and her younger brother was the family’s favorite.

She had always felt out of place in her family.

The word “mother” was always a distant concept for her. At home, she felt like a silent presence, only noticeable when her father was violent.

Her father was cold, distant, and lacked warmth.

She had been in relationships before, but whenever she tried to talk about her family, reality would shatter her hopes.

Sara said :"you look like a carefree heiress who grew up without worries.”

They had placed their hopes in the wrong person.

Chen Sirong felt lost and overwhelmed.

Sara was her first friend in this circle.

At first, Sara taught her how to go out and meet men—clean, respectable men—who could offer some warmth and strong embraces.

She could temporarily lose herself in the intensity of climax and avoid sinking too deep.

Later, Chen Sirong began to crave something more enduring, yet she still didn’t want to date anyone.

“Why don’t you try finding a master?”

It was Sara who introduced her to this world, opening a new door to her life.

Absolute control and absolute dependence.

Chen Sirong understood the spiritual significance of this relationship but hadn’t yet found a master who matched her desires.

Sara said, “Sometimes not finding the perfect master is also a kind of luck.”

Chen Sirong asked, “Why do you say that?”

Sara replied, “Because you might fall in love with your master, but he will always remain just your master.”

Chen Sirong realized the danger in that, but with her graduation and other commitments, she eventually stepped away from the circle.

Now, however, she was pushed to her limits.

She needed someone strong to share the burden with her.

C responded to Chen Sirong’s message within a minute. She hadn’t expected such a quick reply.

C: “Hello, I’m C.”

Chen Sirong didn’t mind giving her English name, Grace—it was common and ordinary. But C seemed guarded, only revealing his name as “C.”

He could have used a fake name, but he didn’t.

He didn’t want to be someone else.

After deciphering this, Chen Sirong felt a subtle tingling sensation in her mind.

There’s an old saying in China: “A man’s name is his fate.”

Someone who says this exudes strength without saying a word.

Unlike her, she had changed her name to Sirong because it was hard for foreigners to pronounce, hoping to blend in better in this group.

Chen Sirong held her breath for a moment, about to reply, when another message came through.

C: “I have work during the day. Can we talk for fifteen minutes at 8 PM tonight?”

Her typing fingers hesitated before she quickly replied, “Yes.”

After sending the message, she felt a slight sense of disappointment.

He wasn’t enthusiasm, even though it was under the guise of work.

Chen Sirong stared at the screen for a few seconds, about to put her phone down, when another message arrived.

“See you tonight.”

Her breathing stalled, and the back of her neck flushed red.

It was like being slapped, and then gently stroked afterward.

Chen Sirong realized Sara hadn’t lied.

She hadn’t exchanged many words with him, but his name, his profile picture, and his “See you tonight” spoke volumes.

Even when phrased as a request, he radiated an air of control.

He set the time and duration.

“Can you?” was more like an unrefusable command.

Chen Sirong couldn’t say “no.”

It was just like how she felt around Caesar.

She couldn’t say “no” to Caesar either.

Thinking of Caesar, Chen Sirong shivered.

She quickly got out of bed and rushed to the bathroom to freshen up.

Feeling hopeful about her search for a master, Chen Sirong threw herself into her work with renewed vigor that day.

Although it was the off-season and less hectic than the racing season, Caesar’s arrival had put the team in a fast-paced, high-intensity routine.

James mentioned that Caesar had been busy meeting with the aerodynamics team and was rumored to be poaching Red Bull’s chief aerodynamics engineer.

“If you’re going to poach, why not just take Verstappen too?” Chen Sirong joked.

The office erupted in laughter, and James whispered, “I’ll send this suggestion to Caesar in an email and give you credit.”

Chen Sirong quickly stopped him: “Please don’t, James.”

A few jokes later, everyone got back to work.

In the afternoon, James received a call from Caesar.

The office fell silent as James took the call. Chen Sirong had a bad feeling, as James kept looking at her during the conversation.

After the call, James tapped her on the shoulder.

“Let’s go. Something’s happened.”

The incident involved the team’s current driver, Charlie, who had fractured his arm during physical training due to improper equipment operation.

The media swarmed as news broke.

Ferrari was already in a tough spot with Caesar’s arrival and the managerial change.

If a driver were injured at this critical moment, the season could be ruined—and this was Caesar’s first season with the team.

Chen Sirong couldn’t help but feel her hairs stand on end.

Caesar’s silver-gray Ferrari was parked in the most convenient spot in the parking lot.

Chen Sirong sat in the passenger seat, while James and Caesar sat in the back.

Crisis PR wasn’t solely Chen Sirong’s responsibility—she was just an intern and couldn’t handle it all.

In short, her role was to handle the small, tedious tasks.

For example, she had to be ready at a moment’s notice to take notes on the timing and location of events, record Caesar and James’s plans, and quickly draft a press release for external media. James would make the final edits.

The car was heading to the airport.

Charlie lived in Monaco, so they needed to fly there immediately to check on his condition.

The car arrived at the airport, and they waited in the lounge for Caesar’s private plane.

Due to air traffic control, a staff member informed them the plane wouldn’t depart until 9 PM.

Caesar and James had already discussed the situation in the car and outlined potential solutions. Chen Sirong sat down in the lounge and immediately started making calls to Charlie’s assistant and doctor to gather information.

Her hands flew across the laptop, taking notes on everything she heard. After finishing the calls, she reviewed her notes and repeated the key points to confirm accuracy.

She spent nearly an hour on the calls, then immediately opened a new document to compile the information into a concise report.

The lounge was quiet. Caesar was resting his eyes, while James checked online public opinion at a nearby table.

Chen Sirong typed quickly, but she forgot to breathe.

Being near Caesar felt like entering a vacuum.

Afraid of making a mistake, even breathing was a challenge.

Chen Sirong forced herself not to think and quickly reviewed the document for errors before heading over to James’s table.

“Grace.”

Caesar’s voice suddenly came from behind her.

The lounge was warm, and she had taken off her coat because of the heat, but now she felt like she’d been plunged into an icy freezer at the sound of his voice.

“Please bring it to me directly,” Caesar said.

He was sitting on a nearby leather armchair, his legs crossed, with his tailored black trousers emphasizing the long, powerful lines of his legs.

He had removed his black suit jacket, leaving him in a white shirt and vest.

Chen Sirong’s feet moved involuntarily backward, and she turned to face him.

The notebook was handed over, but there was no nearby chair for her to sit. Chen Sirong knelt beside his legs.

Caesar skimmed through the two-page report on Charlie’s condition quickly.

His long fingers moved across the touchscreen of the laptop, but Chen Sirong forced herself not to look at them.

However, Caesar’s scent soon drew her attention.

Chen Sirong had always caught a faint whiff of his cologne, but never as strongly as it was now.

It was cold, like the scent of trees buried beneath winter snow. Walking through deep, uneven snow, the cold seeped into every part of her body.

She instinctively gripped the armrest of the chair.

Caesar spoke:

“The logic in your writing is good, but the report is too long and filled with unnecessary details. This isn’t the kind of report you should be handing to me.”

Chen Sirong could only say, “I’m sorry, I—”

“I don’t need your apology. I need your report,” Caesar interrupted, closing the laptop.

His gaze finally met Chen Sirong’s.

She wore a snug, thin off-white high-neck sweater. In Italy, women loved wearing skirts that showed their legs, even in winter.

She was no exception.

Under the sweater was a black pencil skirt. Her slim, long legs were bare, ending in a pair of low-heeled black shoes.

Simple yet striking.

Caesar had heard the name Grace mentioned in the break room. Beautiful Asian women were in high demand in Italy.

But he’d seen too many beautiful women.

But Grace…

Chen Sirong didn’t pick up her laptop to return to her seat and revise the report. Instead, she remained where she was, placing the laptop on the small side table next to Caesar and began editing carefully.

He sat on the sofa, looking down at her. Her long hair partially covered her face, leaving only her slightly pursed lips visible.

She was obedient.

But Caesar soon redirected his attention to his phone, scrolling through a flood of emails.

Chen Sirong handed the report to Caesar again.

The two-page document had been condensed to half a page.

Caesar looked away from his emails and began reading her report.

Chen Sirong held her breath again, her heart racing so fast she felt she might faint.

“Grace,” he called her name suddenly.

The laptop was closed, and Chen Sirong looked up at Caesar nervously.

He leaned back in his chair, his deep blue eyes fixed on her.

She remained kneeling beside his legs.

Caesar said, “Breath, Grace.”

Chen Sirong froze, her breathing completely stalled.

He sat up straight, moving slightly closer to her.

His towering frame seemed to envelop her. He looked at Chen Sirong and said,

“If you often struggle to breathe due to tension while working with me, I don’t think you’re suited for this job.”

His voice was like a thick, suffocating coral velvet blanket—comforting yet oppressive.

Chen Sirong’s face turned a soft pink from lack of oxygen, and her dark eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Caesar paused for a moment before speaking again in a deep tone:

“Breath, Grace.”

It was an unrefusable command.

Chen Sirong’s body obeyed involuntarily. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Good job, Grace,” Caesar said.

Chen Sirong felt ashamed—after all, breathing wasn’t something to be praised.

But before she could react, Caesar added,

“I’m talking about your report.”